by Eden Connor
Using Dale’s name as a hashtag, I was surprised to see how many mentions the incident had had. I located a couple of photos posted by local sports reporters. Fans at Sammy Owens Trauma Center hold prayer vigil for Ridenhour crew chief Dale Hannah, one caption read. Another said, live press conference by NASCAR now planned for 10 p.m. outside the hospital where Dale Hannah, Ridenhour crew chief, lies in ICU.
I started a list, adding every Twitter account that’d asked permission to repost the images. Fans would simply share, but reporters and sports bloggers asked permission to repost.
“So, I guess you’re goin’ to work?” Caine pushed to a sitting position.
“Uh huh.” My pulse raced when my ‘Cuda Confessions account received a tweet from an ESPN reporter who covered NASCAR. Will Dale’s family speak at the press conference?
The question made me think the press was concerned they wouldn’t get the whole story from George. Was there any way to avoid putting any blame at Rick’s feet? I saw Caine’s point about him and Colt needing their jobs, and at the same time, I had to agree with Mom. I couldn’t bear to think they’d have to do those jobs at Kolby’s side.
I hesitated with my thumbs over the keyboard. Think! Think! Pushing the blinds aside, I peered out. The street behind the hospital was packed with people. More satellite dishes dotted the sky. The scent of frying eggs hit my nose. My stomach revolted.
Not now, little one! I let the blinds slide into place and dashed for the panel I prayed hid the bathroom.
Caine stood at the foot of the bed, tugging those ragged jeans over his hips. “You okay?”
“No,” I gasped. “Don’t you smell that?” I jerked the panel aside. The toilet perched underneath the shower head. I hit my knees and lifted the lid just in time to wretch.
I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth. “If Dale doesn’t have a laptop or tablet in this million-dollar hotel on wheels, then I need paper and a pen. And for pity’s sake, tell whoever’s cooking to stop.”
“It’s a sorry damn day when the smell of bacon makes you sick.” Caine skirted the bed. He opened a cabinet door and removed a wash cloth. Running the rag under a stream of water from the tiny sink, he wrung it out and leaned down to lift my chin.
“I’ll check inside.” He wiped the rag across my lips. “Maybe one of the drink machines has ginger ale. We got saltine crackers.”
This wasn’t the time to do a big pregnancy reveal. So much for joining the others.
“Send Caroline back here with the tablet or whatever. And, y’all can’t go to a press conference dressed like refugees from the Eighties.” I squinted. The bedroom had myriad closets and built-in drawers. “Surely you have a change of clothes here?”
“So do you.” He backed out of the tiny bathroom and jerked a drawer open. An amethyst-colored shirt lay folded on top. My shirt.
I hung my head over the toilet again. My stomach heaved, even though I couldn’t recall when I’d last eaten. Caine pushed my hair aside and put the cool rag on the back of my neck.
“You have a bad habit of leavin’ clothes behind whenever you run off.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Colt put ‘em in here. So I’d quit standin’ in your fuckin’ closet, tryin’ to smell your perfume.”
We’re a couple now. My tummy did a different kind of roll.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Caine hadn’t been gone two minutes before someone tapped on the door. Caroline pushed the panel open at my call to enter.
“Jonny told me about Jesse hornin’ in.” She moved past the bed. “Ow!” Leaning down, she scooped something off the floor. “Is this yours?” She held out an iPhone.
I pointed to the spot where I’d discarded mine on the rumpled spread. “No, it must be Caine’s.”
She tossed his phone close to mine, adding an iPad and charger. “Listen, there’s something you should know.” Perching on the edge of the bed, she lifted troubled eyes to mine. “Dale called me over to the garage last Tuesday. He needed a witness. Shelby, he gave you his power of attorney. Tomorrow, after the adoption, he planned to make you an offer. One year as Hannah-Built’s Chief Operating Officer. If you don’t love the job, he said he’d buy the Audi from you so you’d have the money to do whatever you wanted.”
“You mean the paper giving me the right to make his medical decisions while he’s unable? I thought Doris handled that paperwork.”
