The Comeback (14 page)

“I’ll be fine, thank you, Brady,” she said.

Ryan held out a hand, and she took it. He laced his fingers through Amber’s with a firmness that suggested he wasn’t about to let her go.

As they left, Brady said, “Ryan?”

“Yes, sir?” Ryan faced him.

“Just remember that’s my family you’re holding hands with.”

“Yes, sir,” Ryan said, with more seriousness than Amber knew he had in him.

H
OLDING
A
MBER
’
S HAND
had the very pleasant effect of dulling Ryan’s memories of last week’s NASCAR Nationwide Series race in Michigan. He’d finished the race, but that was the best thing that could be said about it. His dad had been over the moon when Ryan had qualified third, but car setup problems resulted in a washout twenty-third finish. It would’ve almost been better to have crashed, preferably while attempting a daring pass that would have had the commentators yelling themselves hoarse, and ended the race with at least some glory.

Ryan sighed.

“What’s the matter?” Amber asked. “Didn’t you really want me to come for a drink or not?”

He firmed his grip on her. She was the touchiest gal he’d ever met—if he loosened off, she’d probably run away again. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you.” He deliberately didn’t add
to come for a drink.
Because there was a whole lot he wanted Amber for, and a drink was the least of it.

He was taking a risk making his intentions so plain, given her refusal to date drivers. But she seemed softer today, somehow. Her lips quirked in a reluctant smile, and she didn’t give him a verbal slapdown. Excitement coursed through Ryan. Too bad his mom was waiting back at the motor home.

“I’m sorry about your finish in last week’s race,” Amber said. “I should have said something sooner.”

“You’re not being nice because you feel sorry for me, are you?” he said, appalled.

“Of course not.” She walked a few more steps. “I wasn’t intending to be nice at all.”

Ah, that was more like the Amber he knew. Ryan found himself grinning inside. “So,” he said, “twenty-nine, huh?”

She pffed.

“I could have sworn you were trying to make me feel as if you’re ten years older than I am.”

“I’m ten years more mature,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

He chuckled.

“See,” she said, “you laugh at everything, like a kid.”

“Not everything,” he said sourly, and wished he hadn’t. Thankfully, the motor home was in sight.

But Amber stopped. “Tell me.”

He stopped too, and when he met her eyes, he forgot about the motor homes around them, the smell of barbecue, the squeals of kids playing. His gut tightened. Damn but he liked Amber, sharp edges and all.

“Tonight’s race,” he said. “Dad and Grandad will be sitting up on the hauler, Granded clutching his chest every time someone passes me.” Ryan hoped he’d delivered that with the lightheartedness she’d been teasing him about.

To his surprise, she took his other hand in hers. Her fingers were slender but strong.

“It’s only one race,” she said.

“One race that I can’t afford to have end like some of the others have. I qualified twenty-third.” His shoulders sagged.
“I need to finish in the top five in the Nationwide Series if I want to get a Sprint Cup ride next year.”

She squirmed, and he had the sense she was slipping away. He held a little tighter.

“And is that what you want?” she asked.

It was weird, having their most personal conversation to date in the middle of a crowded motor home lot. But if they’d been alone, talking would have been the last thing on his mind. And for some reason, Amber had lowered her defenses. He was determined to keep them down.

“I want to race in the Sprint Cup,” he admitted. “My folks are desperate for me to win the Nationwide Series, too.” He saw her frown. “My dad won it twenty-two years ago,” he explained, “and my granddad won twenty years before that. It’s a big deal to them.”

“And to you?”

“And to me. Of course.”

“I hope you make it, then.” From her, the sentiment didn’t seem like a platitude, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of glib assurance he hated. No, it seemed as if Amber understood something about what it was to be pinned down by history.

Ryan leaned forward and kissed her lips. Almost chastely, given their public location, but not quite, because Amber was way too hot to confine himself to chaste. She kissed him back—she tasted sweet and true.

