Total Control

by Pamela Britton

  “Inside,” Phil said.

  “I know I’ve got people on the inside.” Damn it. There were cars all over the place, but he had to make the entrance to pit road or else…

  There it is.

  He headed straight for it, regardless of who he might bump into along the way.

  “Outside and inside,” his spotter said.

  I know. I know, Todd silently answered.

  And then there was the cone. He hit the brakes, checked his RPMs.

  “Thirty-five hundred,” his crew chief cautioned, seeming to read his mind.

  I know. I know.

  “Here we are,” Dan said. “In three…two…one.”

  Todd spotted his pit, jerked his wheel left. When he skidded to a halt he beat his steering wheel in frustration. Up went the right side, then down. The left was next.

  “How does it look?” he asked.

  Someone beat on his car with a rubber mallet.

  “All things considered, not bad,” Dan said.

  When Todd glanced left he saw that Dan stood atop the pit box, peering down.

  The left side of the car went down.

  “Go, go, go,” Dan cried, waving his arms in encouragement.

  Todd jerked the wheel right, almost taking out another driver. “Where am I?” he asked, dreading the answer.

  “You’re in eighteenth place.”

  “Damn.” From sixth to eighteenth because of Brandon.

  “Just stay calm,” Dan said. “Remember, he’s our new teammate.”

  “I’m gonna kill that guy.”

  “Todd,” Dan interjected. “You just stay calm. You’ve got a good car. You can catch up.”

  Two laps later, they dropped the green flag. But it was no good. Todd could feel his car’s performance had slipped.

  “Feels like I’ve got no bottom end,” he told Dan.

  “Let the tires wear down,” Dan replied. “It’ll come to you in a bit.”

  That remained to be seen.

  The laps ticked off. Night fell. The overhead lights turned on. Neon streaks of light skated across his windshield. Todd tried to be patient, but it was hard. He reminded himself that this race was important, not because a win would propel him to the top of the points standing, but because of Benjamin.

  He glanced to the right. Opposite the in-car camera strapped to his roll cage, right where a passenger car’s glove compartment would normally be, his team had taped a name. Benjamin’s name. Todd stretched a hand toward it, would have stroked the black writing if he could have reached it.

  To hell with Brandon Burke. Todd had bigger fish to fry.

  He focused forward. Beneath his helmet, sweat began to sting his eyes. His shoulders began to ache. He ignored the pain, just concentrated on getting ahead.

  “That’s the way to do it, buddy,” Dan said. “One at a time. Pick your way through the field.”

  Had he passed some cars? Todd didn’t remember doing so, but his vehicle was handling better. Much better.

  “Where is he?”

  “Second,” his crew chief said, obviously needing no clarification as to who “he” was. “But he’s got some lap traffic coming up. Gonna slow him down.”

  Good. Because while he ran this race for Benjamin. Scratch that. While he would win this race for Benjamin, it would be nice if he could teach that little punk driver a thing or two about stock car racing.

  “Caution,” Phil said.

  The wreck happened behind him, making it easy for Todd to avoid. A good pit stop a few laps later did the near impossible.

  It put him in the top five.

  “Good job, guys!” he cried as he exited pit road.

  “Why, thank you very much,” Dan said, and Todd could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Where’d I come out?”

  “Fourth and sitting pretty,” Dan said. “But you’re gonna have to work some to pass the cars ahead of you. They’ve all been posting better ETs than yours.”

  “Never been afraid of a little hard work,” Todd said.

  He just wanted to catch Brandon.

  Sure, a part of Todd knew it was silly to make that his primary goal. Well, other than win the race. He needed to race clean, not take his fellow teammate out. But it sure would make his day if he could do both.

  And so he drove. He drove like he’d never driven before. Usually, he liked his car on the tight side, meaning he liked a little front-end drift into the corner. Today he had to deal with a loose car, his backside sliding all over the place. But that was okay. He remembered his dirt track days, and as he climbed through the field, he wondered if he shouldn’t try a loose setup more often.

  Damn if he didn’t have Brandon in his sight by the time the end of the race neared.

  “Fifteen laps to go at the line, buddy,” Phil said.

  Todd clutched the wheel. They were running out of laps and Brandon was a good five car lengths in front of him. What they needed was a caution, something that would bunch the field up. That didn’t happen.

  “Ten laps,” Phil said. “Brandon just took the lead.”

  Crap. That was unbelievable given this was his first NASCAR race.

  “Time to get it on,” Dan encouraged.

  The second-place car entered his line of sight. He didn’t even know who it was, just focused on the dark blue bumper. It only took one lap for Todd to know he had him. The guy’s setup was toast. Two more laps and he’d have him. And right in front of the guy was Brandon.

  You’re going down.

  He passed the blue car like it stood still.

  “Keep going, buddy,” Dan said, and Todd could tell by the timbre of his crew chief’s voice that he thought they had a chance to win.

  Todd would have leaned forward had his belts allowed him. One more driver to pick off. Fate worked in his favor because his car tightened up.