“No. I was there when the lawyer explained. General power of attorney means you can sign his name to checks, sell his house, buy an island in his name.” She tucked her hair behind one ear.
My knees turned to jelly. I sank onto the bed at her side. It was all I could do to whisper. “Really?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t know what’ll happen when Mama finds out I’m working for Dale, much less that I’m taking little Shelby and traveling with Jonny next season. I can do everything I’m doin’ for Dale in the cloud.” She straightened her shoulders. “But she’ll have to get over it. When Jonny looks at me and says ‘I want you with me right now’, that’s where I gotta be.”
I’d never seen hope in Caroline’s eyes, but the flame I saw there now burned right through me. With a trembling hand, I swiped a tear from her cheek. My heart felt too big for my chest.
“Jonny said that, huh? Tough day to be a mother, I guess. I just told mine I was with Caine. In front of the entire Ridenhour crew. So, looks like we’ll be together. That’s why I have to get rid of Kolby.” As I said the words, my resolve hardened.
She grabbed my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm. “I knew you wouldn’t let Jesse push you around. He’s a bully.”
This world was full of those, seemed like.
I could tell from her tone, she knew if Jesse and Dale went into a partnership, Jonny was out. We’d still need someone with deep pockets, in addition to some big-time sponsors. Ten million dollars didn’t grow on trees.
My ribs felt like delicate glass. If I breathed too hard, they’d shatter. Everyone’s future depended on me to make to make the right decisions. If I went after Barnes, we could all lose, Jonny and Caroline included. If I didn’t, if I just did what Jesse wanted....
God, taking the high road felt wrong. The neurosurgeon’s warnings—those possible side effects of the head trauma and the medical coma that I’d pushed to the back of my mind—stirred like the rattles of a poisonous snake.
All the fury I’d felt earlier came back in a rush. Kolby had to bleed.
Tears clotted Caroline’s giggle. “Jonny said England was talkin’ down to you. He thinks you’re just some kid. I could tell him different, but he’d wonder why the bimbo opened her mouth.”
I could see in her eyes that she’d forgiven me for being careless enough to end up perhaps carrying Jonny’s child. Dammit, if I started crying, I couldn’t work.
“Listen up.” I dropped my hand to her thigh. “The bimbo and the angry welfare case who never fit in anywhere are gone. Dale changed the future, for us. Until the season’s over and the guys can join us, we are Team Hannah.” I squeezed her knee. “As of now, you’re my CFO, and God help anyone who doesn’t give you the respect you deserve. Even if that person is you.”
I held her gaze until she nodded. “Whatever you do, I’m behind you a thousand percent. That’s why I told you about Dale. How can I help?”
“Pull up Twitter on my phone. See what fans are saying about the fight on social media.” I reached behind me for the device, but came up with Caine’s cell instead. The screen came alive. Ernie, singing. Colt grinning with the jar of bolts in his hand. Dale laughing while he played the drums on the ‘Cuda’s radiator and Jonny’s wild hair. I traced the faces in the image he’d sent me, touched that he’d used it for his screensaver.
That’s what I’m fighting for.
“Oh, God. That’s so cute. Let me see.” Caroline grabbed the device from my fingers. “Wow, I’ve never seen you look so happy. Who’s the old dude?”
“My friend Ernie. I sorta adopted him, bu
t he died last month.” I studied the image, the family I’d always wanted. I’d already lost Ernie. I couldn’t deal if I lost Dale, too. The fear I’d battled all my life licked me like flames. I had to be worth the price Dale had paid for backing me. Either I fixed my mess or I wasn’t worthy to be a Hannah.
I had to believe Dale would feel differently about Kolby now. I couldn’t let the Ridenhour drivers continue to be targeted. I had to take aim at Barnes, but how?
Ernie’s voice seemed to come right out of Caine’s phone. But only you have the car and a few million folks who already listen to what you have to say.
Could I convince a few million folks to take that swing on our behalf?
Scrambling to the center of the big bed, I reached for the tablet and my phone. I had to write the most important story of my life. I gave the phone to Caroline.
