Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (5 page)

I can
only thank god for the sound proof walls of my trailer, because
damn
do we put them to the test.

“To finish first, you must first finish…” —Rick Mears

Carrie

 “Glad
you decided to join me, Carrie.”

Marco’s
spotter, Harvey Klein, invited me up to stand with him in the spotter's stand
during the race. It’s a rare honor and offers the best view of the track and
the 43 cars running today. I have such a limited view from my spot in the pit
area it gets really boring. Usually I have to sit in the hot sun with a thick
fireproof Red Bull safety suit for endless hours doing nothing. On occasion a
member of the crew will need medical attention but that’s pretty rare.

The
first thing I notice while standing out here is that I can’t keep track of our
car. Everybody tries to have a unique paint job, but since the paint scheme
ties in directly to the colors of the sponsor’s product, sometimes you’ll get
similar schemed cars on the track. Also, from my vantage point way high up,
they all tend to look alike. Harvey seems to have no trouble at all sticking
with his driver and identifying every other driver out there on the track
today.

“Would
you like to talk to him?”

“What?”
I jump a little at Harvey’s voice. I was too engrossed in trying to spot our
car.

“It’s
quiet out there,” he replies. “Why don’t you say hi?”

He hands
me his headset. “It’s voice activated. When you want to talk without it
transmitting you just tap this button.”

I try to
remain calm as I fit the headset on over my ears. What do I say?

“Uh…hello?”

“What?
Who is this?” Marco replies, obviously surprised to hear a woman’s voice.

“It’s
me...Carrie.”

His
voice brightens. “Hi, Doll! How are you on this fine race day?”

“I’m not
your doll, Marco!”

“Really?
You gonna argue semantics with me during a race?”

“Shut
up. I’m not arguing anything. Just don’t call me your doll, got it?”

“Sure
thing Doc. So how am I doing?”

“I don’t
know, half the time I can’t pick you out of the crowd.”

“Ouch,
that hurts.”

“Hurts?
What’re you talking about?” I ask.

“I mean,
if I was racing well you’d easily see me near the front and not in the middle
of the pack. It’s cool though. All I have to do is win at Daytona. No problem
right?”

“It’s a
lock.”

“Now
there’s the confidence I wanna hear,” he replies.

“Oh I
see you, I see you. That guy in the pink and purple’s just about to run you
over.”

“What?”

“Shit,
go low Marco, now!” I holler. He is about to be put into the wall by whoever is
in the obnoxious pink and purple number 81 car.

I watch
with dread as Marco suddenly drops down low and inside dangerously close to the
edge of the track. An instant later the ugly car slams into the rear of the
number 187 car that was right in front of Marco. I jerk the headset off and
hand it to Harvey who immediately begins shouting orders.

The car
that got hit instead of Marco’s makes a hard right and slammed into the
concrete wall that separates the speeding 3000 pound cars from thousands of
screaming fans. The moment the number 187 car strikes the wall there’s an
explosion of dust, smoke, and auto parts that come raining down on the other
competitors as they, with the help of their spotters, try to slip by the crash.
The ugly pink car that sent number 187 into the wall becomes a spinning hunk of
junk that narrowly misses Marco before it spins out in the grassy area in the
middle of the track. Judging from the front end, that guy’s not going anywhere
else today.

Out
comes the yellow flag and 41 cars slow it down and keep to the lower groove to
stay far away from the debris strewn track. Harvey turns to me.

“Good
eyes, Carrie! You just saved your boy a high speed date with the wall!”

He gives
me a spontaneous hug before returning his attention to the track. He continues
talking to Marco while the yellow flag is still flying. My eyes are focused on
the car that hit the wall. An ambulance is out there along with a fire and
rescue truck, but there are no flames. A couple minutes later the driver climbs
out of the window and gets in the back of the ambulance, normal procedure for
any driver that gets put into the wall. That was a short day for his team
unless they’re fielding more than one car.

Harvey
taps me on the shoulder and extends his headset. “Your boy want’s to speak to
you,” he says. I’m reluctant to take the headset. What if something else
happens, only this time I don’t see it? “Don’t worry Carrie,” he says, reading
my thoughts. “They’re still under caution for at least another couple laps to
go ahead and talk to him.”

I put on
the headset. “Hi Marco.”

“Holy crap
Doc, you just saved my ass!” he replies enthusiastically.

“Beginners
luck Marco, that’s all it was.”

“Hell no
that wasn’t luck, baby girl. I was buried in the crowd and you spotted trouble
and warned me in time and told me what action to take. You got the makings of a
spotter in you.”

“I think
I’ll stick to nursing. Here, you can talk to Harvey now.”

I hand
the headset back to his spotter with a newfound respect for the job these guys
do for their drivers.

The next
three hours are boring as hell. I hang out with Harvey only because staying in
the pit with the crew is even more mind numbing. At least when I’m with Harvey
I get to see the action unfolding as it happens around the track instead of
little snapshots as the cars pass our pit area. If there is a problem in the
pit Rachael will handle it. If there’s a problem with our driver, well I’ll see
it before Rachael or anyone else does. Well, anyone except Harvey that is. Then
with about twenty laps to go I start noticing something is changing with car number
77, the one Marco’s driving. He’s making a move! He was at least a dozen or so
cars off the lead, but now he’s actually in the number 12 spot. That’s the best
position he’s run in all day.