  “Six laps,” Phil said, and he could hear the tension in his spotter’s voice.

  Fans leaped to their feet. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them. The hair on his arms seemed to stand on end.

  He caught Brandon with four laps to go.

  Todd’s wheels had left circular marks on Brandon’s door. Night might have fallen, and he might not be right alongside him, but he could still see the perfect ring his rims had left. When he ducked down on the inside, he could see them better.

  “Hello,” Todd said. “So nice to see you again.”

  And this time the dude was going down.

  “Three laps to go.”

  Todd’s car edged ever closer. Just a few feet away now. He could smell Brandon’s exhaust. Could hear and see the back end drift free.

  Brandon was loose.

  Todd knew just the way to make it looser.

  His feet hovered over the gas and the brake, one foot near each pedal. He didn’t want to touch Brandon, just take the air off his spoiler. At these speeds it wouldn’t take much, and the beauty was he didn’t have to touch the guy. All he needed to do was stick his car’s nose as close as he could…A good driver could actually hear the difference. It grew quieter, not a lot, but enough that Todd knew he was in Brandon’s draft and that if he shifted the wheel just a fraction…

  Brandon’s back end broke loose.

  Beneath his helmet, Todd smiled.

  He nudged the wheel left and right, disturbing the air even more. Brandon got downright squirrelly.

  “Two laps,” Phil said.

  Shoot. He could pass this guy in less than half a lap.

  And that’s exactly what he did, Todd waiting until the white flag before edging up against Brandon’s bumper.

  He never touched him.

  Todd could have been a complete jerk and sent him into the wall.

  But he didn’t.

  Right at the moment when he could have done it, Todd didn’t.

  Hero.

  Kristen’s words came back to him. At home, kids were watching, Benjamin one of them. He couldn’t let those kids down.

 
“Clear,” Phil said a few seconds later.

  It would have been nice to check up. To watch Brandon have to swerve to avoid missing him this time, maybe even send him into the wall.

  He didn’t.

  But Todd couldn’t resist lifting his hand and giving Brandon a piece of his mind. The finger he waved at him was not the one telling him he was number one.

  “Welcome to NASCAR,” Todd said before stepping on it and leaving Brandon Burke in the dust.

  WHITE FLAG

  When Drivers Eat Their Wheaties

  By Rick Stevenson, Sports Editor

  I never listen to drivers when they boast of their bright future. I’m a big proponent of put your money where your mouth is. So when Todd Peters told members of the media at Charlotte that he intends to win at least four of the remaining races left in the Chase, I scoffed. Todd might slowly be edging his way onto my drivers-to-root-for list, but such a prediction seemed rather arrogant.

  Until he raced.

  Like so many NASCAR fans, I watched as Todd overcame setback after setback—a bad setup, a near spin out, and the aggressive driving tactics of NASCAR’s newest wheelman, Brandon Burke—a man who’s now Todd’s teammate—and all with the light touch and cool head of some of NASCAR’s brightest legends.

  I’m impressed.

  Todd is showing newcomers like Burke what it means to have class, both on the track and off. All this has me thinking that maybe, just maybe, Mr. Peters isn’t as full of hot air as previously thought. Especially when it’s obvious he’s taking each race one at a time—for Benjamin’s sake. Benjamin, you might recall, is the terminally ill child Todd’s taken under his wing. The child’s name was taped to the inside of Todd’s car this past weekend, something the network cameras caught on film as Todd was racing. His hand reaching toward the kid’s name was something I will never forget.

  So, while I never thought I’d say this: you go, Todd. If you think you can win at least three more races, so do I. So does the entire NASCAR nation.

  So does Benjamin.

  Good luck!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “THERE!”

  The word echoed off the courtyard around Indi, causing several people to turn and look her way.

  “Todd,” Indi said, glancing toward whatever it was that he’d slammed down. A tall, gold statue of some sort.

  “Is that your trophy?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, ignoring the stares of curious onlookers, although they probably had no idea it was Todd Peters beneath the red baseball cap. He wore the brim so low that it shielded most of his face. Covering his wide shoulders was a T-shirt with—of all things—the face and name of another driver. Camouflage, she realized. He’d come here dressed like a race fan. Good thing, too. The courtyard she sat in was in the middle of downtown and many race fans had yet to leave. The trophy might have given away his identity if he hadn’t slipped out of the brown leather jacket he was wearing and used it to cover the shiny gold medal.

  “The first of many,” he added. “Just like I told you.”

  She turned her face away. She sat outside her high-rise hotel, out in the middle of a lushly landscaped courtyard with multiple levels and a fountain gurgling in the distance. There was a chill in the air, but Indi hadn’t minded. She was due to leave for the airport soon and she wanted as much fresh air as she could soak in before the long flight home.

  “I never doubted you’d win,” she said softly.

  He plopped down on the bench next to her.

  “Don’t hand me that, Indi. You know you did.”

  Maybe she had. “Congratulations,” she said softly.

  “You’ll be congratulating me next week, too. And the week after that, as well.”

