Checkered Past

by Abby Gaines

He pulled her into his arms. “But from now on I’m going to be totally selfish. You were dumb enough to say you want me for better or for worse, and I’m going to hold you to it.”

  “I want that in writing.”

  “You’ll get it,” he promised. “I’m going to sign a marriage-license application and then I’ll sign the register as your husband—call it a contract for life.”

  He saw in her eyes how he’d hurt her with his intransigence. Saw, too, the forgiveness she offered so readily. His heart swelled. “I don’t deserve you,” he said roughly.

  “No, you don’t.” But she didn’t make any move out of his arms. Instead, she burrowed into his shoulder.

  “Is there any chance I haven’t killed your love for me?” he asked.

  “You gave it your best shot,” she said, “but it seems my love for you is a survivor. Just like you.”

  “Just like us,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  She tasted like nectar and honey and tomorrow. Brady reveled in her unshakable love for him, gave her all of himself in his kiss, promised his love always. Gave her his patched-up, second-rate heart and knew she treasured it like solid gold.

  When they pulled apart, he felt healed.

  “I want to set a date for our wedding,” he said. “How about a month from today?”

  “That sounds wonderful.” She kissed him again. Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. When do you come off those beta blockers?”

  “Uh…three more days.”

  “You’re doing it again,” she accused. “You’re thinking soon you’ll know whether or not you’ll be able to make love, and if you can’t, you’ll try to talk me out of marrying you.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I won’t.” Not very convincingly.

  She shook her head, half laughing, half exasperated.

  “Brady Matheson, do you still like kissing me?” she asked. “Holding me, touching me?”

  “Of course I like it—I love it.” He caressed her. “But, sweetheart, right now the part of me that matters doesn’t give a damn.”

  “The part that matters is here.” She thumped his chest.

  Half laughing, half complaining, he said, “Hey, I just had a heart attack.”

  “And here.” She tapped his head.

  He kissed her deeply, because those parts were in full working order. When the kiss ended, Brady said, serious now, “You can’t tell me being able to make love—to make love fully— doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters,” she agreed. “But it doesn’t matter more than my love for you. Brady, I plan to marry you for better or for worse, whether you like it or not. You need to accept that right now, and as far as I can see, there’s only one way to make sure that happens.”

  He knew what that was. He’d been expecting it. He’d planned to argue, to put his foot down, but suddenly, he didn’t want to. His heart kicked like a mule, and he found himself smiling like a loon.

  “Okay, Gypsy,” he said. “You win.”

  A STIFF-NECKED PRIDE that Brianna could only assume came from her father’s genes had her dressing up the next night for Dean and Patsy Grosso’s thirty-first wedding anniversary party. The party promised to be an extravaganza—the Grossos had reunited a couple of months ago after a separation, and they wanted to share their rediscovered happiness with the world.

  Chad had asked Brianna to accompany him back when they’d been on kissing terms. He hadn’t called to pull out of the date, so she assumed he still planned to pick her up at seven.

  She could only hope that stiff-necked pride would hang in there long enough to keep her from betraying the realization that had struck her yesterday, that had forced her off the beach, unable to spend one more second hearing Chad explain why the kind of love he was offering should be enough.

  Brianna put on her diamond-drop earrings, followed by their matching pendant, and surveyed the glittering effect in the mirror. The jewels were impressive enough that they might distract people from seeing how little party spirit she’d been able to muster.

  She wanted to flee back to Atlanta…but Chad had called her on her habit of running away from people who didn’t love her the way she wanted them to.

  She would stick this out until it reached its natural end, so she would know she’d given it her best shot. Even if right now there seemed little point.

  Because the love he’d offered her would never be enough. He might have let her through the front door of his heart, but he had no intention of inviting her in further. Tonight’s party wouldn’t change that.

  Chad showed up on time, his face blank, his greeting as neutral as Switzerland. He didn’t look like a man who’d had his heart broken by her refusal of his proposal.