The hooting of a couple of kids parted them. She was smiling…a secretive, cat’s smile that made Ryan want to take her somewhere very private. He sighed. “Let’s go see Mom.”

A
MBER TURNED UP IN
Ryan’s pits just before the race. Given she wasn’t a big race fan, he had to be the reason she was there. He excused himself from his crew chief, and smirked as he walked up to her.

She gave him her customary scowl, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it. He kissed her.

“Mmmf.” She gave a protest that he stifled with his mouth on hers. Then she kissed him back. Sweet. Oh, yeah.

Ryan was almost shaking when he pulled away. That couldn’t be good before a race, one part of his mind said. The other part urged him to kiss her again.

Amber wrapped her arms around herself as if she, too, was none too steady. But when she spoke, her voice had its usual mix of sweetness and challenge. “Are you ready?”

“I guess,” he said. He wasn’t looking forward to watching the tails of the twenty-two other cars in front of him when they started.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

He laughed. “Better not let my dad hear that. You’d probably get kicked out for heresy.”

“When you were talking earlier about your dad and your granddad and their expectations,” she said, “it made me think about the baggage my mom and I have.”

“Yeah?”

“You have to figure out why you’re holding on to it, and if it’s worth holding on to.”

“Right,” he said, with no idea what she meant.

“The race doesn’t matter,” she said again. “Not as much as plenty of other things.” She went up on tiptoe, kissed his chin, then left the pits without looking back.

Ryan shook his head. She was killing him, and he was loving every minute.

A short time later as he started his engine in response to the grand marshal’s command, he wondered how the heck he was supposed to concentrate on the half-mile track’s tight turns and straightaways when the only curve on his mind was the curve of Amber’s lips.

His driving was mechanical, barely focused on the race—which was insane, given how close the racing action was at Bristol. After fifty laps he couldn’t have said where he sat in the pack. At the halfway mark, still cursing his in
ability to let go of Amber. Suddenly he realized his dad sounded excited.

“Where are we sitting, Dad?” he asked.

“I just told you,” his father said. “Fifth.”

Fifth! Ryan got such a shock he almost let Roberto Castillo—
hell, I’m in front of Castillo
—pass him. Just in time, he cut the former open-wheel racing champion off, and heard his father’s yell of triumph through his earpiece.

But not even his elation over his current performance could keep Amber out of Ryan’s mind for long, and he soon found his concentration drifting again.

But he did happen to register that he crossed the line in second place, his best result this season.

His father and his grandfather were beside themselves with excitement. “The way you finessed Castillo reminded me of how I held off Dean Grosso in the final race when I won the series,” his father crowed.

Ryan figured his father’s statement was a compliment. He said something back, but he wasn’t sure what. He needed to see Amber. He’d hoped she’d be waiting for him in the pits, ready to share the thrill.

But he wasn’t surprised when she wasn’t.

Unpredictable woman, his Amber. The flash of possession surprised him—he wasn’t prone to clinging to his girlfriends. Hey, he’d just come second in a NASCAR Nationwide Series race. Small wonder he felt as if he owned the world.

“I
CAN
’
T FIGURE OUT
how I did so well when I wasn’t even concentrating,” Ryan said to Kelly Matheson the next day. He’d paid her a visit in her and Trent’s motor home to talk about the race. “Everyone knows winning a NASCAR race takes incredible focus.”

She crossed her legs and swung her foot as she thought. “People focus in different ways, at different levels. Sometimes, your subconscious is more focused than you are at a conscious level.”

“That sounds complicated,” Ryan said. “Hard to replicate.” Because that was what he needed to do. Figure out what went right at Bristol, then do the same next weekend in Montreal. And the weekend after, and the weekend after that.

“What did you do differently ahead of yesterday’s race?” Kelly asked. She was big on honing prerace routines so that you only did what worked, however whacky it might sound, and got rid of the ineffective stuff. Trent had experienced a huge turnaround in his racing after he’d bought in to Kelly’s strategy.