  Would she? When he hadn’t called, she figured it was over between them.

  Over before it had started.

  “I hope you do win, Todd. It’d make Benjamin happy.”

  “Yeah, but to hear you tell it, he won’t last long enough to see me win the Championship.”

  “We need to be realistic—”

  “No,” he shouted, turning heads again. He leaned toward her. “No,” he said again, more quietly. “Indi, I have a job. A high-pressure job. But do I have a defeatist attitude when I race? No. Because if I did, I wouldn’t have a job. Nobody likes a quitter and that’s what you’re doing with Benjamin—quitting.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes,” he said. “You are. And I understand why, too. It’s self-defense. You close yourself off. Forbid yourself from caring. And I have to ask myself, have you done the same thing with us? Did you sleep with me because you cared for me? Or because you needed to escape the pressures of your job?”

  She gasped. “Of course I care for you. I wouldn’t have let what happened happen if I didn’t. I’m not that type.”

  “Then why haven’t you called?”

  “Because,” she said, exasperated. “I knew you were mad at me…about Benjamin. I was going to give you some time to cool down. Call you when I got back to California.”

  “I am mad at you. I’m furious at the way you refuse to believe.”

  “Believe what?”

  He shifted on the bench and leaned forward. “Believe in things. In the people who surround and care for you. In the doctors who care for your clients. In me.”

  “I believe in you.”

  “Then why you haven’t called?”

  “I told you, I was giving you time to cool off. And, really, maybe you could have called me.”

  “I was waiting to see if I was right. If you’d use our argument at the hospital as a way of backing off. And you did.”

  “I did not.”

  “You didn’t even drop by to say good luck on Saturday.”

  “I wasn’t invited to the race.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. After what we shared, what the hell makes you think you wouldn’t be invited?”

  “Past experience, maybe. I don’t know. The fact that you walked out of Benjamin’s hospital without even saying goodbye.”

  “I was mad. Furious at the way you look at life. Here you are, working for a foundation that creates miracles for children, and yet you refuse to believe in those miracles yourself.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it, Indi?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Think about it.”

  “I have thought about it. Sure, maybe I am a little jaded, but if you’d seen as much death as I have, you’d lose a little faith, too.”

  “I’m glad you admit at least that much,” he said, touching her hand—not grabbing it—just clasping it for a second. “And I don’t blame you.” He faced forward again and glanced up at the blue sky above. “I just can’t be that way myself.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “When I get behind the wheel of a car,” he said, seeming lost in his thoughts, “it’s always with the attitude I can win.”

  “I know.”

  “Sure, there’s always the possibility that I could wreck…or blow a motor, but I don’t let that mess with my mind. What happens, happens, and I’d rather go into situations with a positive attitude.”

  “And it bothers you that I can’t?”

  He met her gaze, his hazel eyes intense. “It does, Indi.”

  She watched as he stood up and stared out at the buildings around them.

  “It’s no way to live,” he said, facing her again. “It’ll suck the life out of you. Make you hard. Wear you down.”

  She stared up at him. “That hasn’t happened to me.”

  “Hasn’t it?”

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Sure. I don’t look at life through a pair of rose-tinted glasses, but I’m not jaded.”

  “Yes, you are. Tooth and nail, you fight caring for people.”

  “I care for Benjamin.”

  “To a point,” he said.

  “And I care for you.”

  “Do you?�
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  “Of course,” she said, having to raise her voice so she could be heard over a pack of cars that drove by.

  “I don’t believe you. If you cared for me, you wouldn’t retreat behind a wall. But that’s exactly what you’ve done. I can see it,” he added quickly when she began to shake her head. “It’s part of the reason you haven’t called me. You’re building up your defenses against the coming storm.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “So I wonder,” he said, ignoring her protestations, “what would happen if Benjamin didn’t make it? What would it do to us, Indi? I care for you. Probably more than you realize. I want to be there for you, but something tells me you won’t let anybody be there for you. It hurts too much.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she said, standing herself. “I let people care for me all the time. Look at Linda—”

  “That’s different. Linda is the mother of a client. I’m talking about letting people close to you. People like me, Indi. People who will be around after the devastation of a loss. Or have you maintained close contact with all your deceased client’s parents?”

  “That’s a horrible thing to ask. Of course I have.”

  “Have you?”

  “Well, maybe not all of them. But sometimes people don’t want to be reminded about what they lost.”

  “How about your own family?”

  She shrugged. “Families often grow apart after a loss. It’s difficult to face each other when a loved one is missing.”

  “There you go sounding all clinical again.”

  “Well, what do you want me to say? I come from a family that was never really close. After my nephew died, we grew even more apart.”

  He looked deep into her eyes, so deep that Indi felt vulnerable and naked and exposed. “Why do I have the feeling there’s more to this story than meets the eye?”

  She looked away.

  “So what are you saying?” she asked, fumbling for a way to change the subject. “That you want to throw in the towel? That you don’t want to see me again?” It shocked her how much the words hurt.