  Because he wasn’t, she reminded herself. To have a broken heart, he’d have to have risked it in the first place.

  CHAD WAS RELIEVED to find that the anniversary party, held at one of Daytona’s top hotels, was the huge affair he’d expected.

  Because although he’d stuck with the plan of escorting Brianna to the party—if he hadn’t, Zack would probably have jumped in—tonight had to be the first step in getting his old life back.

  He’d offered Brianna all he had to give and she’d turned it down. How many more clues did he need that their marriage was never going to work?

  In a way, accepting that was a positive step. Brianna had been right about closure all along: he was relieved not to be hiding anything from his family anymore, that the divorce was in progress. He could see light at the end of the tunnel that led back to his old self. Soon he would be able to put all his focus on this year’s NASCAR season. Where it should be.

  Brianna left his side almost immediately and went to talk to Hugo Murphy and Patsy Grosso. Judging from their animated discussion, they were speculating about who had the wherewithal to win this season’s NASCAR Sprint Cup Series championship.

  Chad spied Zack across the room, but didn’t see his dad anywhere. Brady had said he’d attend, but he’d been grumpily antisocial since the breakup with Julie-Anne, so maybe he hadn’t bothered. Giving up on his dad, Chad went to congratulate Adam Sanford, owner of Sanford Racing, on his brother Trey’s win in the exhibition race.

  Adam’s new fiancée, Tara Dalton, was with him—they stood so close together, it made people smile. Even Patsy Grosso’s cynical cousin, Jake McMasters, on the periphery of the conversation, caught Chad’s eye and grinned.

  Chad had thought all he wanted was to talk NASCAR—simple racing talk, minus any by personal complications. But after they covered the race, he found himself asking Adam and Tara about their wedding plans…and listening to their replies.

  Maybe he’d evolved into a softer, kinder version of his old self.

  BRIANNA TRIED not to watch Chad out of the corner of her eye all evening, but it was difficult. As she mingled with people she’d got to know the past few weeks, then later as she ate dinner and listened to the speeches—laughing and almost crying along with everyone as Dean paid tribute to the wife he adored—she was always aware of Chad’s whereabouts.

  Toward midnight, as the crowd began to thin, she found herself just a few feet away from him. The circles in which they were talking swelled and merged, until they were loosely in the same group of partygoers. She turned away so she couldn’t see him. Which put her in the middle of a conversation between Andrew Clark and Patsy Grosso.

  Brianna had heard the two weren’t close, but right now, Patsy was talking intently to her brother. Brianna murmured an apology for the intrusion, but before she could retreat, Patsy said, “If my own brother won’t be honest with me, perhaps you can cast some light on this, Brianna.”

  Yikes. Brianna had an awful feeling she knew what this was about—she’d overheard some gossip earlier in the evening and dismissed it.

  “In the past half hour at least a dozen people have, I don’t know, shied away when I came near,” Patsy said. “What’s going on?”

  “I told you, you’re imagining it
,” Andrew said hastily. He shot Brianna a beseeching look.

  She imagined he was trying to spare Patsy some pain on the night of her big party, but Brianna guessed the other woman would hate to discover tomorrow that she’d unknowingly been the butt of gossip.

  “I think,” Brianna said apologetically, “a few people are talking about the latest blog post. Apparently there was one early this evening.” A mystery blogger was continuing to perpetuate the rumor that Patsy and Dean’s stolen daughter, Gina, was still alive. “I can’t imagine how difficult these rumors are for you and Dean.” Brianna squeezed Patsy’s arm.

  Patsy blew out a frustrated breath. “Dean’s certain the blog is all lies and we should ignore it. What’s that jerk saying now?”

  “I didn’t see it myself, but I gather it’s something about Gina’s blood type being B positive.”

  Patsy’s fingers closed around Brianna’s wrist like talons. “What did you say?” Her face had gone white and she spoke loudly enough that several people broke off their conversations to stare at her.