“The only thing I did different—” he’d already thought about this “—was that I kissed a girl.”

A smile played on Kelly’s lips. “I’m certain I’ve seen you kissing a girl ahead of a race before. Many girls.”

He might have known she wouldn’t let him get away with that statement. “Maybe the difference is the girl,” he said. “Amber.”

Her eyebrows rose, and he wondered if that was sympathy he saw in her expression. Sympathy because Brady would have his hide if he messed around with his stepdaughter, or because Amber wasn’t the easiest woman in the world? Ryan didn’t care about either of those.

“Was it the first time you’ve kissed her?” Kelly asked.

Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets. He hoped she was bound by professional ethics not to mention this to her husband or any of her in-laws. “The first time before a race,” he clarified.

“Uh-huh.” She made a few notes, but didn’t say anything else.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I was driving,” Ryan said.

She grinned. “Some kiss, huh?”

He sighed. “Yeah. But, you know, not in that obvious way.”

“Interesting,” Kelly murmured.

“I’ve certainly never analyzed a kiss this much before,” he admitted.

“So, what made this one so special?”

“You’re asking that as my shrink, right? Not just because you’re nosy.”

“Of course,” she said, suspiciously wide-eyed. Still, she was the best person to talk to about this.

“Here’s how I see it,” Ryan said. “Last year, I dated a lot of women.”

“All those prerace kisses I saw.”

“Yeah. As you know, I had a so-so season. My father said I was fooling around too much, I had to cool it with the girls.”

“So this season…” Kelly prompted.

“This season, I haven’t dated anyone at all.” He hadn’t actually missed the stream of women, either. “But all that extra focus hasn’t helped my racing. If anything, it’s been worse.”

“Maybe you needed to lighten up,” Kelly said.

Exactly the conclusion he’d come to. “I think it’s about
balance,” he agreed. “Not so many women that there’s no consistency in my life, but nothing so serious that it takes me away from my racing.”

Kelly frowned. “I get the not-so-many-women aspect, but where did the nothing serious idea come from? You haven’t actually tried a serious relationship, have you?”

“Not my kind of thing,” he said. He’d never had a relationship he could call serious, couldn’t see himself wanting one in the near future. “But if I could have a—a semirelationship with Amber, it might be what my racing needs.”

“A semirelationship,” Kelly said bemused.

“Uh-huh.” He’d been thinking about this nonstop. Now that he’d said it, he knew he was right.

“You could give it a try, I suppose,” Kelly said. “If you’re sure you don’t want to go the whole way and get serious.”

“Amber’s not exactly an easy person, and I get enough relationship pressure and expectations from my family.” He’d told her some of those problems before.

“Did you think about tackling those family pressures, rather than pinning your hopes on a semigirlfriend?” Kelly never shied away from the difficult questions.

“I can’t change my folks,” Ryan said. “I can’t turn them around this far into the season. The girlfriend side is easier to manage, as long as I keep it light, like you said.”

“Is that what I said?” Kelly’s smile was a mix of amusement and sympathy. Then she sobered. “It’s your decision, Ryan, whether you tackle the underlying problem of your family’s expectations, or whether you seek to minimize that pressure by finding relaxation elsewhere. But if you decide you want to get closer to Amber, can I suggest you find a different way of thinking about it? And certainly of phrasing it.
Semirelationship
isn’t a term most women appreciate.”

He grinned, relieved that he effectively had her endorsement of his strategy. “Give me credit, Kelly. Amber’s made it crystal clear she doesn’t want to get serious with anyone in
racing, but I know she enjoys seeing me. A casual fling is the perfect solution for both of us.”

Z
ACK SHOOK HANDS WITH
yet another Getaway Resorts executive and counted the minutes until he could get out of the sponsor suite and down to his car. The action was always intense at the Bristol track. He needed to focus well ahead of the race.

