Daytona International Speedway…
“Girl troubles?” Steele asks me knowingly, as he races past my trailer with his arm thrown around the shoulders of a giggling redhead.
Are redheads a thing now?
“No,” I snap, watching as he opens the door of his motorcoach parked across from mine and ushers her inside.
I’m leaning against the side of my trailer with a beer in one hand. I’m worn out from flying all night and then hanging out at the race track most of the day.
With the jittery way my mind keeps fixating on Summer not responding, I can tell I’m in no mood for sleep, either.
Checking my phone again, I call up my older brother, Henry.
“Uh, Johnny?” Henry’s sleepy voice comes on.
“Sorry, did I wake you? Are you already in bed? I can call back,” I say immediately.
It is almost midnight, after all.
“No, no,” he says, not indicating to what question he’s actually answering. “It’s good you called. It’s been a while.”
“I know,” I say, guilt washing through me immediately. “I’ve been busy with the races, and you’ve been busy I’m sure. I called your work a few times, but your receptionist told me that your schedule was jam-packed, so I thought it best not to push it.”
“She didn’t tell me you called,” Henry grumbles.
I can almost see his gray eyes focusing his irritation on an inanimate object nearby.
“She always thinks she knows what’s best for me,” he adds. “Including screening my damn phone calls.”
“Well, let’s be honest. I haven’t always been the best influence on you,” I remind him.
Last year for Henry’s birthday I’d gotten him so gloriously drunk that we’d run butt-naked right down the Las Vegas strip. A fact which the tabloids had taken great glee in reporting.
“Maybe not,” Henry admits. “But you’ve always been there for me.”
At the fierceness in his voice, the smile is wiped clean off my face. This, more than anything, is why I always feel drawn to call and check in on Henry more than is probably necessary. It was only four years ago that his girlfriend had passed away.
They’d been in love. To say the loss had broken him, would not have done it justice. No, her absence had plunged him into a long year of mindless partying and drug abuse.
It took several stints in rehab, and me finally kidnapping him and dragging him off to a cabin in the middle of nowhere to get him clean.
Even now I shudder to remember those weeks, when his sweating, hideously emaciated face had begged me to take him back to the city. He had threatened to wander off into the woods and never return. Thankfully for both of us, he hadn’t made good on his promise.
What use was a beautiful love story that could drive someone to such dangerous depths of misery?
“When you met Stella, how’d you know that she was the one?” I suddenly blurt out.
A sharp intake of breath from him.
Guilt jabs into me.
What the fuck’s my problem? Up until now, with a very few exceptions, Henry and I have employed a don’t-ask strategy about Stella.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m a dickhead for asking.”
“No, it’s fine,” his strained voice comes back. “I don’t know if I can tell you, really. If you had asked me back then, I’m not sure I could’ve told you that I knew one hundred percent that she was the one. All I knew was that I loved her, and I wanted to spend every minute I had with her. She made me a better person and I needed that desperately.”
His voice grows increasingly sorrowful as he speaks.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Hey, are you still watching my races?”
I try to change the subject. To get him talking about anything but the one thing that brought him unbearable pain.
“Oh yeah,” he says, and this time I can hear his smile over the line. “You know I never miss a single one. No matter what I’m doing, on Sunday afternoons, I’m in front of the television. I’m always cheering you on from my living room couch.”
“How about coming out to one of my races then? I can get you the best tickets.”
“Maybe soon, I will.”
“Why not next weekend?” I ask.
“I, uh, well…. I’m meeting my girlfriend’s parents.”
“Your what?” I exclaim.
He chuckles at my surprise.
“I hadn’t told you, because I’m not sure how serious we are yet,” Henry explains. “I mean it’s nothing like it was with… her. We’re taking it one step at a time.”
“You’re dating. That is a big step indeed. I’m thrilled for you, man. Even if it doesn’t work out this time, you’re putting yourself out there again.”
He laughs, then the muffled sound of another voice.
“Actually, that’s her now,” he tells me.
“You said you were sleeping,” I say.
“No, I didn’t say that. She was taking a bath.”
“Damn. I’m going to let you go. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“You sure?” he asks. “There’s nothing else you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Nah,” I say. “Just wanted to make sure that my big brother was doing alright.”
