In the Groove (20 page)

"Yes, he does. He needs fluids. Right away."

"See," she said, turning back to Lance. "So you're going to the hospital. Now."

"Sarah, wait," he said, bending down and placing a kiss on her forehead, Sarah almost positive he wobbled a bit when he straightened. "There's no need to go tearing off. If it was serious, Doc here would have me airlifted out."

"That's a possibility," the doctor grumbled, the words obviously a threat.

"Don't fight it, Lance," Sarah said. "You're going and that's that."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," he said with a weak smile. "Not long ago it was
you
refusing medical care."

"That was different. I didn't have a doctor standing over me."

"He's not ordering."

"Actually, I am," the doctor said. "You have no choice here, Mr. Cooper. You need to go."

"See," Sarah said, glancing at Blain and Cece so they could add their insistence. "Doctor's orders."

"You know the rules, Lance," Blain said. "If you're ordered to go, you need to go."

"This is ridiculous," Lance said, glancing between the four of them. "I'm just a little dehydrated. It'll go away." He turned to the cabinet, motioning for the water bottle that sat on top of it. "Here. Hand me that water. I'll take a big swig just to make you happy."

"Lance," the doctor said sternly, not even glancing at the bottle in question. "That's not going to do it."

"Sure it will." He took a step. Except...

He never made it.

The moment he turned, he tipped to the side. And then he started to fall.

"Lance!" Sarah cried in panic, dashing forward as he collapsed, his big body making a sickening thud when he hit the floor.

"Oh my gosh!" Sarah cried, reaching him a split second before the doctor.
"Oh my gosh."

"Lance," the doctor said loudly. "Lance, can you hear me?"

No answer.

"Lance?" he asked again.

Lance shifted slowly. "Don't move," the doctor ordered.

"Fine," Lance mumbled, turning onto his side, " 'm just fine."

But when he rolled onto his back, his pupils so dilated his eyes looked black, it was apparent to everyone that Lance Cooper was
far
from fine.

"He'll be okay," Cece said over and over again, rubbing Sarah's back as they sat in Perm State-Gei-singer's lobby an hour later.

"How can he be all right?" Sarah asked. "You saw him fall down. And then the whole way to the hospital he barely said a word—"

"But the doctor told you he might have a concussion now, thanks to his fall. That, combined with his dehydration, messed him up. But it's nothing serious. Well, it is, but he didn't even really pass out and so I'm sure it's nothing. Try not to think the worst."

Easy for her to say, Sarah thought. Cece hadn't ridden in the back of an ambulance for the half hour it'd taken to get to the hospital. When they'd arrived and wheeled Lance away, it was all Sarah could do not to burst into tears.

"Any word?" Courtney asked when she arrived a few minutes later.

"No," Sarah said in a small voice, a part of her so detached by everything that had occurred it felt like she was in a dream. "We're still waiting for word."

"Good," Courtney said. "That gives me time to make some calls."

Good?
Lance had just passed out and all Courtney could think about was making phone calls? Sarah despised the woman then, she really did. She even opened her mouth to take her to task, but the receptionist called out her name right at that exact moment

"Here!" Sarah said, darting up so fast Cece's hands fell away.

"You Lance Cooper's wife?" The woman asked with a lift of her brows, her hair so severely drawn back that it must have made raising them hard to do.

"No," Sarah said. "I'm his girlfriend. He doesn't have any family."

"Oh?" she asked. "Well, that's probably a good thing because the way he's cracking bad jokes back there—" she motioned to the E.R. behind her "—he might have just driven away any family he had."

Sarah stared at the woman for a moment, trying to absorb her words, but when she flashed blinding white teeth, what she said finally sank in.

"He's cracking jokes?" she asked.

"Yup. Bad ones, too. Think maybe there really is something wrong with that head of his the way he keeps coming up with them."

Cece, who'd come up behind Sarah, exchanged a look with her, and smiled as if to say, "See. Everything's going to be fine."

"Was he just dehydrated?" Sarah asked, still thinking the receptionist wasn't telling her something.