  “I, uh, assumed the blogger looked up Kent’s blood type,” Brianna said, “and made something up based on that.”

  “Kent’s not B positive.” Patsy swayed on her feet. “But Gina was. Is. That information has never been in the public domain.”

  Tara Dalton spoke up hesitantly. “A lot of people are B positive…my sister Mallory, for one.”

  “Not…not that many.” Tears welled in Patsy’s eyes, and she squeezed them closed as she pressed her knuckles to her lips. Feeling her pain almost like a physical wave, Brianna stepped backward, horrified that she’d sprung such momentous news on the poor woman so publicly, so precipitously. She should have followed Andrew Clark’s lead.

  Chad appeared between them. He slid an arm around Patsy’s shoulders. “Let’s go find Dean,” he said. He caught Brianna’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

  She wasn’t his sweetheart, but his words felt sweet right now.

  They delivered Patsy to her husband. Jake McMasters went with them—Dean and Patsy had hired him in his capacity as a private investigator to check out the rumors about Gina.

  Chad gave Dean a quick rundown on what had happened, and at Dean’s insistence, Brianna contributed what she’d heard of the latest blog post.

  There was a silence while Dean assimilated the information.

  “Nine percent of the American population is B positive,” he said. “If the blogger was guessing, it’s not an obvious choice.”

  He dropped a kiss on his wife’s hair, and she leaned against him. “Patsy and I need to leave,” he said. “We’ll check out the blog for ourselves, get in touch with the FBI. They told us that if something truly new came out, they’d get serious about investigating.”

  The couple left, but Jake McMasters stayed, lost in thought.

  “Any more information we can help you with?” Chad asked.

  It took Jake a second to reply. He shook his head. “Tara Dalton said her sister Mallory is B positive. Mallory’s the same age as Gina would be.”

  Chad stared. “There’s no reason to think her parents were involved in Gina’s disappearance, is there?”

  Jake shook his head, but he looked thoughtful. “I checked out the family when Tara brought up the rumors with Dean and Patsy. My first thought was that she was behind them. She wasn’t,” he said hastily. “But I did learn that Mallory Dalton looks nothing like the rest of her family. I can’t say she looks like Dean or Patsy, either,” he said fairly. “But her parents are obsessive NASCAR fans. I bet they haven’t missed a race weekend in years. Maybe even thirty years.”

  “You mean, they were in Nashville when Gina was stolen?” Brianna asked.

  Jake shrugged. “Seems likely. And guess who the Daltons’ favorite driver is?”

  “Dean Grosso,” Chad said.

  Jake didn’t answer, but he made a “gotcha” pistol gesture. He walked away, heading for Tara and Adam.

  Brianna’s shoulders sagged. “What a night. Poor Patsy and Dean. I ruined their anniversary party.”

  Chad lifted her chin with his finger. “I think you made Patsy’s night. To learn that the blogger does actually know something is a big deal.”

  “Still, it wasn’t the way to find out.”

  “It was a shock,” he agreed. “But Dean and Patsy will know you don’t have a malicious bone in your body—and if they don’t, I’ll tell them.”

  Darn it, Brianna thought, did he have to act so…married? She’d messed up, and Chad had been there. Reassuring, helping, defending her. It was one-half of what she’d always wanted. If only he would welcome her doing the same for him.

  “I think I’ll call it a night,” she said. “I’m driving down to see Dad tomorrow, which means an early start.”

  She’d finished her report, all bar the conclusion, which shouldn’t take long. In the weeks she’d spent in Charlotte, it had become obvious that FastMax’s driver was more reliable, more charming, more media-worthy than Matheson Racing’s. Andrew Clark was a pleasure to do business with, and he ran a harmonious, efficient team.

  There was only one recommendation Brianna could make.

  Chad reached into his jacket pocket for his keys. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’ll take a cab,” she said. “I still feel bad about the Grossos. I don’t feel like chatting.”

  “I won’t talk,” he said. “You know I’m good at that.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I’m worried about you.”