Instead, not only was he pressing the flesh, his least favorite part of the job, but he was also constantly aware of Gaby, who was working the room. Since they’d agreed they were on hold until after Richmond, they’d kept their contact to the professional minimum. When he’d first met her, he’d have been thrilled at that. But now such distance only made Zack feel tense and frustrated, and he was barely hanging on to the techniques she’d taught him for bridging the gap with his family.

Zack headed to the bar for a glass of water, to keep up his prerace hydration. How could he feel he had Gaby’s full support for his racing if they were barely talking? And what if they got to Richmond and she decided she didn’t want to risk any kind of relationship? He gulped half a glass of water, then handed it back for a top-off. He needed to stop thinking about her until they were
off
hold.

“You look as if you just got a flat tire on the last lap.” Brady came up behind Zack and thumped his shoulder lightly. He ordered a beer from the bartender along with a glass of wine, which he handed to Julie-Anne. He raised his glass to Zack. “Cheer up, son, you might even win.”

Zack almost made a sarcastic retort. Then he remembered his charm school lessons and forced a grin that was meant to look easy. Somehow, it worked, took the edge off his irritation. Gaby sure knew what she was talking about when it came to changing his responses to his family.

Not thinking about her.

“The sponsor seems happy,” Zack said to Julie-Anne, who
helped run the suite on race days. He was fond of his stepmother; she was crazy about Brady, and she’d always had a sympathetic spot for Zack, which set her apart from the rest of the world. Except Gaby.

Still not thinking about her.

“Some of these guys haven’t been to a race before, so they’re pretty excited…easy to please.” Julie-Anne’s dark eyes roamed the room and alighted on her daughter. “I hope Amber’s okay. She’s not big on crowds.”

“She looks fine,” Zack said mechanically. Did that guy in the orange polo shirt just
touch
Gaby?

Definitely not thinking about her.

“I hope we’re done with her upsetting you,” Brady said gruffly to Julie-Anne.

“
Gaby
upsets you?” Zack asked his stepmother, incredulous. Then realized from the surprised silence that they were talking about Amber. “Sorry, I mean, uh…”

Brady clapped him on the back with surprising bonhomie. “Don’t worry, son, I can see you have some things on your mind.”

Brady was right, who was Zack trying to kid?

Thinking about her. All the time.

Z
ACK LINED UP FOR THE
race in sixth position, an excellent start, given he’d qualified early in the day on Thursday, when the track was still cold and the tires weren’t sticking so easily.

Trent was beside him on the grid, in fifth. Though Zack managed to give his brother a casual wave as they circled the track ahead of the race, their proximity was freaking him out.

Get over it.
Trent had as much right as him to this stretch of pavement. Now wasn’t the time for Zack to get caught up in sibling rivalry. What would Gaby say?

Zack let thoughts of her take over, calm him. The next time he sensed Trent looking at him, he raised his hand in their old “good luck” signal from karting days, a circle made from his
thumb and index finger. Evidently he had surprised Trent, because his brother fell back slightly, and in the scramble to hold his place in the lineup didn’t get to respond.

They approached the start line; up ahead, the green flag waved. Then there was no time to think about anything other than the surge of forty-three engines and the jostling for early advantage.

Right from the start, Zack’s car felt off. Even though it had performed well in qualifying, and after practice he’d told the guys the setup was perfect, it was too tight now. Which meant he risked driving straight into the wall on the corners. Zack cursed. Dave, his crew chief, spoke through his headset. “What’s up?”

“No traction, we’re too tight,” Zack said as he wrestled the steering wheel just to stay in his groove through Turn Two. Trent had pulled ahead almost right away, and now Danny Cruise shot past him. Zack cursed again.

“We’ll fix it when you pit,” Dave said calmly.

The reassurance helped Zack, but it didn’t do anything for the car. By the time he pitted on lap forty-nine, Zack had spoken to Chad over the headphones a couple of times, and he didn’t sound happy.