"Won't know for sure until he returns from his CAT scan, but the IV the paramedics started seems to be doing the trick. We're just doing the scan as a precaution after his nasty fall. I'll call you when he's back in his room."

Sarah nodded, stepping back from the counter. Her mother arrived then with Hank in tow, the dark-haired man glowering at Sarah as if this was all her fault. Right behind them were Allen and a few crew members. The media arrived next, Courtney working a deal so that they'd leave them alone until more about Lance's condition was known.

But the biggest shock of the day was when Sarah's mother pulled her into an embrace. Large, comforting arms tried to shelter her, Sarah trying to pull away, but her mother wouldn't let her go. Eventually, Sarah began to relax, began to think that her mother truly
did
care. Sure, there was a side of her that wondered if Sylvia's worry had more to do with Lance than any type of maternal instinct, but when she drew back and looked into her mother's brown eyes, she saw genuine concern there, and compassion.

Sarah was humbled, floored, and really, truly touched.

And then came the moment Sarah had been waiting for, though it came what seemed like hours later. The big woman behind the counter was discreet, waving Sarah over in such a way so that no one else saw.

"He's back in his room," she said softly. "And he's asking for you. Through the door and to the right. Bed six."

"Is he going to be all right?"

"Doctor will fill you in."

Sarah turned toward the door.

"I'll come with you," her mother said, Sarah shocked to realize she'd followed her to the counter.

"Only one person allowed at a time," the receptionist said, the look she shot Sylvia one Sarah instantly recognized, having used such looks on her students before. "You can go in later."

Her mother sank back down on the couch, Sarah taking a deep breath as she was buzzed inside to bed six.

Inside the E.R., there were curtained-off rooms, each with a gurney in them, some empty, some filled with people in various stages of care. She looked around, trying to find a number to identify the beds, but only the "real" rooms had numbers on the outside, and no bed six.

"I hear he has a girlfriend," a nurse was saying as she passed by.

"Yeah, but I hear she's not much to look at."

Sarah halted in her tracks.

"How do you know that?" the first woman asked another blonde.

"Dr. Lungren's a huge race fan."

"Doc Lungren? The obstetrician? Go figure. Lungren's single, too, though, so she would know. And she's a barracuda. Probably has her sights set on him."

"Can I help you?" Someone came up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder.

Sarah turned, but she glanced back at the two nurses who'd gone quiet.

Something snapped inside her then, something that probably had to do with her scare today, a death-defying ride in an ambulance, and her crazy mother in the waiting room. "I'm looking for Lance Cooper," she said, and then smiled at the two nurses. "I'm the girlfriend who's not much to look at."

Their mouths dropped open, which on the plump blonde wasn't all that attractive—gave her a second chin.

"Um, yeah, sure," said the person who'd tapped her on the shoulder, a woman with dark hair who Sarah hoped was the female obstetrician. "He's right over here."

Sarah straightened her shoulders like she'd watched Rebecca Newman do just before giving an interview, and fixed a look of aloof superiority on her face—she hoped—as she turned away.

Take that. And your catty comments, too.

But she forgot all about the nurses when the curtain to Lance's room was pulled back. He rested in a reclining bed, looking rumpled and yet no less handsome in his hospital gown.

"Sarah," he said.

That was all he said, just her name, but the look in his eyes made her breath catch. There was such a burst of happiness in his eyes, so much relief and sorrow. When he held his arms open, she went right to him, clutching and holding and inhaling him as she tried with all her might not to cry.

"It's okay," he said softly, rubbing her back. "I'm fine. Just a little dehydration mixed with a concussion. That's all."

"You passed out," she said, her whole body beginning to tremble. "That's not fine—"

"Shh," he soothed, pushing her back so she could look in his eyes. "It was the dehydration that made me pass out. The CAT scan was just a precaution. And the technician told me I'm fine, even though he also told me that technically he can't tell me that—we have to wait for a doctor, but I'm fine. Trust me."

The tears came then, pouring out of Sarah's eyes as if a darn spigot had been turned on.

