“We never see him,” the source says. “It’s an embarrassment.”
Lexie cringed again. She’d never been much of an Anton Jackson fan, but the article was just plain mean. She had no idea who the “source close to the team” was, but from long experience she recognized it could be anybody from a member of another team who happened to walk by their garage to Bob Hollister himself.
Bottom line?
They didn’t need this. Not now.
But they would have to deal with it. Now.
The media—both print and visual—was just yards away. There was no way the journalists could pass up the chance to question Kane about the hot-button father issue. Their distance had been a whispered thing in the garage for years, and most people had dismissed it as gossip, but now it was out there. Part truth, part sensationalism.
And out there.
Before she could knock, the door cracked, and James’s head appeared around the corner. “Did you want to come in, or just hang out there?”
She was so glad to see James, she nearly cried. Though he stayed in a hotel on race weekends, he sometimes crashed on Kane’s sofa if they had stayed up late the night before playing video games.
“Is Kane up?”
“That’s rhetorical, right?”
That meant no. Just as well. She could use a cup of coffee to fortify her. And maybe a shot of whiskey. And maybe some cucumbers over her eyes and soft music playing in the background—hey, she’d learned a lot during that makeover Cheryl had forced her into.
Once she’d settled at the bar with a mug of James’s famous French-roast coffee, he nodded at the white elephant in the room—the newspaper she’d laid beside her. “Anything interesting this morning?”
“Yep.”
“Good?”
“Nope.”
“Bad?”
“Yep.”
“Gee golly, Betty-Sue, did the Russians drop the bomb?”
“Somebody did.”
“You know you’re making me crazy.”
Lexie blew on the surface of her coffee, then sipped. “Yep.”
“Give me the damn thing.”
She handed it over without comment and continued to sip as he read. The warmth that spread through her body wasn’t just because of the coffee. She now had an ally for facing Kane. It would still be bad, but she wouldn’t be alone, and with James’s help, maybe they could come up with a response before the rest of the NASCAR world even rolled out of bed.
“Hell,” James said, setting down his mug.
“Yep.”
“Who’s the ‘source close to the team’?”
“Got me. Have you given any quotes to Terry A. Lufton lately?”
“Humor? You think you’re funny this early in the morning?”
“It’s gotta be better than crying or screaming.”
James dropped the newspaper on the bar. “This isn’t good.”
“Nope.”
“He was here.”
She looked over at him. “I hope he’s still here. We have practice.”
“Not Kane. I meant Mr. Football. He was here last night.”
“Kane’s father was here?”
James took a deep gulp of coffee. “He showed up at the hospitality tent last night. He and Kane signed autographs for a while, then he came back here with us and had dinner. We wondered what was up.” He paused and met her gaze. His eyes were no longer bright and teasing. “I guess we know what it was about now.”
“I guess so.”
Lexie hadn’t come close to anticipating this turn of events. The article was accurate in saying that Kane’s father probably couldn’t find his way to the garage. He hardly ever came to races. But she considered the details of their relationship private. Plus, Kane had enough to worry about without adding family drama.
Still, she wondered about Kane’s dad. Had he been tipped off to the release of the article? And, if so, was he that concerned about PR? Did it really take negative publicity to bring him to his son’s side when he needed him?
She didn’t want to answer any of the questions zooming around her head. Neither, she assumed, did James. “Is there any liquor in this joint?”
“It’s seven-thirty in the morning.”
“You got a better idea?”
“No.”
Still, they didn’t go on a search for booze. They groused into their coffee and played poker to determine who had to break the news. By the time Kane shuffled into the room, their tension had reached ridiculous proportions.
Kane walked by them, poured himself a cup of coffee, then watched them over the rim of the mug. “What’s up?”
Rendered embarrassingly speechless by the sight of Kane strolling by, exposing his abs and shoulders by wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants barely hanging on to his hips, Lexie simply stared at him.
With a long-suffering sigh, James laid the newspaper on the bar. “Something you need to read, buddy.”
Men! He couldn’t just spring it on him like that. She reached for the paper, but Kane had gotten there first. Her hand wound up covering his. He stilled and glanced at her.
“Problem?” he asked, his blue eyes sharp and focused despite the early hour.
Heat radiated up her arm. In fact, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke emanate from her fingertips. Why did he always manage to affect her this way?
Just like the other night at the club, when she’d been so determined to cast him as the fun-spoiler bad guy, he’d bowed like freakin’ Rhett Butler and left the party he’d been so determined to disrupt. His passion and focus on the track at Bristol had been amazing, exactly what she’d been pushing for all season. His passion and focus with her had her thoughts scattering and her practical side desperately searching for a reason to find fault with him, so she could protect her heart.
If only his body wasn’t such a distraction…
She jerked her attention back to her poker hand. “I, uh, does a flush beat a straight or the other way around?”
