Turn & Burn (33 page)

“Handsome devil.” Mom’s tight smile told me she wasn’t happy I hadn’t done the magnolia spray she’d requested for their bedroom.

“And this one was made his first year as a pit crew boss.”

In both images, Dale gave the camera a thumbs up and wore that little grin I loved so much. “These small pencil sketches in the background are from Ridenhour’s championship years. Each one was done from a photo taken in the winner’s circle.”

Colt and Caine both shoved off the couch to study the picture. “Hey, that’s me!” Colt pointed to a tiny figure. “And that’s you, Caine.” I’d used photos taken when the brothers were toddlers, adding them to other images, in amusing poses, standing by Dale’s leg while he peered underneath a hood, or crawling under a jacked up vehicle. In my favorite, Caine peered above a stack of tires.

“Redneck playpen?” I couldn’t resist teasing Dale.

“Worked like a charm on Caine.” Dale grinned. “Handed him a wrench and he was content. But Colt? I had to watch out that he didn’t trade a full set of rubber for ice cream and bubble gum down on the corner.” I refused to look at Caine to see his reaction, but felt his stare.

“Lots of hidden images,” Francine offered. “I see a new one every time I look at it, and I pretty much watched her draw it.”

The skin around Mom’s eyes tightened, but she held her smile. “It’s lovely.”

Dale was still searching for tiny Colts and Caines when the pair opened their gifts from me. Theirs were posters, two-color projects I’d made for my introductory printmaking class. Colt’s pose, seated behind the wheel of the GT500, looked so much like Dale as an eighteen-year old driver, even Mom saw the resemblance. And Caine’s echoed the one of Dale peering from under a raised hood, as pit crew boss.

“You hate me, but you drew this, huh?” Colt whispered, leaning to kiss my cheek. “Merry Christmas, Shelby. I love you.”

Mom jumped to her feet, snatching gift wrap off the floor. When the trash had been policed, she jerked her chin toward the kitchen. “Help me get dinner started, Shelby.”

In the kitchen, she slammed the cabinet door open. “Why didn’t I rate the painting I asked for?”

“Mom, I don’t draw flowers. They just aren’t my thing. You can buy a magnolia spray in any furniture store.”

“You sure drew flowers when you were a little girl. The refrigerator door was always covered in them.”

“Take another look.” I snagged a casserole dish out of one of the new cabinet. “I’m not a little girl anymore.

“A woman wouldn’t play the games you’re playing just to hurt me.”

Good thing Santa had come and gone. He might’ve taken her sterling candlesticks back for that lie.

T
he morning of the race, I reached the kitchen door and spun, pacing the length of the den. Stopping just shy of the hallway, I turned again. Halfway across the den, my cell phone rang. I snatched it off the end table with a grin.

“Dale?”

“Did I wake you, sweetheart?”

“No. I’ve been up since dawn. Almost worn a path in the den carpet.”

“Oh, so you’re a pacer like my man Jamie? Never knew that. Man drives me nuts. He must walk fifty miles before the race even starts. Wears my ass out just lookin’ at him. How about breakfast, hon?”

The soft roar of an engine seemed to come through the phone and from outside all at once. I dashed to the kitchen door. Peering out, I watched his black truck swoop down the drive. “You cooking?”

He laughed. “Even the boys won’t eat my cookin’, unless it comes off the grill. I’m buyin’.”

“Give me ten minutes. I need to run through the shower.”

“I’ll be in the garage, in the office.”

I disconnected, shaking my head. I’d always thought the Christmas cruises from Ridenhour were perks to reward the employees for a winning season, but now, it seemed like the wives were the real recipients—or at least, Mom was. No cars onboard a cruise ship. Poor Dale must throw himself at the closest taxi driver as soon as they hit port.

Laughing at the image in my mind, I grabbed a towel and tossed it over the shower door, wondering if Dale would tell me about the plan to start his own race team with the money, if I won. Should I tell him about Bliss? Mention Mom’s scheme to stick me with the Passat?

I couldn’t forget to ask about the ‘Cuda, why sales were so low if the car was so coveted.

I wet my hair and grabbed the shampoo. Surely, he must get interviewed from time to time. Would he do a video for me, explaining why sales had been so—

Video
.

The bottle slipped from my hand, clattering against the fiberglass at my feet.

Dale would want to see the video of my race with Colt. And I’d left the Mac on the desk in the office. Why had I never thought it necessary to password protect my computer?

Jerking the door open, I wrenched the faucets off and snatched the towel. I had to get to the garage before Dale looked at the race footage. If he’d gotten me the same style dash cam NASCAR used, he’d be familiar with the way the software cut up the footage. If he kept looking through the files based on date.... I didn’t want to know what he might do if he saw the clip of me fucking Colt. And for fuck’s sake, Gerald was on there as well.

Maybe I could distract him with a call, but what in the hell would I ask? Dashing to the den, I grabbed the phone. “Can you check the ‘Cuda’s exhaust? I felt a little woozy the other night after I raced Colt. Could there be a leak?”

“Will do.”

I wanted to add, “Right now?” but didn’t think that was wise, so I dressed as fast as I could, then raced down the basement stairs. Peering through the glass, I saw that the walk-through door stood ajar. Heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe, I raced through the carport and across the pavement.

Praying I hadn’t arrived too late, I yanked the door open. He looked up from the desk. He gripped the mouse so hard, his knuckles glowed white.

The mouse that went with the desktop system.

I nearly went weak with relief. I darted a glance to the corner of the desk. The laptop lid was closed and the compact device still sat on the corner of the desk where Caine had left it.