"Hey," he said, cupping her face and wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "This is just a part of racing. It happens sometimes."

"I know," she said, swallowing what felt like a gulp of air. "I know. It's just that the doctor told you something was wrong. And then you refused to go to the hospital, and so when they did your CAT scan, I was worried they'd discover you had no brain because only a brainless idiot would be so pigheaded, and if you had no brain, what would I tell the press?"

He blinked once, twice, then slowly smiled, a laugh escaping as he drew her to him, nestling his chin into her hair, wrapping his big arms around her shoulders. "Sarah, sweet Sarah," he murmured. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she said, hugging him back. "I didn't realize how much until I saw your car flip over for what looked like a million times."

He gently pushed her back again, his face suddenly serious. "Do you?" he asked gently.

"Do I what?"

"Love me?" he asked.

Her face softened, tears coming to her eyes for a whole other reason. "I do, Lance. I really, really do."

He smiled, a grin so blinding she was certain the ceiling reflected its glow—a glow that warmed her heart and her soul.

"Good," he said. "Because that makes wrecking my car worth it."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

They released him that day.

Sarah and Lance flew back that evening; Sarah was never more relieved than when she caught sight of Lance's home and the sparkling lake behind.

"You know, Lance," she said. "I'd be really happy if you never wrecked again."

"'Fraid that's not possible," he said, giving her a reassuring grin as he helped her out of the car.

"I know," she said, sinking into his arms. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for this."

He drew back, looking suddenly serious. "You better be," he said, half joking, half serious. "Wrecking comes with the territory."

"I know," she said, pasting on a brave smile. "I'm just teasing."

But was she? To be honest, the whole thing had thrown her for a loop. Not only had the TV cameras thrust in her face surprised her, but so had their questions as they were leaving the hospital. On the way back to the track they'd listened to the race on the radio, Sarah blown away when she'd heard herself quoted.

"Welcome to fame," he'd said, smiling at her.

Welcome to fame.

"Yo, Mr. Lance," Rosa all but screamed as they opened up the front door; she came tearing toward them so fast Sarah worried she would knock Lance off his feet. "You scare me to death!" she cried, wrapping him in her huge arms.

"Rosa," he said, giving her an affectionate smile. "You know it takes more than a few little rolls to knock some sense into my head."

"It no the sense I'm worried about. It you," she said, Sarah surprised to see tears in the woman's eyes. "Cece tell me you okay, but I no believe it until I see with my own eyes. You okay?" she asked, clutching "Mr. Lance" by the face so hard she scrunched his cheeks.

"I'm othay," he said between squished lips.

She released him. And to her surprise, Rosa turned toward Sarah next. "And you?" she asked. "You doin' okay?"

"I'm fine," she said.

Rosa smiled widely. "Good. I no like you wrecking, Mr. Lance, but it part of you job." She wagged a finger at him. "Just don't you be doin' it again,
s
í?"

"See," Lance said, smiling.

And that was that.

Except... that wasn't that. The phone began to ring practically the moment they stepped into the house, and Sarah's hope to have Lance to herself—all right, to have Lance
in bed
to herself—faded away. All the motor sports reporters in the world wanted to talk, and Lance had insisted to Courtney that he take the calls himself. Sarah wasn't sure what to do with herself. It didn't help matters that they were still so new to their relationship that she wasn't really sure if she was living with him or not. Most of her stuff was still over at the Sanderses', and Lance hadn't mentioned anything, which meant he might want a night to himself...

"Whatcha thinking?" he asked, startling Sarah, who had moved to the patio. She sat in a lounge chair staring out at the lake. The afternoon sun sparkled off the water, making it glow as if liquid fireplace embers covered its surface, causing Sarah's vision to spot when she glanced up at Lance.

"I'm wondering if I should leave," she said, her gaze lowering to the rock patio. "You know, let you get some rest?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked her, drawing her up and wrapping her in his arms. "You're never leaving my side."

"Do you mean that, Lance?" she asked, meeting his gaze. "Or are you just being flip? "

"I'm not being flip, Sarah. I want you here."