James tossed his cards on the bar. “Oh, please, woman.”
She glared at him. “Woman?”
Fueling her anger and frustration was the sudden recollection that James had been the one who’d invited the curvy blonde to lunch. Hoping to distract his buddy from her, no doubt. The traitor. “Listen, PR Boy, I’ve had about enough of you and your—”
“Time out, guys,” Kane said, grasping the newspaper from beneath Lexie’s hand at the same time. “How bad can it be?”
“It’s—”
James kicked her lightly and shook his head. “Just read it,” he said to Kane.
While Kane read silently, Lexie glanced at James’s cards, which lay faceup on the bar. “I had a straight, by the way,” she whispered, laying her cards out in a fan. “That beats your two pair without even breathing hard.”
“What’s with you?” he said in a low voice while Kane read.
She pressed her lips together. “I’m just thinking I could use a blond lunch date.”
“I was trying to help,” James had the nerve to whisper back.
“Stop. Immediately.”
“You want me to set you up with a blonde, too?”
“No. I can handle my own social life, thank you.”
“What social life?”
Their whispered argument was interrupted by Kane tossing the newspaper on the bar. “I guess we know why Dad was here last night.”
“Maybe not,” Lexie said. “He may not even know about the article.”
“I’m getting in the shower,” Kane said, snagging his coffee mug off the counter as he walked by.
She grabbed his arm. “We’re here if you want to talk.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Thanks.”
She watched him go. The casual expression on his face, the calmness in his voice didn’t reveal how much this was affecting him. He was bottling it up, swallowing his anger and disappointment. Again. She’d rather see him fly into a rage.
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“Go talk to him,” she said to James.
“What for?”
“He needs somebody to talk to.”
“I heard you offer and him say thanks. Talk over.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a man.”
James grinned. “Thank you.”
She leaned toward him. “His father is using him for good publicity. He’s hurt and angry. He needs his friends’ support.”
“He has our support. That doesn’t mean we have to talk about it.”
“Yes, we do.”
“You’re such a woman.” Before she could argue, he went on. “And we don’t know what Anton is doing here. Maybe he read that article, felt guilty and decided he really did need to show his son more support.”
“Oh, you mean he’s admitting he was wrong.”
He frowned. “Okay, maybe not.”
“But he feels guilty.”
“Well, maybe not.”
“Anton Jackson is doing what he does best—protect his image.”
“Of course he is.”
“You were ready to give him the benefit of the doubt thirty seconds ago. Why is that? Some football-star code of brotherhood?”
“No way, I—”
“That’s how he gets away with the way he treats people, you know. Because he’s a star.” She slid off her stool and paced by the bar. “Fans clamor to get to know him. Women fall at his feet. He’s coddled by his agent, his manager, his wife—everybody he encounters, in fact.” She paused long enough to shoot him with a fond glare. “You and Kane would be the same way if you didn’t have me to kick you both back in line.
“Of course, Mr. Superstar takes his fame and talent a couple of steps further. He stands in the spotlight like it’s his God-given right. And all the while Kane tries to stand beside him, his father does everything in his power to keep him in the background. Plus, he makes sure everybody around him—and around his family—meets his superior standards. And that especially includes his son’s girlfriends. Can’t muddy up that exceptional gene pool with an inferior candidate.”
When she fell silent, she found James staring at her. “Sounds to me like you were the one who needed to talk.”
She dropped onto the sofa. “I guess.”
“Been holding that in awhile?”
“Apparently.”
“Feel better?”
“I think so.”
“Good, ’cause here he comes.”
Now dressed in his uniform, Kane appeared at the end of the hall. “You all right, Lex? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”
“I’m fine.” She rose and glanced at her watch. “We need to get going.”
When James trotted down the steps of the motor coach, Lexie snagged Kane’s arm. “Are you going to defend him to the press?”
He stiffened but didn’t turn to face her. “He’s my father.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s always right.”
“I didn’t say he’s right.”
“He doesn’t deserve your respect.”
“Yes, he does.”
“He’s here to save face with the press, not support you.”
He finally turned his head. His eyes were glacial. “He came. That’s all that matters to me.”
Meaning, he was grateful for his father’s attention and didn’t want to rock the boat. She’d watched the same thing happen many times in the past.
“Lexie, we’re not going to agree here. Just let it go.”
“No. I’m tired of seeing him treat you this way. You need to confront him.”
He jerked his arm from her grasp. “We need to get to practice.”
CHAPTER NINE
“KANE, I UNDERSTAND your father is at the track today. How do you feel about him being here in light of this morning’s newspaper article?”
Kane smiled confidently at the track reporter, though he felt anything but. “My dad’s my biggest supporter. Of course he’s here at such an important race.”
“So there’s no truth to the story that you and your father aren’t close?”
