Winning It All (14 page)

Gentlemen, start your engines!

As the call echoed through the grandstands of the one-mile concrete oval, Bryan shook himself into his role at the moment—keeping his teams focused and on-target. All three had qualified in the top ten. They’d all practiced well. They were due for a win.

With the added stress of Lars and his antics, they could all use a boost.

The cars rolled off pit road under the bright sun to the cheers of thousands of fans. The crews behind the wall hovered, in a tense, anticipatory pattern, waiting for the moment when their every move and breath would help or hurt their teams. Cameras and reporters recorded every moment for the TV audience.

As the green flag flew, Cade, who’d qualified third, immediately jumped to the outside of the second-place car. He was even with the other car’s door by the time they rolled along the backstretch of lap one.

The crowd roared.

Bryan leaned back in his chair, though he wanted to jump from it.

By lap four, his brother was in the lead. He gave it up a few times—during one green-flag pit stop and a couple of cautions where a few people changed two tires—but each time he gathered his speed and sailed
past his competitors with a smoothness that spoke of his skill at the wheel and the entire team’s dedication to building a kick-butt race car.

Bryan wandered down pit road during the race, checking on the other GRI teams, encouraging their over-the-wall guys and consulting with the crew chiefs.

There was one point when Cade and Chance battled for third place. They drew up alongside each other, door-to-door several times. The crowd rose, as one, to its feet. The TV and radio commentators followed every move. The past tension between the families was discussed. The tangles over the last few years between these particular drivers were analyzed.

Even though his heart was hammering, Bryan listened, outwardly dispassionate for the cameras and spectators, as Cade’s spotter described the action through his headphones.

“Outside, outside. He’s on the door.” Long pause. “Outside. Rear.”

As Chance fell to Cade’s back quarter panel, his car wiggled. Obviously spooked, he tucked in behind Cade, and, over the next dozen laps, fell back several spots. On lap 221 he blew a tire, sending him to the back of the field after he’d pitted to fix the problem.

Later, when Cade’s car streaked down the front-stretch, heading toward the finish line first, nobody was surprised, though the friends, supporters and
team members in the No. 56 pit didn’t let go of their collective breaths until the checkered flag waved. Then, they exploded.

Laughter, high fives and leaps among men who normally wore an expression of intent focus was an interesting, amazing sight. Sam even embraced Bryan—briefly.

As a bonus, all the GRI teams finished well. Jogging with the rest of the No. 56 crew to Victory Lane, Bryan glanced at the scoring pylon, which showed Shawn finishing eighth and Lars ninth. He hoped Parker was already planning the victory party.

In Victory Lane, Cade scooted from the car, stood on the window frame and pumped his fists in the air among a spray of Go! and confetti. Isabel kissed her husband as he dropped to the ground, and the live media interviews commenced.

After a minute or two, he called Parker over, then Bryan. Backing away as his dad walked up, Bryan looked around for Darcy. She should be there. She was part of the team, too.

Almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, he saw her, standing off to the side, next to Parker and Rachel. He watched his brother-in-law lean over and gently kiss her cheek.

That guy is smooth.

Bryan used to think he could hold his own charming women, but Parker was in a whole other league. Darcy was clearly impressed. Should Bryan strive to
be more like Parker? Was that the key to taking their relationship to the next level?

She needs romance.

Smiling, he appreciated the interference of his conscience—for once. Okay, fine.

He’d managed the romantic and impulsive first-date invitation, hadn’t he? He’d remembered to bring flowers, to ask her which movies she preferred and to respect her opinions. He’d even been kind and generous to his troublesome young driver, for Darcy.

All he needed was to think of some romantic way to seduce her.

D
ARCY WRIGGLED THE CORK
from the champagne bottle with a satisfactory pop and a group cheer from her fellow passengers.

With the GRI company jet hovering comfortably at cruising altitude as they flew from Delaware back to North Carolina, she filled glasses and joined in the toasts. Bryan had told her that wins should always be celebrated, since you never knew when you’d get another one.

“How did you have time to order all this?” he asked her, standing at her side, obviously impressed by the elaborate seafood buffet, complete with breads, salads, slaws and the best North Atlantic crab, shrimp and lobster available.

Darcy grinned. “I ordered it Friday.”

“Friday? But how did you know…?”

“The Irish believe in God and country, leprechauns and fairies, kings and destiny. And, naturally, a really good party.” She sipped her champagne and immediately felt her head spin. She’d been too nervous to eat all afternoon and needed to hit the buffet soon. “Parker and I have been conspiring with the pilot for weeks to hide the champagne in case of a win. That, combined with access to such amazing seafood, seemed like destiny. We were prepared to celebrate finishing sixth, twentieth or even forty-third.”

Bryan squeezed her hand. “I prefer first.”

“I imagine you do. Parker brought home coolers full of seafood to host a party for everybody at GRI this week.” She glanced at Bryan, noting the flushed, happy expression on his face. “With presidential approval, of course.”

“You have it. Tomorrow’s good. I assume Parker has all the details under control.”

“Naturally.”

“And probably roped you into cooking everything, too.”

“He asked. I accepted. Frankly, with all those top-shelf ingredients, it’s a pretty easy job.”

“Even if it wasn’t, you’d do it for Parker, though, right?”

Looking up at him, she searched his gaze. “That’s an odd question.”

“He’s very charming and persuasive.”

“Sure.”

“Women like guys like him.”

“Much to Rachel’s annoyance, I’m sure they do. Why does that matter to—” Her eyes widened as a wild thought occurred to her. “You’re not…jealous?”