It was such a relief to hear those words, very nearly a physical release, the tension in her shoulders easing suddenly. Sarah realized in an instant how stressed she'd been. Sure, they'd said they loved each other, and sure she was reasonably certain he'd meant those words, but still... she'd known men in the past who had said that and then thrown her over a few months later.

Don't do that to me, Lance. Please, please, please,
she thought, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder.

"I want to take you upstairs," he whispered in her ear.

She tingled, her whole body coming alive at the words. "I want to go upstairs with you," she whispered back.

"Then let's go," he said, tipping his head down to give her a warm-up kiss, but his lips quickly made her want more.

"I want you," he said, kissing her ear, his tongue swirling around the inside and making her shiver.

"I want..." But she couldn't speak for a minute because he'd stopped kissing her ear and moved down her neck, nipping her sensitive skin, his head sinking lower and lower.

She moaned, tipping her head back and staring up at the half-moon above.

"Lance," she moaned, his teeth nipping her through her shirt.

"I love you," he said, lifting his head.

"I love you, too," she said, her whole body buzzing from his touch. God help her, she wished it could be like this always. Just the two of them.

But it would never be that way. Life with Lance would be a whirlwind, always. And though later he touched her soul in ways no man had ever touched her before, thoughts kept intruding, niggling doubts and worries that she tried to shove firmly aside. She couldn't shake a feeling that sooner or later, the other shoe would drop.

She just wasn't expecting it to drop quite so soon.

Sarah moved into Lance's house the next week. And while she appreciated his palatial estate after living most of her life in places so small and run-down, they made homeless shelters look like presidential suites, she still wasn't used to living a life of luxury. She couldn't get used to Rosa being around all the time, cooking for her and cleaning up after her. She couldn't get used to her every desire being just a phone call away. And she couldn't get used to doing nothing all day. She still wanted to teach and so she busied herself with sending out resumes—but to no avail. Lance told her she could still drive the bus for him, but she was happy to hand that job over to someone else.

Rebecca and Cece came over sometimes, which was a good thing because often Lance was off doing things—autographings, appearances (though no more calendar girl contests—thankfully), testing his race car—and she was left pretty much to herself.

On that particular day, the day that would ultimately change her life forever, Sarah kissed Lance goodbye early in the morning and then promptly went back to sleep.

A knock woke her.

That wasn't all that unusual. Rosa would sometimes knock if she thought Sarah might be up. But this wasn't her usual, tentative, are-you-awake-or-sleeping knock? This was a, "Get up, you lazy slug. I have something to tell you."

Sarah sat up, shoving her loose hair off her face and then quickly scrambling out of bed and diving for the floor to look for her purple night shirt and matching pants.

"Thank God you are awake," Rosa said, swinging open the door right as Sarah pulled her pants up over her waist.

"Well, actually, I wasn't—"

"You must see this," Rosa said, holding out what looked to be a newspaper.

Sarah stared at it. She didn't want to look. She didn't want to see whatever it was that Rosa had woken her up for because sure as the sun was rising, it wouldn't be good news. All it took was one look at Rosa's pale face. The woman wore so much dark brown foundation that with her skin so white, Sarah could see where she'd missed spots.

"What is it?" Sarah asked.

"Look," she said, waving the paper.

Sarah's own face stared back at her from the cover of the
TATTLER,
her mouth tipped up in a smile that was supposed to look sensuous, but that had always looked uncomfortable to Sarah, likely because that was exactly the way she'd felt when she taken the photo.

"Oh dear Lord, no," she murmured.

But sure enough, there she was, leaning back on red satin pillows, black bars in the spot where her bathing suit top and bottoms were supposed to be, black bars because once again she wore someone else's... parts.

"Sarah, calm down," Lance said over the phone from pit road at Phoenix International Speedway where they were testing a few cars for the November race. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think."

"Not as bad as I think?" Sarah said. "Lance, I'm wearing Pamela Anderson's breasts and God knows who else's you-know-what, and on a nationally distributed magazine that's next to every grocery store register in the country. Women the world over are catching sight of that photo and wondering a) who's the bimbo with the bars across her private parts and b) why is she on the cover of the
TATTLER!
But, see, they won't be wondering for long because right above my picture is the headline Lance Cooper's Latest Squeeze Revealed."