I turn
to say something to Harvey but stop. Some movement out on the track near Marco
has caught my attention. The number 98 car is acting funny.  First it’s sitting
on the bumper of the car in front of him, then he gets all strange like they do
in the beginning of the race when they’re following the pace car before the
start and they’re testing their tires’ traction on the track. Whoever’s driving
car number 98 is about to cause a huge pileup, and unless Marco can get clear
he may end up getting caught up in it.

I grab
Harvey’s arm and yell at him. “Look at number 98!” I holler.

“What
about him?”

“He’s
acting all weird.”

“Looks
to me like he’s just trying to draft Reyes,” Harvey says, dismissing my
concern.

“I
thought the way cars are set up these days the need for drafting is kind of a
thing of the past,” I reply.

“Anthony
Waller is driving the number 98 and this is his rookie year. Maybe no one told
him drafting’s a thing of the past.”

“Yeah,
but look what he does soon as he gets off number 9’s rear bumper,” I reply.

We both
watch him for a minute, then sure enough, he backs off and does his little
strange thing and almost clips the red white and blue number 33 car as it
slides by.

“Looks
like he loses his nerve, backs off too fast, and has to fight for control,”
Harvey says. “I think he’s also running too loose. I’ll talk to his spotter.”

Harvey
goes over to confer with the rookie’s spotter. In the mean time, I focus back
on Marco. He’s driving like a demon. This time when I count the cars ahead of
him I get 10. Just one car to go to be in the top ten and with 19 more laps to
go. I actually think he’s got enough time to win this race. A few minutes
later, Harvey comes back over and gives me an update.

“You
were right, something’s going on. He’s got all kinds of problems right now.
He’s running loose, his tires are too soft, and he’s too new to the sport to
know when to just back off and pit.”

“Well,
are they just gonna let him stay out there until he causes an accident?”

“He’s
going to pit. He just has to make it around one more turn and he’s home free.”
Harvey replies.

“Good
‘cause I don’t like how close he is to Marco and—”

Shit!
Just like that the race is lost for us. The idiot in the number 98 car moves up
to draft the guy directly in front of him but this time instead of kissing the
man’s bumper he hit’s him hard enough to get his nose underneath the 34 car and
literally lifts the back end of the other car about three feet in the air.

For a
car moving close to 200 miles per hour, a lift like that is more than enough
encouragement to get airborne and completely out of control. After hitting the
car in front of him, rookie guy spins out, clipping the rear of Marco’s number
77 car. Pretty soon he’s spinning out of control. In one split second three
cars are hurtling down the track with no hope of regaining control. The last
thing I see before smoke, dust, and debris completely block my vision is Marco
spinning towards the grassy area in the middle of the track. Just when I think
he’s home free, another car down low and inside plows into Marco’s door. And
just like that, it’s all over for Team Panata.

I hit
the stairs at a dead run. By now, Rachael and the rest of the pit crew will
have been informed by Harvey that their car has crashed, again. I take the
steps two by two, hanging onto the rails on both sides to make sure I don’t do
a header on the stairs on the way to Team Panata’s pit area. Off the stairs now
I sprint down pit row until I reach our area. Rachael is just getting into the
ambulance. She’s just got it started when I open the passenger door and climb
in.

“Good of
you to join us,” she remarks as we pull out.

The race
is under the yellow flag again. Rachael waits for the right moment, then
streaks across the track toward where Marco was last seen. Radio chatter being
picked up by our rig tells me that neither Harvey nor our crew chief Alanzo has
radio contact with Marco. That could be really bad or it could just be nothing.

As
Rachael navigates around the debris littering the track I catch myself holding
my breath. I let out an explosive sigh and will myself to relax. He’s going to
be fine, I’m sure. After all, he wasn’t the guy who caught air after being rear
ended. Now that guy may not be fine.

“You
okay Carrie?” my partner and best friend asks.

“Why do
you ask?”

“Well...you’re
holding your breath again. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Yes lots, and nothing at all,
I reply in my mind. Then without thinking I just blurt it out.

“I slept
with Marco...”

“Good to
know he’s virile!” Rachael replies with a sly smile on her face.

“Very
much so. But that’s not the problem.”

“Yeah,
I’m guessing it’s not, given the fact that our sponsor, the entire pit crew,
and our team doctor knows about your marathon love making sessions.”

“What?”
suddenly I’m no longer worried about Marco, I’m pissed! “He just had to open his
big mouth about what happened between us.

“Yeah,
looks like lover boy has been doing some talking Carrie. By the way...how’d you
guys manage it in that tiny little bathtub anyway?”

The look
on my face must be pretty comical because she just bursts out laughing. I can
feel the heat rising to my face. This is not like me. I never hide anything
from Rachael. With her, I’m an open book and have no secrets and nothing to be
ashamed of. Then it hits me. She was there with me the times I vowed never to
get involved with another driver. She was there when I swore vengeance upon my
late fiancé Danny. She alone knows just how much Marco had to have got to me in
order for me to have even talked to him much less slept with him. I really have
compromised my principles and she knows it.

Before I
can frame a suitable reply, we pull up to Marco’s car. It does not look good.
He’s got both front and rear end damage, but the worst of it is where another
car plowed into his door. I jump out, go around to the back and grab the trauma
kit. Rachael is already leaning in the passenger’s side window.