Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (35 page)

I’d assumed he was getting pressured by his father to settle down. I’d felt the same pressure, from Macy, to pick anyone but Colt or Caine.

Being together was easier than being apart, for both of us. He always came dragging back whenever I broke up with him, but his determination to get engaged didn’t jibe with his ‘party hearty’ mindset. But, if he was just pretending to love me, at his father’s behest, then everything the man had ever done made perfect sense.

The way Richard and George England had their heads together at the far end of the corridor made me think that any fucking thing was possible when money was at stake. 

Tears of humiliation pricked my eyes, but I clenched my fists
.
The bite of my nails into my palm drove away the urge to cry
.

“Well? I believe Caine put a question on the table, Robert.” I didn’t give a fuck which Kossel answered.

“Of course not.” Senior lifted his chin. It was like he flipped a switch, and the flicker of doubt in his eyes was instantly replaced with that practiced look of concern that Mom sucked up like a Hoover. “After Robbie told me what your stepfather did, honey, I turned on the race that next Sunday. Been watchin’ ever since.”

“Uh huh.” Caine scowled. “Well, you’ve expressed your condolences. Now, as far as me and Colt are concerned, you can hit the road. We already have your business card. Your boy dropped it off after Christmas.”

Mom’s mouth fell open. Caine gave Senior a smirk worthy of Dale himself. Colt swaggered into position behind the attorney. Same crossed arms, same stone-faced expression as Caine.

Senior chuffed out a laugh. “I know you boys are upset, but this isn’t like banging a few cars around. Someone with experience needs to handle the family’s statement. The last thing you need to do is open yourselves, your father, and most especially your stepsister, to any liability. This requires—”

“Dad said, if this family ever needed to talk to the press, Shelby was to do the talkin’. Ain’t that right, Colt?”

My heart stuttered. I remembered Dale making the statement at the Christmas party—with a beer in his hand. I also recalled the microphone the reporters outside shoved into my face. And their ugly insinuations.

“Caine, there are reporters out there who seem to think this fight has something to do with the drag race.”

The lawyer pounced. “Exactly. One wrong word could open you or Dale up to a lawsuit.”

For what? What in the world could Barnes sue me for?

Mom gave Senior that familiar helpless look that made me want to slap her, but when she looked at me, her expression hardened. “If you step out there, you’ll make a bad situation worse.”

“Yes.” Senior patted Mom’s hand. “Support staff are always the ones thrown under the bus to protect the faces of any organization.”

Kolby had pushed for the race, but no one seemed interested in minor details like the facts.

“That’s what I think, too.” Mom nodded. I saw only sincerity in her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, Shelby. It’s just too much pressure on you. If those reporters goad you into saying the wrong thing, they’ll make you the scapegoat. I know it would kill you to disappoint Dale.”

Just because you crumble at the first sign of pressure, doesn’t mean I do.

That damn half moon bruise under her eye mocked me. If I’d hit my own mother, how hard could it be to end Dale’s career with an unguarded word?

I couldn’t think, or rather, couldn’t think in a straight line. I tried to peer over, through, under, around the damn fog in my head, but there didn’t seem to be much black and white here. All I could see was shades of gray.

Darting another glance at the far end of the hallway, I did realize that England was the biggest shark in the room, not Kossel. What could I hope to do against him? He’d have a bagful of publicists and a team of lawyers, just waiting to take on all comers.

“Listen to Dad, Shelby. Those reporters are foaming at the mouth, and it’s your blood they want. I have no idea why Dale challenged Barnes to that damn race, but anything you say will only make matters worse.” Robert tried to put an arm around me. I slid away, bumping into Caine.

“If Kolby had grounds to sue Dale, wouldn’t he have filed his claim by now? Why is everyone talking about me instead of the guy who—”

“Do any of you know this woman?” Caine uncrossed his arms. Dropping a huge hand on my shoulder, he stared into Mom’s face. “I know how hard you cried when she ran away, Macy, before Dad figured out she’d ended up in Spartanburg. But, she talked her way through the door of that fancy college without even fillin’ out an application. I know damn well she did, because the application was still in an envelope on my desk until the night before she left.”

I stared up at Caine, swept away by emotion. Mom never thought I could do anything. Robert never thought I could do anything as well as him.