"Sarah," he said. "Nobody reads the
TATTLER."

"Hey, Lance," Brad, his tire changer, said, "you seen the
TATTLER
this week?"

"Shh," Lance hissed.

"I think you'll like the cover," Brad said.

"What was that?" Sarah asked. "What did he say?"

"Nothing," Lance said, giving Brad a glare.

"He said you'd like the cover, didn't he?"

"No. He said..."
Think, Lance, think.
"... he said
Hot Rod
magazine has a nice cover this month. There's a '69 convertible on it."

Silence.

She didn't buy it.

"The only thing that has its top down," she said in a low, obviously irritated voice, "is me." And then, "Son of a
bitch."
The word was said with relish. Obviously Sarah was enjoying her brief flirtation with cussing. "How the
hell
did this happen? How?
How?
And why would they put me on the cover of that magazine? Me? The girlfriend of some obscure race-car driver."

"Obscure!"

Silence again. "I didn't mean that the way that sounded."

Lance wasn't so sure, but he wasn't about to call her on it now. "Sarah, calm down," he said again. "This'll blow over in a couple of weeks. In the meantime we can call the
TATTLER
and tell them that those are not your private parts. We'll get them to print a retraction."

"A retraction?" she said. "A retraction? And just how many people do you think will actually see a retraction printed in the back of the
TATTLER,
likely written in the tiniest of print, buried beneath an article about alien autopsies or something? How many, Lance? How? Just take a guess."

"I don't know," he said lamely.

"None," she said. "Nobody will see a retraction, if they even print one. Nope. I'm ruined. Any teaching job I hoped to get in this town is shot. The whole industry will have heard about this in a matter of days. Word will spread. Nobody's going to hire a kindergarten teacher who's been 'revealed' to every mom in the county, not to mention their husbands."

"So. Don't teach. Come work for me. You can do something at the shop for the team."

More silence, and then, "Lance, I don't want to work for the team."

"Lance," Allen said. "We need to get started."

"I'm coming," Lance said. "Look, Sarah, I'll be home tomorrow night. Don't stress out. We'll figure something out. I promise."

"How, Lance?" she asked. "How can we fix this?"

"I don't know—"

"Never mind," she said. "I'll fix it myself."

And the line went dead. Lance realized she'd hung up on him.

Crap. This he did not need, not when he was about to get behind the wheel.

"Lance?" Blain asked. "You okay?"

They were camped out on pit road, the back of the hauler open, his crew in the shade beneath the car ramp. To the left, next to a stack of tires, the team's engineers sat behind a folding table, computer open, everyone waiting for him to climb in the car and go do some laps.

Shit.

"Lance?" Blain asked, black brows aloft

"It's Sarah," Lance answered, hating to drag Blain into this. "Apparently, a few doctored-up photos of Sarah are on the cover of the
TATTLER."

"The
TATTLER?
And what do you mean 'doctored up'?"

Lance shook his head, "They were taken years ago, by an ex-boyfriend. But then someone else fiddled with them because Sarah swears she's never posed nude."

Blain looked momentarily skeptical, but it faded quickly, turning into concern. "Sounds like a lawsuit to me."

"Yeah, but she's pretty upset."

"I can understand why. Sarah's not used to things like this. She's never been in the national spotlight, Lance. It's got to be pretty humiliating."

"Yeah," Lance said. "I'm sure it is." He turned away for a second, only to face Blain again. "Shit I don't know what to do."

"You want to go home?"

Home? He couldn't do that? But Lance glanced at the brightly painted big rig, at the empty grandstands and the suites in turn one nonetheless.

"No," he said. "I'll call her later. She'll be okay until then."

Sarah did something she swore she'd never do again, something she'd promised herself that she'd only ever do if she were dangling over a pool of crocodiles and the only choice left was to cut the rope and end her own life or pull out her cell phone and dial her mom.