“One, zero, three, one unlocks the screen. Then click on the Twitter app. Tell me what’s being said about Dale. And, most importantly, what the fans are saying about Kolby.”
“Oh, God. Look.” Caroline shoved the phone under my nose. I blinked till my eyes focused. The new tweet was from the same ESPN reporter who’d asked if I planned to speak for the family.
She tapped the screen. “He’s my favorite NASCAR reporter. I don’t think he cares much for George. Or Kolby Barnes.”
Permission to use your unedited video of the drag race on 12.27.2014? Our in-depth segment will run tomorrow at 7 pm ET. Looking for the cut footage of the rear impact. Your angle’s better than mine.
Was this the reporter who’d been at the drag race?
“ESPN’s putting together footage of all the rear end clips Kolby’s done to people, Shelby,” Caroline whispered. “I been wondering why nobody’s ever done that yet.”
Cut footage? I’d never actually watched the video Caine had posted of the drag race. So, he’d clipped the end? Or had the impact damaged the camera?
“Because of George and his spin machine.”
The longer she scrolled, the higher her brows rose. “I think George just lost control of this situation. There’s a video of the fight bein’ passed around like the clap. Looks like it’s running seventy-thirty, with the majority saying Barnes is a wild card that NASCAR should cut from the deck.”
“Sign every communication with the hashtag #TeamHannah. I want people to understand that Caine and Colt still work for Ridenhour, but this is family business.”
I dictated my replies to ESPN while Caroline typed, so I could hunt the apps I needed to download to the iPad. To the first question: Expect a statement from me, in addition to an update on Dale’s condition. #TeamHannah
And about the video: Unaware of the footage you seek. #TeamHannah
“What?” Caroline’s thumbs froze over the keyboard. “I know it’s on the data card from your dash cam. I watched it. Shelby, this is what needs to happen. If people see all those pointless hits, one after another—”
I shook my head. “No. We can’t let this be about the drag race. I have to keep the focus on Dale and what happens on a NASCAR track.”
She fell backward onto the mattress. “Dammit, you’re right.” Smacking the covers, she yelled, “Arrgh! Someone needs to put a foot up that man’s ass.”
“The drivers are pissed off at Dale for not reeling Kolby in. Whether Jonny’s saying so or not, I think the other drivers are taking shots at them, as a way of expressing their frustration.”
She jerked upright with wide eyes. “Oh, my God. I thought so too, but then I decided I was bein’ paranoid. Jonny would never tell me anything like that. He might not even believe that’s why they keep gettin’ hit, but damn, Ridenhour’s had a lot of DNFs this season. Then, what can we do?”
I sucked down a deep breath. “We go after Kolby. Driving in NASCAR is a privilege, not a right. And they all drive for our pleasure.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? You think you can get George to kick him out of NASCAR?”
“It’s my only play. Getting Kolby off the track solves everything.”
“How can you do that?” Furrows appeared between her brows. “George runs the show. He barely fines him.”
“Even George has to answer to his shareholders.”
The excitement in her eyes died. “Not really. See, one family owns NASCAR, Inc.”
Oh, shit. “I thought it was publically traded?” I knew damn well Ernie had stock in NASCAR.
She landed on the mattress again. “Okay, see, one family owns the name, makes the rules, and licenses everything, right down to the numbers on the race cars. That’s NASCAR, Incorporated. George is the grandson of one of the two brothers who founded that company. There’s like, just two more shareholders, all relatives. They pretty well let George run things.”
Her boots drummed the end of the bed. “The company you’re thinking about is NASCAR Track Systems. NTS owns several of the newer race tracks as well as licensing all the concessions—food and souvenirs—at every race. That’s traded on the stock exchange.”
Nothing more tiresome than a leaky memory. Hadn’t I stood right at George’s damn elbow and recalled Ernie explaining the same thing?
She giggled at my scowl. “You can trust me. I watched a documentary just last week.”
“Goddammit. I know George is going to try and pin this on the drag race. He wants the fans to feel sorry for Kolby so he doesn’t have to take drastic action.” Still... NASCAR couldn’t be that different from any other major sport. “Remember the uproar about that NFL player who hit his girlfriend?”