Which riled Zack—did Chad think he was having a party out there?

The pit crew sprang into action, and although the stop wasn’t short—fifteen point one seconds—the car felt a lot better afterward. When Zack relayed that to Dave, his crew chief gave a quiet harumph of relief. Then Chad came on the line and said, “Let’s hope you can catch up to Trent.”

“Thanks a lot,” Zack muttered. Then reminded himself anyone who’d paid for a scanner at the track gates—and anyone in the media—could hear him. He added a pointless “Feeling good now” for their benefit. Gaby ought to be proud of him.

Gaby. Now there was a far more pleasant thought. One he’d better keep under control, he realized, as his spotter
warned him Justin Murphy was coming up on his tail. Zack managed to block Murphy, and even pulled ahead a little. By the next pit stop, he’d regained a couple of places he’d lost. He wasn’t exactly setting the track on fire, but if he could improve steadily, he might have a decent finish.

He knew it was wrong, but Zack couldn’t help but take comfort from the fact Trent had fallen back, too. He was now sitting eighth, Zack eleventh. Plenty of time for both of them to move forward.

Zack soon moved up to tenth position by dint of an aggressive pass on Danny Cruise.

“Nice,” Dave said. Sometimes, Zack wished he had a more excitable crew chief. But Dave was great at putting the car together, and that’s what mattered.

Will Branch pulled on to the infield with smoke pouring from under his hood. Bad luck for Branch, good luck for Zack—it put him right on Trent’s tail. Zack spent a couple of laps observing Trent’s line. He noticed that his brother ran high each time he went into Turn Three. That was where Zack would pass him.

He began planning the move. “Gap,” he told Mac, his spotter, instructing him to keep an eye on Trent and any opportunities to get by him.

“Roger that,” Mac said. As spotter, he would also watch the cars coming up behind Zack, and would let him know if anything made the pass a bad idea.

Two laps later, Zack saw his chance. “Down,” Mac said, telling him to go low around the pole line.

The flooring of the gas, the twist of the steering wheel, the change in air pressure as he slid past Trent all merged in a blur of action. When it ended, Zack was in front of his brother.

“Tail.” A warning from Mac.

Dammit, Zack needed to keep his head in the game. No one got more fired up than Trent when someone passed him—he wasn’t about to sit around and let Zack put distance
between them. Zack checked his rearview mirror. Yep, Trent had moved up. Zack detected the faintest wobble in his brother’s line, which signaled his impatience, and his intent to retaliate with a pass of his own.

“Number 448 low,” Mac said.

Justin Murphy was trying to join the party. You never knew what Murphy would do next. Most of the time he was a responsible driver, but sometimes, it seemed some little devil took over and Justin pulled stunts that either won him the race or wiped out his rivals along with himself.

Zack managed to gain a few inches on Kent Grosso in front of him. Behind him, Trent hung on.

Then it happened.

Trent nudged Zack’s bumper in the classic bump-and-pass move popular at the shorter tracks. The contact shunted Zack’s car forward in the worst possible place for a too-tight car going into the turn.

Zack bit down on a curse and grappled to hold his line. The car scraped along the wall, producing a shower of friction sparks. Still, he hung on. Until another bump from Trent made it impossible.

Zack bounced off the wall and into his brother’s car, sending Trent sideways, but not hard enough to do serious damage to Trent’s car. The damage to Zack’s car was already done. There was no crowd-pleasing spin out of control. Just a shredded tire and a walk to the infield for an ignominious end to his race.

Zack stuck his arm out the window to tell everyone he was okay. The he slumped forward until his helmet met the steering wheel. He wasn’t okay. He’d just screwed up another race, thanks in large part to his brother, yet he knew damn well he’d be the one facing condemnation. The one person who might have sympathized was Gaby, but they were
on hold,
so he couldn’t expect more than professional kindness. Damn.