He lifted his eyes to mine. My gut clenched at his shell-shocked expression. “Pretty sure I picked the wrong file.”

“Dale—”

He held up a hand. “I don’t think me and you can discuss this, Shelby.” He shoved to his feet. The chair flew backward. I winced when the back slammed into the wall. The set to his jaw confirmed my worst fears. “Where is that motherfucker?”

I swallowed. “Colt?”

“Jonny,” he spat. “He’s gotta go. Right now.”

Oh, shit. Had he found the memory card I’d left in the Camaro?

I thought about reminding Dale this wasn’t his house anymore, but the flash of his eyes made me think the better of that.

I couldn’t decide whether to approach the desk, so I hovered in the doorway. “Dale, please, don’t do this. He’s your son. He loves you. You’ve been their world, their rock, all their lives. Your disapproval is gonna kill him.”

His face. Oh, God, his face
. My heart wrenched at the pain in his voice.

“Seems fair, since he’s killin’ me. I figured he broke your heart, Shelby. I just thought he used another gal to do it. What your Spartanburg friends do ain’t none of my affair, but this is my son we’re talkin’ about.” The desk chair slammed against the wall when he jumped to his feet. He strode toward me. I grabbed the doorknob and threw my body against the door, locking us into the office.

“What will you do, Dale? How will you make your son not be bisexual? Will you pray it away? Beat it out of him? Shut him out of your life till he comes to his senses and give up his foolish hobby?”

He glared down at me, jaw working like he had a mouthful of nails. “Shelby, I need you to step aside.”

“No. I won’t.” Blinking back tears, I focused on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I reckon y’all did what I asked and settled your differences, but you can’t protect him. Not from this.”

“I’m not trying to protect him. I’m protecting you. Can’t you see that? I can’t let the only man I’ve ever loved mess up this bad. Don’t do this, Dale. Don’t break my heart. Look back. For one minute, set your eyes on the rearview mirror and take a good look at the wreckage behind you. Think real hard on what happens when someone gets shamed and judged for having sex, or babies out wedlock. And then, you tell me how this is gonna be different.”

He opened his mouth, but I couldn’t stop now. “Can’t you see that every time someone lifts a finger to wag it in our faces, it creates a little wind? And that puff of wind finds the next wagging finger and joins with the wind blowin’ off of it, until it makes a storm. So, Jill kills herself and Robyn takes the slow route, through the bottle. And those fingers just keep on wagging until some gay teenager hangs himself because he can’t fight the fucking tornado of hatred whirling around his head, and that ill wind keeps blowing, until over in Kenya, some man lifts a knife and cuts out a young girl’s clitoris? It’s all connected, Dale.”

He refused to meet my eyes, but averting his face didn’t hide the gleam around his lower lids.

“You don’t understand, honey. I’m gonna love Colt no matter what. But, read the forums sometimes, where the drivers and hardcore fans chat. They’ll kill him.” The gravel in his voice scraped a raw wound on my heart. “They’ll put him into the wall again and again until they kill him.”

He finally jerked his gaze to mine. “Never could figure out why he just wanted to fool around at the dragstrip at night and drive that goddamn forklift durin’ the day, instead of gettin’ serious. So, I got him a ride with a NASCAR team once before. I called him a coward when he quit. We had a big blowout and I said he wasn’t much of a man.”

He drove the toe of his boot into the set of metal shelves beside me. I jerked from the violent motion. The trophies rocked. One tumbled to the floor. Bits of gold plastic pelted my leg. I had to listen hard to understand his tumbled words.

“That was right before me and Macy got hitched. He’s out to prove me wrong. I know he is, because he went to Richard behind my back this time, askin’ for a ride. He ain’t gonna back down, and neither will drivers like Kolby Barnes. It won’t matter that Colt and Kolby should end up teammates. ‘Cause Kasey Barnes is out on that track, too. And, just like my boys, one brother won’t hesitate to do the other’s dirty work.”

A hard fist of comprehension slammed into my chest, stopping my heart.

Oh, God. Colt. Then I showed up, and despite my absolute ignorance, somehow, I beat Rowdy. And Dale found out I could drive.

And then, Brandon threatened to tell me about you and him.

Every little thing made sense now.

I swiped my sleeve across my cheeks. “Then Colt’s brother will build a better roll cage. And his father will build a faster car, so he doesn’t get caught in the pack.”

He stared for a long time before he nodded, but his chin had a suspicious wobble.

I ached for him to hug me, but if I knew Dale, he’d die before he let me see him cry like a little bitch, so I stepped aside.

“Three o’clock,” he croaked, lurching past me. “See you then.”

“Oh, we’ll be there. You race one Hannah, you’re racin’ us all.”

He didn’t look back, but he threw up a hand to show he heard me.

I
rushed to the desk and scanned the folders on the shop system’s monitor. I found three that I thought could be from the dash cam software. Two were dated yesterday, one the day before. A quick look at the times told me these were from Rowdy’s dash cam. How in the hell had those files gotten on the shop’s system?

I leaned over the desk, looking for the system tower. Where the hell was the memory card?

I jerked upright, gaping at the figure in the doorway. “Caine! Why? He’s your brother. You can’t out somebody. That’s not cool.”

He lurched forward, slamming his hand over mine atop the mouse.

“Shelby, what you said to Dad?” He lifted that thick fringe of lashes, turning both barrels of those deep blue eyes on me. “That was powerful. More powerful than you know.”

I shook my head so hard, my hair obscured my vision. “No. No! You can’t just keep taking people’s most intimate moments, goddammit! This is wrong!”