Anton Jackson was nearly unrecognizable. She’d never been around him when a buzz of excitement didn’t announce his presence in advance, but looking at him, she understood why. A dark cap was pulled low on his head, obscuring his artfully arranged blond curls. His posture was slumped. He was pale and unsteady.
“Buy you a beer?” he asked.
She shook her head in disbelief. She’d convinced James to drive her to a bar not too far from the speedway, but not high profile enough that she would draw attention. She wanted to be pathetic alone. “This is too weird.”
“No kidding.” He signaled the bartender. “Bud Light. You want a refill?” he added to her.
Lexie stared into her half-full martini glass. It was part of some weird, defiant, reminiscent confusion that stemmed from several weeks of personal and professional highs and lows that swung as wildly as a kid on a playground. The drink was too strong and too out of character.
But after a couple of them, they didn’t taste too bad.
“Sure,” she said, then drained the glass.
The bartender gave her a dubious look. “You’re not driving anywhere, right?”
“No way.” Her world was already blurry.
“He’s been kind of erratic,” Anton said after his beer was served.
“Kind of?” The last four races Kane had posted a second, a twenty-first, a third and a thirtieth. Other drivers in The Chase had also had a bit of trouble, so they were somehow hanging on to fifth. Coming into Talladega, the entire team was tired, frustrated and out of sorts.
Lexie was all that and more. She felt as if she was hanging on to her sanity and her job by a thread. Despite her and Kane’s breakup, tension still filled her relationship with her father, though he hadn’t quit. They were snappy and edgy. They rarely agreed, no doubt contributing to Kane’s up-and-down performance.
“But he’s still okay?” Anton asked.
“I have no idea.”
“You work with him every day.”
She sipped her drink, though she suddenly felt nauseous. “We don’t really talk.”
“Neither do we.”
It was possible some of the blame for that was on her shoulders. She’d spent a lot of time lately telling Kane he shouldn’t listen to his father, or try so hard to be like him. She’d advised him to be fierce and aggressive, instead of patient and amenable. But he’d gone so far to the aggressive side they’d been black-flagged for a lap last week.
Anton cleared his throat. “I’m, ah, sorry about barging in on you two that morning.”
“It’s okay. I’ve done plenty of things lately I’m not proud of.”
“And I’m sorry if I’ve seemed critical of you and the team. I only want what’s best for Kane.”
“Since you know so much about what it takes to have a great race team.”
“Not my biggest fan, are you?”
She wanted to squirm but instead she looked him in the eye. “No.”
“I never gave you much reason to be. And that morning, I pushed way too—”
She waved away his apology. “You said what needed to be said. You were honest, which was more than I was doing. I knew I shouldn’t be involved with Kane. I knew it would cause problems on the team, and I did it anyway.”
“I should have kept my mouth shut. Your relationship wasn’t any of my business.”
She smiled weakly. “When’s that ever stopped you?”
To her surprise he laughed. “Never, of course.” He laid his hand over hers, and when she jolted, he held on. “I know we haven’t always gotten along. That’s mostly been my fault. I wanted Kane to focus on his career, not romance. And then there was the racing.”
“I took him away from football.”
“Yes, you did. I resented that for a long time. Truthfully, right up until that morning a few weeks ago. But that barrier is costing me my relationship with my son.”
She wanted to argue, but she’d always felt that was a problem, so she didn’t see how she could.
“It was convenient for me to blame you when Kane gave up football,” Anton went on. “Convenient and wrong. I didn’t want to see the truth—that my son didn’t want to play football, that his heart was somewhere else. And not to spite me, or side with you, but just because that’s who he is.” He squeezed her hand again. “I have you to thank for that realization, Lexie.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she mumbled, still bogged down in her own guilt. She could have been more understanding and less stubborn endless times in the past.
“But you did. If Kane hadn’t been so busy defending you the other morning, if you hadn’t been standing on his side, silently supporting him, he might never have told me off. I never realized he still felt so pressured to live up to my accomplishments. He might never have told me how he really felt.”
She’d helped Anton, and screwed herself up. Terrific.
“Do you love him?”
Her gaze darted to his. Truth time.
Like him, she’d come to some revealing conclusions over the past few weeks. The first of which was that her big plan to land a stable, ho-hum accountant and have a personal life outside of racing was a bust.
She loved this freakin’ sport, and who else could understand her and her business but someone who was also consumed by it? Racing owned her—body and soul. Just like Kane.
“I was really hoping for an accountant but, yes, I do.”
Either he realized she was half-drunk, or he didn’t find anything odd about his son barely beating out an imaginary accountant.
“So why aren’t you fighting for him?”
“I believed I was. I was being noble.” She sighed in self-disgust. “Or so I told myself. If I’ve figured anything out in the last few weeks, it’s what a big joke that is. I just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to lose him again.”
He raised his eyebrows. “The great Lexie Mercer scared to take a risk.”
She lifted her hand. “Guilty.”
“The greater the risk, the greater the reward.”
