by Eden Connor
I jerked my right thumb over my shoulder. “Get my damn phone. I need my new bitch to have a little chat with Caine Hannah about the consequences of copyright infringement.”
Harry hesitated. “Gotta change pants anyhow.” He stomped inside.
Phillip pinched his shirt at his waist, and tugged the fabric taut, striding closer. “Chill out, sweetheart. Look. Left side, at the bottom, by the little copyright symbol? Can you read that?”
I squinted. © Shelby Roberts. I grabbed the hem, stretching the shirt. The air in my lungs crystallized when I spied the small logo that I hadn’t drawn.
They’d gotten my design licensed through NASCAR.
No. Not they. Dale did this.
For me. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up, but I have a NASCAR-licensed design in my portfolio.
Phillip balled his hands into fists. Thumping the image of Colt and his race car, he bellowed. “New year, new driver. Fuck Kolby Barnes. I’m pulling for Colt Hannah in the thirty-three car. I went back and watched some of his races on You Tube. Hot as hell and oh, Lord, can the man drive.” He flopped into his chair.
Harry slammed the patio door. Slapping my phone into my outstretched hand, he grinned in Phillip’s direction. “Finally found a reason to like NASCAR. Makes my dick hard just lookin’ at Colt.”
“Woman, you gotta tell me what it was like drivin’ that engine,” Phillip demanded. “I nearly pissed my pants when I heard his daugh—er, Marley Taggert—tell Hancock what was under that damn ‘Cuda’s hood. A real NASCAR engine. Damn, that’s like, my dream come true. I’m so fucking jealous.”
“Can’t remember the race, just the wreck,” I muttered. If only that were true. I remembered every detail of my visit. My heart ached more than my head, and at the same time, I’d been an idiot for believing a word out of my stepbrothers’ mouths. Colt and Caine loved the internal combustion engine and Dale. End of list. I’d been stupid to think otherwise for even a minute.
The ache in my chest had to be from the wreck.
A shower of sparks in my peripheral vision made me lift my head. The cardboard figure collapsed. Kolby’s venomous brown orbs defied the fire, staring back at me until the paper floated into the bottom of the pit and out of sight.
My head kicked like a mule. The blaring siren of the rescue squad vehicle clanged inside my skull. My sightless eyes fixed on huge puddles of rainbow-tinted gasoline—gasoline that’d been beaded on the rubber-streaked surface of the fairgrounds dragstrip.
I blinked away the memory. “Where’d you get that shirt? Where?”
“Look up Hannah-Built engines,” Harry stated. “I didn’t like the ones on the official NASCAR site, but then I found that one. Bought myself one, too. Because, hello? Sorry, Shelby, but your brother’s mouth is definitely fuckable.”
Horrified, I stared at Harry. The expression on Dale’s face that awful morning in the office hit me like a fist. It took a minute before my fear relented enough for me to realize I was overreacting. They were guys who liked guys, just being guys.
And they were shit-faced drunk. They’d had to hold their celebration over until New Year’s night, thanks to Harry’s job. Nobody knows Colt’s bisexual. I relaxed against the lounger.
And, it’s not my problem if they find out.
Dropping my eyes to the phone again, I found the website and let their banter roll over my head while I studied the pages. Caine was listed as webmaster. No offense, brother, but you have the creative ability of a cricket. I scowled. The red and black color scheme looked like every other damn racing website in the world.
“... looked up to see your ass kissing Gretchen Wilson.”
I glanced up in astonishment, turning wide eyes on Phillip. “Harry kissed a girl?”
“So, what?” Harry growled. “It was Gretchen fucking Wilson. She’s hot.”
“See?” Phillip hurled his empty beer can at the fire pit. “Boobs are not the root of all evil.”
“I never said boobs were the root of all evil.” Harry snorted. “I said vaginas were.”
Harry had a point. My vagina seemed to be the root of all my troubles, for sure.
I scanned the recap of Dale’s career on the landing page. I hadn’t realized he’d raced in the Busch series—what was now the Xfinity series—before he moved up to what was then the Winston Cup series, but I supposed that made sense. Nobody started at the top, right?