Caine thought I could do anything I set out to do. 

He swung toward Robert. “This is for Dad. She won’t mess up. And stop talkin’ down to her, or me and Kolby’s gonna have matchin’ bracelets. Boy.”

Robert’s cheeks went pink, but he snorted. “Please, redneck. She’s my fiancée. I know her shortcomings as well as anyone. If you let her speak for the family, they’ll fire questions at her. She’ll get rattled, not because she’s stupid, but because she’s inexperienced. Not to mention that, right now, she doesn’t have the self-control to not respond. Not after you and your daddy let her get hurt in that damn race. Didn’t you hear her before? She can’t control her temper. That’s not my fault, it’s yours.” He drove a finger into Caine’s chest.

Caine’s growl set off a tingle in my belly that pierced me all the way to my spine. He slapped Robert’s hand aside with a flick of a muscular forearm.

“I will mop this floor with your ass,
Robbie
. Won’t hurt my feelin’s a’tall if you don’t invite me to your goddamn weddin’, but if you keep talkin’ shit about my wom—sister, I will bring the fuckin’ pain.” He turned a cold smile on Senior. “You can sue me later.”

“Caine, stop,” Mom wailed. “Robbie, he doesn’t mean a word of it. Dale is these boys’ whole lives. They’re just upset.”

The raised voices brought the team out of the waiting room on silent feet. The same assessing eyes I recalled from the Christmas party bore into me. Their smiles said they were betting on Caine. Hadn’t they seen enough fighting for one damn day?

“Caine. Robert. Stop. Just... stop.” I dug my nails into Caine’s arm—or tried. My nails skated across taut muscle. I glanced down to see his clenched fist. “This is one wall that’s not worth breaking your hand on.”

Caine gave Robert a grin. “C’mon, college boy. Don’t just piss yourself. Swing.”

Robert swallowed hard, but held his ground. “Nice try. You think you can goad me into the first punch so you don’t go to jail?”

There weren’t any chairs in the corridor for them to cock their legs on. Would they just use the wall instead? See who could hit the back wall of the elevator with a stream of urine the next time the doors slid open? Both men breathed like stallions after a hard run.

I raked my hair out of my face, but before I could decide what might defuse the situation, Colt spoke up.

“Ain’t nobody ever sued NASCAR and kept his damn job. Get that right outta your head. Don’t you understand, Macy? Dad’s gonna want to go back to work.”

“With that... that animal?” Mom’s shriek rang in the quiet corridor. “George isn’t here for Dale. He’s here to help Kolby waltz away with another goddamn fine! I bet he jumps right back in that car Friday night for the All-Star race, while Dale’s on life support!”

Mom reached for the collar of her shirt, only to realize she had on something with a scoop neckline. “Everybody here knows Kolby’s crazy. Not just the kind of crazy they all are, for fuck’s sake. No sane man would volunteer to spend his weekends in the middle of a two-hundred-mile-an-hour traffic jam. But Kolby ain’t worried about winnin’ no more. He’s out there to kill himself. He just chokes at the last minute and sends someone else head-first into the goddamn wall.”

From the crew’s expressions, they thought Mom was right. A few feet behind them, Richard dropped his head, but George England lumbered toward us.

“I reckon I know when someone’s got somethin’ they need to get off their chest. Macy, honey, if tellin’ me will help, please, feel free to let me have it. Sometimes, accordin’ to my wife, yellin’s about all that does help.” The older man linked his hands together and gave her a concerned look that had to be fake.

Because us little women are so hormonal? Oh, you patronizing jackass.
Fury slammed through me, shutting off my breath. The slight upward tug of the bastard’s lips dumped fuel on my outrage.

Don’t let him play you, Mom. Francine said he was a bully. No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.

Except, anyone who didn’t quit school in the ninth grade can make her feel inferior.

I didn’t have time to muse on why that was my fault. I forced my fists open and pressed my palms against my thighs, so I didn’t haul off and do the very thing Caine begged me not to let him do. I’d end up sued within an inch of my life for poking the NASCAR exec in the eye. Probably end up with another cast, to boot. And the only lawyer I knew would end up being called as a witness for the prosecution. Not the best plan.

While Mom opened and closed her mouth like a bass on a hook, I rounded on England. “I have something to say and I’d appreciate if you’d hear me out.” 