“My father and I are as close as ever.”
“Do you have any idea who on your team was quoted for this article?”
“No, I don’t. But it was obviously somebody who doesn’t know me.”
“Thank you, Kane.”
As Kane nodded, the reporter turned to face his camera. “Back to you, Ron.”
Kane turned away and hoisted himself through the window of his race car. His stomach tightened. He hadn’t lied. He’d respected his father. He’d kept his personal business to himself. A successful interview if there ever was one.
“Safe ride, buddy,” James said as he handed him his helmet.
Kane nodded. He didn’t want to talk about his father anymore, and his closest friend realized that.
Unlike Lexie.
He was still furious with her for her interference. She didn’t understand. She’d never liked his father, probably never would. The differences in the way they saw him had always caused conflict.
Still, he respected her opinion and her loyalty. She’d always been one of the few people his father couldn’t impress or charm into liking him. She saw his father’s self-centeredness as a slight against him.
She must care about him a great deal to—
He smiled suddenly. “She’s crazy about me.”
“Who?”
Kane simply widened his grin.
“No. No way.”
Kane put on his helmet. “No more blondes, buddy,” he said, his voice muffled.
“I thought you were mad at each other. The temperature in the golf cart coming over here was frigid. And that’s saying something for a vehicle with no doors or windows when it’s eighty degrees out.”
“It’ll thaw.”
“I really don’t think—”
Kane cut him off with a thumbs-up and a flick of the master switch. He knew James didn’t understand his focus on Lexie. Neither was he happy about the effect it might have on the team. Kane intended to prove his friend’s fears were unfounded.
As he hit the track for practice, he put his personal thoughts aside. He concentrated on getting a feel for the car as it rolled around the wide, D-shaped track. He experimented with different lines, searching for the one that gave him the fastest lap times. He remembered to baby the brakes in Turns One and Three.
The car’s setup was great, and he ran near the front the entire session. Harry and Lexie had really dialed this one in. Preparation, though, was only part of the battle.
They had to keep to their strategy for the race and hope cautions fell their way and wrecks didn’t. It was a fun track for a driver to race, and he’d had more success than not in finishes there. But it only took one mistake on his part or another driver’s—he recalled the Michigan wreck with a painful wince—to ruin everything.
The excitement of night racing and the beginning of The Chase hung in the air like the early-fall humidity. He was simultaneously nervous and exhilarated.
But he had miles to go before the race even began. He had a magazine interview to do, a meet-and-greet for another sponsor, the drivers’ meeting, a team meeting and a meal or two to squeeze somewhere in between.
A pretty typical race day.
He’d barely get a chance to see his parents. It was no wonder they didn’t come to races. He’d lost many relationships because of his job’s time and focus and commitments, which made the married-with-children guys all the more amazing for finding a way to make their lives work.
“Any way I can squeeze in twenty minutes to see my mom?” he asked James as they walked away from the car after practice.
“I’m ahead of you there. Cookie, Inc. is catering dinner for the team in one of the sky boxes, so I put your parents on the guest list.”
“Good thinking.” He couldn’t picture his elegant mother at an infield barbecue.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Where are we doing this in
terview?”
“The hauler.” He glanced at his watch. “And we’d better get going.”
“Can I have a word with you first?” Lexie said from behind Kane.
When they stopped and turned, he noted her eyes were shadowed by sunglasses, so he couldn’t gauge her mood. He didn’t want to go round two with her about his father, but he was such a sucker for her presence he’d take what he could get.
“Sure,” he said, looking around in vain for a place on the busy pit road to talk.
“I’ll go stall the reporter,” James said, then jogged off.
“Let’s walk,” Lexie said.
It was still a little early for the fan mobs, but Kane still didn’t see how they were going to stroll to the hauler without being interrupted twelve times.
“How about the pit box?” he suggested instead.
She shrugged, so he led the way.
They weaved through the crowd of mechanics, pit crews, reporters and other drivers—and got stopped twice by members of other teams—before they reached their pit and climbed the ladder to the box where Lexie and Harry watched the race and commanded the team.
He realized in that moment that his and Lexie’s chemistry wasn’t just personal. It extended to their relationship as driver and car chief. He’d spent a lot of the season aggravated when she pushed him, or told him he needed to find his passion before his career nosedived, but she’d been right about him suppressing his emotions too often. Her leadership was making him a better driver.
Smiling, he sat in the swivel chair next to Lexie. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. No.” She waved her hand. “Everything’s fine with the race.” She took a deep breath and looked over at him. “I’m sorry I butted in earlier. Your relationship with your father is your business, not mine.”
He laid his hand on her thigh. “I’m glad you care enough to worry about me.”
She looked around apprehensively. “Kane, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Talking?”
“Touching.”
Full Throttle Page 11