Page two featured shirts, caps, cups, beer cozies, and bumper stickers. The design Phillip wore wasn’t the only one offered. To my astonishment, items featuring the poster I’d made for Caine for Christmas and that damn image I’d drawn to go on the ‘Cuda—the feathers that had my name hidden in them—were for sale, too.
Page three offered something that made me shove upright. I gritted my teeth, more from the annoying font chosen than the pain shafting my head. In hideous, circus-style lettering, reminiscent of the Ridenhour logo, the header blared: Detroit-inspired and Hannah-built for that touch of Carolina cool. Own an engine designed to turn your ride into a racecar. A race-worthy engine so smooth, even your sister can drive it. (Well, our sister can, anyway.) So powerful, you can beat the pros with it. (Well, our sister did, anyway.)
I didn’t bother to play the You Tube video. I knew without looking, Caine had posted the one I’d uploaded, the footage from the ‘Cuda’s dash cam.
So, the drag race had been a publicity stunt.
The last page was a generic ‘about us’ with a contact form. I eyed the list of officers. Dale Hannah, CEO, Chief Engineer.
Shelby Roberts-Hannah, COO, Test Driver.
What?
I gripped the beer bottle. “Phillip, what does COO mean?”
“It’s the sound Harry makes when he opens his eyes and sees me.” Phillip stretched to give Harry a kiss.
“Phillip, focus. The acronym, not the word, dammit.”
“Oh.” He settled into his lounger again. “If you’re talking business lingo, it stands for Chief Operations Officer. Second in command. Reports to the CEO.”
Shelby Roberts-Hannah, Chief Operations Officer?
Caine Hannah, CFO, Engineer.
Colt Hannah, Engineer, Test Driver.
Jonny Jet Hyunh, Engineer, Test Driver.
My heart stopped. Dale had given me a share of their project. An equal share, from all appearances.
And I spit in his face.
But I had no choice.
I tried to imagine working side by side with my stepbrothers, without indulging in our sexual hijinks, and failed. If I did as Dale seemed to want, I’d live in perpetual hell with my mother.
And so would he.
The path I’d chosen was the only path. Colt would be with Jonny, and Caine with Caroline. I’d either get the Audi, the Passat, or nothing. How was I any worse off than I had been ten days ago? It wasn’t like I could drive until my cast came off.
Except... nah. Dumbass, it was all about the drag race. Caine just wanted to be sure I didn’t back out of the race.
I always know where I stand with Robert. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I need to get my shit together. Should’ve bought a vibrator, not a strap-on. They eat batteries but they never lie.
***
Four days later, Harry set my suitcases on the dorm elevator. “Sure you don’t need me to go up with you and tote them to your room?”
“They have wheels.” I kissed his cheek.
“But there’s two of ‘em.” Harry scowled at my cast.
“I’m a big girl. I’ll figure something out.”
His gaze slid from my face to a spot over my left shoulder. “Listen, Shelby. I’m gonna have to hire someone to replace you.”
Till I get back. My heart...damn, it had been through too much in the last ten or eleven days. “I know.” I backed into the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor. “See ya.” What kind of idiot worried about losing a service job?
I’d lost too much already. The problem was, I had no idea whether what I�
�d lost had been real, or just more head games.
Duh! Am I really having this thought? They used me. Again. I got played. Too bad, so sad. Except, one thing is clear. Either way, Dale believed in me. Which is a hell of a lot more than can be said for my mother.
Becca Pattinson spun from her closet when I shoved the door open. I’d never realized how much the South Georgia native resembled a Cocker spaniel. Something about the narrow line of her jaw, the gleaming hair that was the exact shade of the breed, and her dark brown eyes.
Or, it might be the Demerol talking.
“Hey, Shelby! How wa—oh, my God, what happened?”
“That story can wait. Gotta order something real fast and I need your help. And your tablet.” I plopped down on her bed, prepared to hear about her Christmas—her family had taken a cruise down the fucking Nile River—as soon as I was done.