His eyes took on a familiar—though not so common lately—jaded expression. “No.”

“You don’t think I like Parker, do you? Romantically, I mean.”

“No.”

But there was something about Parker that bugged him. She would have loved to find out what, but Isabel shouted for a toast, and the opportunity to talk to Bryan alone didn’t occur until she was unlocking the door to her apartment. By then, she’d forgotten all about everything else since Bryan’s mouth covered hers as he steered her through the doorway.

“Great party,” he murmured against her lips.

“Thanks, I—”

But he distracted her again with another kiss, and her heart began the familiar accelerated beat that came with touching Bryan. Like a gas pedal beneath the foot of an impatient driver, it revved, straining against the limits she’d imposed.

“You need any help tomorrow…” he began, then paused to kiss her again. “You only have to ask.”

“Okay. I’d like—”

His arms tightened around her as he lifted her off her feet, and she was unable to finish again.

“Are we going to talk or not?”

“Not.” His lips trailed a path down her throat. “I have other things on my mind besides parties.”

She fought for breath. “We could talk about racing.”

“Not thinking about that, either.”

“Impossible.”

“Around you it’s difficult to keep my mind on work.”

Before she knew it, he’d maneuvered her to the sofa. And while they’d made out plenty of times on his motor home couch, she sensed a new urgency, a barely controlled power that had her pulse pounding in anticipation and panic.

At her request, they’d been careful to keep the physical part of their relationship easy and fun. Bryan had buried the intensity that was a vital part of his personality for months.

But that need was bubbling to the surface, like a volcano’s heat, forming cracks in the foundation of something that had seemed solid ground only moments before.

She laid her hands firmly on his chest. “Bryan, I—”

When he pulled back slightly, either because of her words or their urgent tone, she scooted away from him and stood. “I’m sorry. I—” Embarrassed, her heart pummeling her with excitement and her soul aching with guilt, she turned her back on him. “I…c-can’t.”

“Okay.”

Despite his undoubted efforts at staying calm, she heard the strained disappointment in his voice.

He was a smart, successful, incredibly attractive man. He could probably have any woman he wanted.

She closed her eyes and prayed he’d understand. Hugging her arms tightly around her waist, she cleared her throat and forced herself to face him. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s—”

He held up his hand. “I get it.” He leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees.

She crossed to him and knelt. “I haven’t…been with anybody since my husband died.”

He gave her a half smile. “I figured.”

“Will you give me more time?”

Gently, he slid his palm down her face, cupping her jaw. “Of course.”

Desire still glittered in his dark, smoky eyes, but tenderness lurked there, too. Still, how much longer could they go on this way? What if her panic attacks never went away? What if she couldn’t ever be intimate again?

“I should go,” he said, clasping her hand and bringing her up to stand beside him.

“Yeah,” she said lamely. “It’s late.”

She walked him to the door both reluctantly and eagerly. The moment she was alone, she knew she was going to fall apart. The signs were familiar by now.

Her body was burning with a feverlike heat. Her pulse raced. Her eyes burned. Her shoulders ached, as if a hundred-pound weight had suddenly settled on them.

What gave her the right to be so happy when Tom was gone? How could she take pleasure in another man when her husband could never touch her again? How could she have a warm bed when he had a cold grave?

It was wrong. Just plain wrong.

Blinking back the tears that threatened, she managed to face Bryan at the open door. “I’m s—”

“Kind, beautiful Darcy,” he said quietly, then pulled her close to kiss her temple. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

She closed her eyes, absorbing his comfort, even though guilt clung to her like fog.

He leaned back after a moment, kissed her quickly, then left.

She gripped the doorknob, forced herself to watch him walk down the hall toward the staircase. When the sob in her chest could no longer be contained, she shut the door, pressed her back into the wood, then sank to the floor and let the tears fall.

They tracked hotly down her face, dripping off her chin. She didn’t even bother to wipe the wetness away. With heaving breaths, she drew her knees to her chest and let the emptiness and hopelessness and injustice that she should continue to feel this way consume her.

Memories assaulted her.

The first time she’d met Tom—at an elementary school community appreciation day. She’d talked about the importance of nutrition; he’d spoken of fire
safety. She remembered the way his smile was always quick and bright, the caring and tenderness he had for kids, the softness of his kiss, the scent of his cologne.

All of that was gone, living only in her memories.

Was she now trying to replace him? Would Bryan slide smoothly into Tom’s place in her life? Or did her cold and broken heart even have room for anybody else?

Tom was supposed to have been by her side forever. Now that he wasn’t, couldn’t be, what was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to act? To feel?

Her sobs echoed around the apartment, though no one was there to hear her sorrow.

She wanted something—some
one
—steady in her life. Didn’t there have to be a point where the guilt eased, and she could truly move on? When she could think of Tom smiling down at her from heaven instead of imagining him brokenhearted that she was betraying the intimacies of their marriage vows?

And was there any possible way Bryan could deal with all this uncertainty and emotional chaos? He had his own past to overcome. She didn’t see how she could expect him to handle her issues, too.

He’s strong. So strong.

She slumped over on her side, her face pressed to the cool tiles in the foyer. The tears still rolled across her cheeks, but her breathing was coming in short, calmer hiccups of grief.

Maybe someday she wouldn’t have to pretend she
was handling everything so well when she really wasn’t. Maybe a time would come when the idea of sharing herself body and soul with another man wouldn’t send her into a crumbling panic.