“I’m doing better,” he says. “See you soon. I’d wish you luck, but...”
“You know I don’t need it,” I cut in.
“Damn right, you don’t. Not with your talent.”
We’re laughing as I hang up. For a few seconds, I stare at the blank screen of my phone. I’d gotten what I’d wanted out of the call. To touch base with Henry, obviously. But also, to ask him about Stella for some reason.
I wanted to know if he knew deep down inside if she was the one. If there was a way to know for sure.
Remembering Summer, I check my phone again.
Nothing.
I’m not surprised.
Whatever the reason why she isn’t answering me, it doesn’t matter. She’ll be at the race track soon and I’ll see her there.
Whether she likes it or not.
***
I stare in disgust at the leather jacket. I’d finally decided to wear the damn logo racing jacket.
Instead of bright pink with black letters, Summer had agreed to flip the colors around to give me a black jacket with pink letters. The requisite cat logo stayed on the back of course.
Where I wouldn’t have to see it.
And hopefully, other people wouldn’t either.
Fat chance of that and I knew it.
Just as I slide up the zipper, there’s an explosion of knocks on my trailer’s door.
Outside, the guys are all ready to go to breakfast. They take me in with big wide smiles.
“You’re dating the boss lady,” Steele concludes when he sees the jacket. “She’s already dragging you around by the balls.”
“No,” I say, shoving my way past them, in the direction of the catered breakfast set up for us. “We’re in a contract, that’s all. You should be wearing one too, Steele. A deal is a deal.”
“Thanks, but I’m good,” Steele says, following behind. “I’ve still got my balls, and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Whatever,” I say, without turning. “I’ll see your balls on the race track then. Then we’ll see who has a bigger set.”
As I heave steaming hot scrambled eggs and stack of waffles into my mouth, I’m seething.
Screw Steele and the others.
I admit it would’ve been nice to have a bedtime companion of my own, like old times.
How long has it been since I’ve fucked an actual warm-blooded woman, other than Summer?
Too long to remember.
I finish breakfast quickly, then hurry to the limo they have waiting for me and the boys to take us to the race track.
On the morning of a race, they don’t trust us to get there ourselves. We have a mandatory meeting of crew chiefs and drivers to attend. Years ago, I showed up late for one and swore never to make the same mistake again.
The penalty was to start the race at the rear of the pack of cars. I was never able to make up for being put at that disadvantage so now I’m always early for the mandatory meetings.
Once I’m at the racetrack, the time goes by in a blur.
Between the meeting, the last-minute checks of my car and going pee ten times because I can’t go during the race, I barely have time to breathe.
I’m hoping Summer will show up in time to wish me good luck for the race although I can’t say I’m surprised when she doesn’t.
During the long and exhausting race, I feel off my game. At the finish line, Steele rips ahead and beats me by only a car hood. We’re on the same racing team, so it’s the next best thing to winning.
After climbing out of my car, I give him a congratulatory hand shake, before looking for the only other thing that matters.
Summer.
She’s standing several yards away in close-fitting white pants and a scoop-neck green top that matches her eyes.
I stride up to her.
“You finally made it! Did you see how I edged into second place in the final lap? Steele needs to win occasionally too to build his confidence. Or at least that’s what I always tell him. He’s a damn good driver.”
She nods, smiling tensely.
“You’re both very impressive,” she says.
I lean over to whisper in her ear.
“Impressive enough for another date?”
For a second, Summer’s eyes look happy, then they lower, and she looks away. She shakes her head.
“After the last time…”
“It’s fine,” I say, backing off. “No problem. Have a good rest of today. I’ll catch up with you later.”
I walk off, not in the best of moods to hear her excuses. Especially since I already have plans for us tonight.
Right now, I have a bit of a trump card. A trump card by the name of Lauren. She’s a married hostess at the ritzy restaurant that’s hosting the race after-party tonight.
I signed an autograph for her a few years back, and she’s adored me ever since. A few hours ago, she did me a huge favor and checked the list of names on the guest list, one of which is none other than Summer Stanley.
Looks like we’re going to be seeing each other tonight, after all.