“Is that supposed to be profound?”
“For a football player it is.”
She smiled, and in seconds she was laughing. Anton joined her until the bartender stood in front of them, a concerned look on his face. “Do you two need a cab?”
“No.” Anton tossed some money on the counter. “We’ve got a ride. Let’s go,” he said to Lexie.
“Are we actually going to come out of this as friends?” she asked as she gathered her purse and slid off the bar stool.
He grabbed her elbow when she swayed on her feet. “Stranger things have happened.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“I hope we can make it work, because I need a favor.”
She blinked at him. “You didn’t come for a beer?”
“I came for you. My car and driver are outside, waiting for us.”
Sure enough, idling at the curb outside the bar was a big, black SUV with darkly tinted windows. A driver leaped out and opened the back door as they approached. Anton helped her inside, and Lexie could tell she was going to regret her martini experimentation in the morning. Next time she was sticking with her old standby—chocolate.
When Anton settled inside, he turned toward her. “I need you to help me get my son back.”
“I HATE IT when I’m right,” Lexie said the next morning, squinting into the bright sunlight on her way to the drivers’ meeting.
Her father, walking beside her, snorted. “No, you don’t.”
Her temples pounded, and she slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “I do today.”
“You were out pretty late last night.”
She really needed to talk to Cheryl about not booking her and her father rooms side by side. “I guess so.”
“I heard a man’s voice.”
“Yep. Anton Jackson.”
Her father ground to a halt. “What?”
Laughing, she hooked her arm through his, forgetting for a m
inute that they were barely speaking. But when she started to step back, he pulled her into a hug. A quick one—they were in the middle of a busy path of crew members, media and officials, after all—but genuine enough that Lexie’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.
“Come over here,” he said, tugging her through the crowd to the alleyway beside the media center. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding on to both her hands as they faced each other. “I’ve been a stubborn idiot the last few weeks. I left you and Kane in the lurch at Dover and threw off the team’s focus. I’ve been grouchy and difficult.” He squeezed her hands. “And jealous of him.”
“Daddy, you’re my number-one guy.”
“I know.” He looked down at the ground, then back up at her. His eyes were watery. “I’ve really enjoyed working side by side with you this year.”
“We make a good team. Just like the old days.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry I interfered between you and Kane. I was trying to protect you, and all I did was make you miserable.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“Life is short. We know that better than most people.”
Lexie’s throat closed. She nodded as she blinked back tears.
“If he makes you happy, then you go for it.”
“I plan to.”
She never should have doubted Kane or given up on him, even with all the tension between her and her father and with all the possible consequences and doubts. The past few days, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the race Kane had won at Bristol, how he’d refused to get out of the car until he spoke to her. He didn’t do that to defy his father. He did that to show her she was important to him, that his win and his happiness weren’t complete without her.
Her father pulled her into his arms and squeezed her tight. “I think your mother would have liked Kane.”
“Me, too.” She kissed his cheek.
“I have faith in you, sweetie. Kane, too.”
“You should probably tell him that.”
“I will.”
Sniffling, they separated and looked around to make sure nobody had noticed they were crying on race day. And before the racing had even started.
“So…Anton Jackson?” her father asked as they walked through the garage area.
Lexie told him about the night before, about her and Anton bonding and forging a new friendship and about her promise to help father and son renew their relationship.
“He could start by coming to a race every once in a while,” Harry commented, obviously not ready to forgive Anton so easily.
“He’s here, isn’t he?”
“We’ll see how long it lasts.”
Okay, so not every wall was going to come tumbling down overnight. Since she was sure Anton was serious about this new commitment, she figured her father would come around eventually.
After the drivers’ meeting, Kane retreated to his motor coach with James to relax as he usually did. Lexie watched him go with a sense of both anticipation and unease fluttering in her stomach. The past few days he’d stopped ignoring her and instead scowled at her constantly.
Two hours before race time, and the stands were already half-full. The grand lady at Talladega loomed like a mirage in the middle of the Alabama countryside. It was the biggest track on the circuit, with thousands of campers crowding the infield, and banking so steep you’d fall over if you tried to stand in the turns.
The drivers loved the speed. The fans loved the racing. The roar of the field as they came off the backstretch and into Turn Three sounded like a fleet of jets taking off. The barely controlled chaos during the race as cars went two, three, even four wide had fans holding their breath and hardly ever sitting in their seats.
Needless to say, Talladega wasn’t the place for emotions, and their team had enough feelings flying around to satisfy Dr. Phil’s schedule for at least a month.
There was too much to do before the race for her to waste time worrying. With the rest of the crew’s help, she and her father organized the pit area, all the equipment and got the car into its place. By the time Kane and James strolled up, she had her car chief’s hat firmly in place and had locked away her uncertainties.
And her assistant-for-the-day got the expected stunned reaction.
“Dad?” Kane asked when he reached them.