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Chad, please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “When you’re kind, like you’ve been tonight…it makes it too hard for me to leave you.”

  Triumph flared in his eyes. “Then don’t leave.”

  CHAD WATCHED Brianna go and realized the worst moments of his thirty-six years had been exactly this: watching Brianna walk away.

  Because her leaving meant that from now on, even his best days wouldn’t be as real, as meaningful as a bad day with her. That no matter how many people surrounded him, he would be alone inside.

  He cursed as the truth hammered him.

  Whose pigheaded, mush-for-brains idea had it been that he didn’t need her?

  He needed her, now and always. In his bed, in his life. On his team.

  This wasn’t about the pasty, plug-in version of love he’d offered her on the beach. How could he have been so stupid? His love for her was everything to him. He wanted it to be everything to her.

  Chad buried his face in his hands and cursed again. He’d made a terrible mistake—two terrible mistakes. Letting Brianna go the first time and letting her go tonight.

  He had to get her back right now.

  Reason intervened, staying him.

  Brianna had some crazy idea that he wanted her for the sponsorship. Telling her he’d discovered his need for her right before she reported to her father wasn’t the way.

  Though it killed him, he would have to wait. Let her make her decision about the sponsorship first. Then show her he was for real.

  It wouldn’t be easy, not when he thought about all the stupid things he’d said and done the past few weeks.

  But there was one thing he could fix—must fix—right away.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “DAD, I CAN’T BELIEVE it.” Brianna rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. “You look…”

  “Better,” her father said triumphantly. He kicked back in his seat. “I’m feeling good, too. The chemo’s working.”

  His face looked fuller, more relaxed. He radiated vigor almost the way he used to.

  “You’re amazing.” To think she’d doubted he could beat the cancer. “What did the doctor say?”

  “He was surprised to hear me sounding so well,” Brian said smugly. “I’m going in tomorrow for some tests so we can see if the numbers bear out the way I feel.”

  “Do you want me to…” She stopped. “No, of course you don’t want me to come
with you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Was there a hint of apology in her father’s tone? “Now,” he said, “what have you got to say about my NASCAR sponsorship?”

  Brianna pulled a bound copy of her final report from her briefcase. In a sudden attack of nerves, she fumbled the document, dropped it on the floor.

  “Sorry.” She bent down to retrieve it and used the moment to take a steadying breath. Then she handed over the document she’d worked late into the night to prepare after she’d returned from the Grossos’ disastrous party.

  After she’d left Chad, his concern for her wrapped around her like a shield during the taxi ride back to the hotel, she’d done a lot of thinking.

  “You can read the report later. I’ll tell you what it says.” She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin. “I’m recommending Zack Matheson for Getaway’s sponsorship.”

  “What?” Her father flicked through the document, read the conclusion, then tossed the report onto his desk as if its next destination was the trash. “Whenever we’ve talked about this, you’ve said Garrett Clark is the most exciting driver around, and that the only reason he doesn’t have a sponsor yet is because his stepfather is hanging out for the highest bidder. Which I can afford to be.”

  “That’s right.”

  He looked taken aback, but he carried on. “While Zack Matheson is a moody, crash-prone son of a gun, about as safe a bet as me walking on Mars next year.”

  “If you tell me you’re going to walk on Mars, I believe you.”

  Brian almost smiled. “Talk me through your thinking here, Brianna,” he ordered. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks faulty.”

  “I’m thinking,” she said, “with my heart.” Unconsciously, she put a hand to her chest. “I love Chad, and I want to do this for him.”

  “You’re getting a divorce,” her father said, incredulous. “And no matter what you want to do, this isn’t your money to use as some kind of alimony. This is Getaway’s investment in NASCAR.”

  “Of course,” Brianna agreed. “But more than anything, NASCAR is about passion, about people doing what they love, supporting what they love. And who they love.” She laughed, amazed it had taken her so long to reach this decision. “Dad, I love Chad, so I’m giving him my full support and I want you to do the same.”