I found the website on her Surface Pro and shoved it into her hands so I could dial the phone. “Find the biggest, fluffiest one they sell.”
By the time I’d gotten the right party on the line, Becca pointed out her choice.
“But all the fabric choices are hideous,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose.
I grinned at the interior design major and covered the mic on the phone. “I’m having it recovered.”
The store’s interior designer came back on the line. “You absolutely guarantee this can be delivered the first week in February?” If Dale was to get any use out of my gift, it had to arrive at least a week before the season started, or I might as well wait to buy it until the end of October. “And that plaid fabric? You’ve verified that it’s in stock, too? The labor’s not going to be a problem? I don’t mind paying a rush charge, but if it’s even one day late, I don’t need it, so be sure before you run my card.”
Once I disconnected, I relaxed on Becca’s teddy bear collection. “So, how was Egypt?”
She peeled the hated sling back from my fingers, then fixed me with a glare. “Egypt can wait. What the hell’s going on? I spent days sneaking around to help Robert pick out your ring. Didn’t he propose for Christmas?”
I’d aged a lifetime since Becca and I parted for the break. I flexed my fingers, but the motion did nothing to relieve the ache building in my neck and shoulder.
“He did propose. Then we broke up. We got back together, but—hey, guess what? I got a new car.”
Becca sank onto the edge of the bed, looking like she wanted to take my temperature. With a baseball bat. “What kind of car?”
“Audi R8.” I expected the model to go completely over her head. I doubted we’d spend much time together once we graduated, but in many ways, Becca reminded me of Caroline. Too damn soft-shelled for the mean girls here.
Instead, she straightened. The excitement blazing in her eyes shocked me. Becca was so not a car person. “That’s the Fifty Shades of Grey car!”
“What? No, it’s all black.” I couldn’t resist teasing her. “Even the chrome is black.”
She leaned back and drew her lush brows together. “Shelby, what world do you live in?”
I’d never viewed Becca as perceptive, but even a blind dog found the occasional bone. No matter whether I was here or home, I always felt like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone.
Right. Because who wouldn’t miss being the gang whore?
I shoved upright. “I left a suitcase outside the elevator. Once I fetch that, I think I’m gonna need a nap.”
When I returned with the case, she held out her hand. “I’m going to check my mail. Give me your keys.”
“It’ll just be junk. I never get mail.” I held out my purse. She snagged my key ring, staring for a moment.
“Oh, the car keys are missing.” Looking up, she grinned. “I guess you traded it in on the new car. You’re the only person I know who had two keys to their car.”
I blinked. Not only were the keys to the ‘Cuda gone, but so was my key to Dale’s—No, it’s Caine and Colt’s house now.
“Something like that.” I towed the suitcase into my half of the suite.
I didn’t bother to unpack. I choked the pill down with a bottle of water I found in the small refrigerator and curled onto the bed.
Phones blaring a variety of song snippets, cries of greeting, hair dryers, hurried steps on the wooden floor in the hall—the familiar sounds summoned an ache that wasn’t in my head.
What did I have left? A new bedroom in a house I’d only visit sporadically, one that Becca would love and I hated. A job I couldn’t take with my stepfather’s company. A car I’d won and, if I was honest, didn’t want. A knot on the back of my head and a matching one in my heart.
For a bet. Half a bet, actually, since Kolby reneged on the money.
The door flew open just as my eyes drifted closed.
“Ha! You did get mail.” Becca sailed a business-length envelope onto my leg.
I squinted at the return address. Hannah-Built Performance Engineering. Arlee Circle, Concord, N.C.
“Want help opening it?”
I nodded, heart jammed in my throat. She slid a finger underneath the flap, eyes roaming my walls.
“Hey. Why didn’t you give your Mom that magnolia spray you painted?”
“It sucks, that’s why. C’mon, c’mon. My head hurts, Bec.”
“It doesn’t suck. You need to sign it and give it to her. Here.” She slid a piece of plain white paper out of the envelope. Something slid from the end of the folded page.
Becca muttered, “Phooey,” and squatted to fish it from under my bed.