“Hey, son.” Sweaty, his white polo stained with grease and wearing a team Sonomic Oil baseball cap and a broad smile, football legend Anton Jackson rocked back on his heels as if he was having the time of his life. “Lexie invited me to help out today.”
Given the iciness between all of them, she’d taken a big chance by bringing Anton to such an important race. But there’d never be a perfect time. Racing wasn’t going to stop so they could live. With all the drama this season, she’d learned that, if nothing else.
Kane turned his head toward her. “You invited him?”
“He came to the race on his own, and I didn’t see any point in him standing on the sidelines.”
Kane shrugged and turned away. “Whatever. As long as you people do your job, I won’t have any problem doing mine.”
Anton’s smile faltered, but Lexie patted his shoulder. “Hang in there. He’s always cranky before a race.”
“Are you sure—”
“This is my pit, not his.”
“No, I meant, are you sure you want him? He’s got a serious ego problem.”
Lexie grinned. “Like father, like son.”
“Hey, I never—”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Okay, maybe he comes by it naturally.”
“Come on, Mr. Hall of Fame,” she said, guiding him toward the pit box. “I’ll teach you the art of lap timing.”
“HANG IN THERE,” Harry said through Kane’s headset. “Twenty laps to go. Run your race. Think ahead, and watch Lockwood’s car.”
Kane suppressed a stream of cuss words. “Lockwood? What now?”
“He sent his car chief down here to complain about you cutting him off.”
The guy gave a whole new meaning to jerk. “Too bad.”
“We need a top five out of this, so just keep your eyes open.”
“How about a win?”
“Just dedicate it to me.”
“You got it, boss.”
Kane wasn’t sure when it happened, but he and Harry were doing better. He still wasn’t happy about what he considered his emotional blackmail of Lexie. But ultimately Lexie had made her own decision, and he had his own part in pushing her to it.
Later. Save it for later.
He pushed aside his frustration. He had plenty to say to her, as soon as the race was over. And he’d never wanted a race to be over so badly in his life.
At least Cheryl would be happy her plan worked.
“We got an offer from the sixty-three. He’s going. You wanna go with him?”
“Let’s do it.”
With five laps to go, when the sixty-three car pulled out from their tight pack of seven cars, Kane followed him, putting his car millimeters from his back bumper and allowing the front car to pull him along in its wake. A couple of other cars jumped out behind him, and the whole line surged forward.
The sixty-three crossed the finish line first, and Kane sailed across just behind him.
“Great job, guys!” he shouted into the radio.
He pulled into his pit, then slid out of the car. After high fives from Lexie and the guys, he did the obligatory TV interviews, then rushed off to congratulate the winner.
On his way back to his hauler, he encountered Danny Lockwood.
“You cut me off.”
With no intention of wasting one minute with this guy, Kane kept walking. “I drove through the giant hole you left open.”
“I’m tired of having to deal with you.”
“Too bad.”
Lockwood shoved his shoulder. “I’m talking to you.”
Kane stopped and turned. He’d dealt with his anger in productive
ways—exercising, deep breathing and thinking through the consequences of giving in to his anger. He’d kept his cool through arguments with his father, nearly losing his crew chief and losing his girlfriend.
But he’d flat had enough.
“Get away from me,” he said to Lockwood.
“Not until I have my say.”
Blood roaring in his head, Kane clenched his fist and drew back. But before he could land the blow, Lexie jumped between him and Lockwood.
“Kane, no!”
“Get out of the way, Lexie.”
She grabbed his arm and hung on. “No way.”
“Let’s go, son,” his father said, laying his arm around his shoulders. “And I suggest you move along,” he said to Lockwood with a piercing blue stare.
It wasn’t easy, but Kane drew a deep breath and moved away with Lexie and his father.
“Need your daddy to fight your battles for you, Jackson?” Lockwood yelled after them.
As Kane turned back, one of his fans—dressed from head to toe in red and yellow Sonomic Oil/Kane Jackson gear—decked Lockwood.
Crew members and officials rushed toward them, some surrounding him, some surrounding the prone Lockwood. Kane was escorted to the NASCAR trailer, while Lockwood was taken to the infield care center.
He agreed wholeheartedly with the NASCAR big dogs that aggression and violence were no way to solve personal problems. With about twenty witnesses who saw him walking away, he figured he could afford to be magnanimous. NASCAR’s president glared at him suspiciously, as if there might be a conspiracy between him and his fan.
Privately Kane vowed to pay all the fan’s court fees if Lockwood pressed charges, and get him tickets and pit passes to any race he wanted.
When he left the trailer, his father was waiting for him. “Everything okay?”
Now that the excitement was over, the awkward tension between him and his father returned. “Probably. They said they’d give a final ruling Tuesday, but I don’t see how they can blame me. I was walking away from the guy.” He paused. “Uh, thanks for that, by the way.”
“I was glad to help. I’m always here for you.”
Kane stared at the ground. “Sure.”
“Why don’t I walk with you back to your coach?”
“Okay. I could really use a shower.”
Full Throttle Page 19