George nodded, but the look he darted the crewmen—and the cold, blank stares he got in return—stopped my anger in its tracks. George was definitely playing at something, but Dale’s men weren’t playing along.

I realized something else.

I was the only person here whose income wasn’t earned at this man’s pleasure.

Dale’s voice reverberated in my head while I locked gazes with England.
Show him what’s comin’ when he lines up against a motherfuckin’ Hannah.

By God, everyone in sight seemed lined up against us now.

I dug my nails into my palms, feeling like a soldier who’d wandered into a minefield. I squared my shoulders. I’d never seen a Hannah back down. I didn’t plan to be the first.

“I want to know what you plan to do to see that this situation never happens again. Your fines don’t seem to deter much. I mean, you could’ve forced Barnes to get anger management counseling. Why didn’t you? Don’t you care about the people who earn your living? Or is everything about the almighty dollar?”

The old man didn’t speak. None of the crewmen moved a muscle, but the air suddenly crackled with tension. Jamie nodded emphatically. This was the Christmas party all over again, a replay of the moment when Dale and Kolby had made the bet. The wary crewmen watched every move, weighing which dog they thought would come out on top. 

Did that mean they thought I had a shot at the win?

I swallowed past a tight throat. “See, Dale and Mr. Ridenhour would’ve cut Kolby loose two years ago. You know why they didn’t?”

The NASCAR exec blinked. “Well, I ‘spect that was because he was a winner.”

“
Was
a winner? Okay, good start.”

The flash in England’s eyes told me everything I feared was true. The spin engine was gathering speed, and when it stopped, Kolby Barnes would get another slap on the wrist from NASCAR—maybe even from the courts—and Dale would get the shaft.

A shiver of fear ran down my spine, but I suddenly understood why Dale had made the bet with Kolby. He hadn’t put me up against Kolby to rig up some meaningless win. He’d done it to teach me that I had to set my nose on the line to have any chance at all.

If you ain’t riskin’ nothin’, you ain’t livin’.

I knew only one way to get over my fear. Get in the damn car and drive.

All the power in the world under your hood and you’ve never lost. But my daddy taught me that since I’m here, I might as well race, motherfucker.

“Not good enough. Rick didn’t cut him because he knew another team would pick him up.” A few of Dale’s crew exchanged looks from underneath raised brows. “And, Dale agreed with Rick, that Kolby would hold a grudge. If Barnes wanted, he could make sure—thanks to the occasional assist from his brother, like the one today—that no Ridenhour car would ever finish first, no matter the cost. I mean, I can almost see Kolby’s logic. It’s not as if you’d do anything except make him write a check. That’s crazy with a chaser shot of just plain pissed off.”

My heart pounded like a sledgehammer. I fought to keep my tone conversational, because I knew he’d tune out if I started yelling. “How do you sleep nights, knowing you just keep sending a ticking time bomb out on the track?”

From the corner of my eye, I noted enthusiastic nods from Jamie and Bliss Roark.

“As for your press conference, I’ll die and take my brothers with me before I stand by while you excuse Kolby’s attack on a man with his back turned—with our implied consent.”

The executive’s eyes widened, but with more informed ears than mine hanging on every word, he didn’t have the balls to call me a liar.

“So, in hopes you’ll do the right thing now, I’ll do you the favor of letting you hold
your
press conference first.”

While England held my gaze, sweat inched down my sides. I tried to calm my racing pulse, but my chest heaved. A couple of the crew smirked. The NASCAR president’s eyes snapped with fury. The Andy Griffith mask slipped and I glimpsed the hard-driving executive under his skin.

Ernie’s rambling stories came roaring back to my mind. This man’s grandfather and great-uncle had built the sport from nothing. His father and uncle had made NASCAR into a holding worth nearly a billion dollars—billion—with a ‘b’.

But George, born into wealth, had several other high profile businesses. He didn’t focus as hard as his forefathers had done on NASCAR as a whole. Ernie said ‘Georgie’ cared only about the bottom line. When the recent recession hit NASCAR hard, he’d turned a blind eye to Kolby’s shenanigans, because the Barnes brothers’ wild ways put fans in the seats. And somehow, thanks to this man, Kolby got it in his head that he didn’t need to listen to his crew chief.