Her eyes lit. “Public outcry. He’ll listen to the people who buy tickets.”
“Nobody who deals in the goodwill of the public operates inside a vacuum. We can hope.” My mouth went dry when I recalled the anger in George’s eyes, and his words. You come at me, you best not miss.
“It has to be me. I’m the only one in this entire mess who doesn’t get paid by NASCAR. He can’t touch me.” And that was exactly why he didn’t want me to speak for the family. The certainty I was right settled my tummy. “I think that’s why Dale handed me the reins.” God, did he see this coming?
She turned her attention to the phone again. “Wow, Shelby, another hundred people just added you on Twitter.”
“See if they’re reporters and bloggers, or just fans.”
When the replies were done, she spot-checked the profiles as she accepted the new friend requests. “Forty-two percent racing bloggers, fifty-eight percent random fans.”
She looked up when she had finished accepting the friend requests. “Listen, George has the team on hold here for a reason. He’ll trot ‘em out behind him. It’ll look like Colt and Caine agree with whatever he says. I know they can’t speak out, but... makin’ it look like them and Jonny are part of this whitewash job don’t set right with me.”
She discarded the phone. “Too bad for George, I got a plan. I need to get out of here so you can work on your statement.”
I glanced down at my dress. “I didn’t have time to pack a suitcase, but there’s a dress in my car I bought to wear for my adoption.” Tears filled my eyes, but I tried to smile. “And a pair of red boots.”
“Just in time to kick some ass.” She tossed her head.
“Hey, read off Francine’s number, please. I’ll call her on Caine’s phone. I need you to keep an eye on Twitter for anything new you think I need to know, okay?”
I punched the buttons to dial Francine and prayed she listened to Ernie more than she let on. When she answered, I filled her in on Dale, then told her about George England. “Why would George turn a blind eye to Kolby’s bad intent? Why allow him to be reckless? What would Ernie say?”
She sighed. “The first thing George did when he took the reins from his father was to let Toyota in. I thought opening competition to foreign manufacturers was good for the sport. Ernie disagreed, and to be honest, most fans agreed with him. People were bitter because cheap imports were killing the American car market.
Ernie would say that some voted with their wallets. They stopped buying tickets. Merchandise sales fell off. On the heels of that, the recession hit.”
“Then, two years ago, Dodge pulled out. Lots of folks pointed to Toyota as the reason why, but the truth is more complicated. I think they’ll be back, but anyway, they left, and when they did, more fans stopped coming to the races. And, while all that was happening, George’s twenty-year pre-nup ran out and his wife left him.”
“His wife? What’s that got to do with this?”
Francine huffed. “The judge made him split his stock with Linda, because he didn’t want to liquidate any assets for the cash to buy her out. Kolby and his brother take risks. George noticed. People come to the races expecting to see wrecks.”
“He... you’re saying George deliberately looks the other way? To have the cash to buy off his ex-wife?”
“That’s my opinion. Don’t you dare accuse him, but you asked. If it’s true that he enforces the rules unevenly for the cash doing so generates, then when would he pull back? The divorce is final, but why throttle the cash flow? On the other hand, no driver has died in an on-track collision since Dale Earnhardt, way back in 1991. George is counting on the safety record of the new uni-body car he introduced back in 2000.”
Never trust the technology.
Holy. Fuck. No wonder Bliss was a head case. “Thanks.”
I plugged in my earbuds and went to work on my speech. It had to have roots and wings. I had to keep the message positive and I couldn’t throw Richard under the bus. And keep it short. Caroline laid the dress on the foot of the bed, dropped the shoe box beside it, and tiptoed out of the room.
I only looked up when Caine returned. Placing a frosty can of ginger ale on the table, he stood by the bed, holding a waxed paper sleeve of crackers.
“Which way’s the wind blowin’? I can tell by your eyes, you made a decision.”
I pulled the earbuds. “I will not stand by and let England minimize Kolby’s culpability. Or, for that matter, his own. I want Barnes out of NASCAR.”