Her lush brows rose. She peered over the edge of the mattress, waving the flimsy rectangle.
“Wow. Who in the world sent you five thousand two-hundred and fifty bucks?”
“What?” I unfolded the page as fast as I could.
Sold the Camaro. Here’s your money for the graphics.
He didn’t even sign it.
Really, things hadn’t changed at all. I was exactly where I’d fought, worked, scrimped, and saved to be—away from my so-called family.
So, that pain in my chest could kiss my ass.
Chapter Three
“Nein. Nein.” The cafeteria manager clucked, taking the stainless spoon from my hand. “You should’ve asked the work-study coordinator to let you shelve books in the library till that cast comes off. Dr. Jamison called. Take her a fresh carafe of coffee. I will do this.”
I wanted to argue that I could handle the simple task. Hetty’s German accent made even casual observations sound like fussing, but her scowl told me my supervisor was out of patience with my limited range of motion.
Besides, I was always up for a brief visit with the college president. “Sure.”
“Two cups and saucers.” Hetty smiled, taking the sting out of my failure. “She has a visitor.”
I managed to load the tray. Sliding one end onto my cast, I made the short trek through the dining hall to the main building.
I stopped dead, staring at the huge man seated in one of the dainty wing chairs in the reception hall. Dale Hannah wrung his baseball cap like his permanent accessory had offended him somehow.
“Mr. Hannah? So nice to finally meet you.” Dr. Jamison, elegant in her linen suit, stepped out of the hallway leading to her office suite. Dale jumped to his feet.
It was nearly noon. Students crowded the stairway to my left, tromping up the stairs toward Pell Hall, a rambling dormitory building that adjoined the main building. Others galloped down the stairs and made the turn, heading for the dining room. Taking advantage of the general mayhem, I edged behind a potted fichus tree.
“Thanks for makin’ time.” Dale’s deep voice carried over the higher-pitched tones of the female population. A few slowed to gawk, forcing me to lean in order to keep him in sight. He stuffed the hat into the back pocket of his jeans. “I know what it’s like to be busier than a one-armed paperhanger in a mansion full of empty rooms. This won’t take long, I promise.”
“Not a problem. Wo
uld you like to step into my office? I just sent down for a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Thank you kindly, but like I said when I asked you to work me in, this won’t take long. I just come to say one thing.”
They made the trip down the short hallway. I waited until they turned into the outer office, then followed. Dr. Jamison’s receptionist wasn’t at her desk. I eased the tray onto the secretary’s desk, unsure whether to knock. Dr. Jamison left her door ajar, but not enough to let me see them. I froze when Dale spoke again.
“You see, ma’am, I built my mansion for me an’ my boys, but the dang place always felt half empty. I wanted a little girl who’d be just as beautiful as her mama, but that never happened for me, until I met Shelby’s mama. I was pleased, to be honest, that Shelby was almost grown. Meant I got to skip the birds and bees talk, ‘cause, ain’t no doubt, I’d have mucked that up.”
Dr. Jamison’s giggle made me think, even though the administrator had to be past fifty, she wasn’t immune to Dale’s looks.
“And I’d a bought that kid the moon to put a smile in those big green eyes, but she woulda surely thought me a miser when it come time to buy her first bra.”
Dale was working his good ol’ southern boy charm for all it was worth. But, why?
The president laughed out loud. “I never married myself, but I have it on good authority that you aren’t the first father to feel that way, Mr. Hannah.”
Dale’s sigh carried to the spot where I stood. “Ma’am, I know I gotta be the only man in the world whose biggest problem with his stepdaughter was that she run away to college, but I gotta be honest. I weren’t too happy to find she’d washed up on your doorstep.”
“Oh?”
“Nope. See, I checked this place out, after we found out where she’d run to. I thought you’d make her into a cardboard cut-out to prop up beside some wealthy husband. In my business, we call that a trailer queen. Just for show.”
“I believe the term you want is arm candy.” I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing aloud at Dr. Jamison’s tart tone. “We do a good deal more than that, Mr. Hannah.” I didn’t need to see her face to know my mentor’s eyes flashed with anger.
