Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance)

by O'Connor, Brynn

  Danny’s half-joking nickname for me is Taylor Swift. He claims that there’s a resemblance, but I just don’t see it. I think he just wishes I was her. Sure, we both have blond hair and small button noses, but that’s all the resemblance I see. Well, that and we both favor the same bright red lipstick when stepping out. My height kills it for me. I don’t know how tall the singer is, but at just over five feet three inches, most people tower over me. I’m on the thin side, but I have been blessed in the curve department. I look into my bright blue eyes and ask myself if I can pull this off? I don’t want Danny to know I’m going behind his back checking up on him, but I have to find out more and I have to do it discretely.

  Danny got a second opinion and that doctor cleared him, I remember that. I remember how happy he was. He’s not trying to cheat the system by racing when he’s been benched. I give myself one more look then sneak out the door. With a little luck, Danny will still be sleeping off a hangover when I get back. I take my purse so I can put the fax inside and I can tell him I went for a walk to clear my head.

  When I get to the lobby a fax is waiting for me. There are two pages outlining the initial exam after the crash and the results of the CAT scan that revealed he’d suffered a seizure just before the crash. There’s a lot of information about seizures and he doctor’s recommendation that Danny undergo further treatment to determine the cause of the problem and the likelihood that it will happen again. There’s a separate page prepared for the racing commission declaring him unfit to race until further tests clear him or declare him permanently unfit to race. Obviously the Poconos race officials never saw this report. The question is, what did they see and from whom?

  Present Day…

  I wake with a start. I’m covered in sweat, and I have a pounding headache. I wonder if I will ever be free of nightmares about Danny. It’s rare I go more than two weeks in a row without dreaming of him and the accident. It was bad enough to live through it once, but now I gotta live it again over and over in my sleep. I think I’ll call Rachael to meet me for dinner. I retrieve my phone from my purse when it starts ringing the moment it’s in my hand. Sure enough, it’s Rachael.

  “Hey Rachael, what’s up?”

  “You’ll never guess who just called me!”

  “Ben Affleck?”

  “Ha.”

  “Robert Downey Jr.? No wait, Johnny Depp?”

  “Are you finished?”

  “Sure.”

  “Marco! Marco Panata wants to talk to the people who helped save his life yesterday.” Rachael is literally bubbling with excitement.

  “So when are we meeting him?”

  “In an hour. I thought I’d pick you up and we can go together. Afterwards we can grab lunch. How’s that sound?”

  “Fine. Let me just take a shower.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about a special meeting with a driver but I guess we’ll find out. An hour later and Rachael and I are pulling into the hospital’s parking structure. Rachael leads us to his room where we knock on the door. After a few seconds a voice instructs us to come in.

  Marco is reclining in bed, face buried in a newspaper when we walk up. He lets the paper slide through his fingers and onto his lap. As the paper falls away and I see Marco, really see him, and it takes my breath away.

  “Are you alright?” Rachael asks, breaking the spell.

  “Yeah...” I say with some effort, “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

  I look over at my best friend to see if Marco has the same effect on her. She’s smiling, but definitely not under his spell. She takes a chair by the bed and sits down. I decide to follow suit.

  He starts the conversation. “Carrie, Rachael, I want to thank the two of you for saving my life. I understand that at one point I had stopped breathing...so thank you.”

  “It’s all Carrie,” my roommate pipes up, “We’d just like to offer our deepest condolences for your loss, Mr. Panata.”

  “It’s a dangerous sport...” he replies, letting his voice trail off.

  He sits up and the hospital sheet slides down, exposing a well-sculpted, muscular chest. I remember my hands gliding over his muscles yesterday. It’s like I crossed the line or something. My exam went from strictly medical to...to something not so medical, and I can’t really say I’m sorry for it.

  “Earth to Carrie...Earth to Carrie,” my best friend says in a sing song voice. “Boy you’re really out of it today.”

  “Oh...uh yeah, I’m kinda tired, sorry.”

  “So how long have you two been on my father’s team?” Marco asks.

  Rachael’s the first to speak up. “I’ve been there for about four years and Carrie just a few months I guess.”

  “What? Oh, yeah...that’s about right.”

  “But she was on Ricky Brighthal’s team before.”

  “Damn...he was a good racer. Best rookie out of the gates I’ve ever seen. Well, him and Franchetti. Damn shame what happened to both of them.”

  “Yeah...it was a shame.” I respond automatically.

  “Actually if I had to pick between the two...Franchetti was the better driver. Did you know him Carrie?”

  “He was her fiancé actually,” Rachael says for me.

  A sudden light turns on in Marco’s face. “Oh my god, I almost didn’t make the connection.”

  Part of me wants to just get out of here, but a bigger part of me wants to stay and keep him talking. I just need to hear him. The more he talks the more I crave the sound of his voice.

  Rachael asks him another question and pretty soon the two of them are talking like old friends. That’s fine by me. I get to hear him talk and study him at the same time. My eyes are drawn to his bare chest like a moth to a flame. I let my gaze linger on his broad shoulders before sliding down to his pecs, then farther down to an amazing six pack. How the hell does a driver have enough time to keep in that kind of shape? It’s not every day I get to just stare at a beautiful man uninterrupted and I’m going to take full advantage—

  “Something wrong?” Marco suddenly asks me.

  Crap, he caught me checking him out. “Huh...no uh...I was just wondering about you...your ribs. I thought you might have broken them the other night.” Well there’s a lame excuse.

  “Oh...well, you don’t have to worry, I didn’t break anything actually.”

  When I finally dare to look at his face again I find he is staring intently at me. He runs a hand through his hair absentmindedly and I can’t help but follow with my gaze. He’s got short, jet black, unruly hair that’s all over the place. I find myself wishing that was my hand combing through his locks. My eyes fall to his face and this time I allow myself to study with abandon.

  His eyes are the prominent feature on his handsome face. They are amazingly radiant, twin pools of blue-green light that are framed by dark eyebrows. I let my eyes sweep down to his jawline. His week’s growth of whiskers only serves to make him even more attractive. The longer I allow myself the luxury of studying the man, the more my body seems drawn to his.

  I can’t afford to find out the answer. He’s a driver in a deadly sport. He’s just lost his father so there’s no convincing me auto racing is anything but dangerous. I fell under the spell of another driver once upon a time and he turned out to be this monster and a control freak. All drivers are control freaks who think they can dictate every aspect of the race from the right type of engine oil to the ever-changing conditions of the track they drive on. The truth is, very little is within their control. I will not let myself be with another race car driver no matter how handsome he is or how good a driver he is. I’m guessing that under that rock star exterior lurks a wolf just waiting to gobble up star-crossed fans. They’re all like that. His father is...was a total lady’s man who left his wife for a younger model and I’m sure that runs in the family.

  “So what do you say?” Marco asks.

  “What?” I just about jump out of my skin.

  “Carrie,” Rachael begins, “He just asked u
s to be on his medical team. You haven’t heard a word we’ve been saying have you?”

  “Sorry...just a little distracted this morning, that’s all.”

  “I understand,” Marco replies, “Being a part of rescue personnel during...during events like the one that took my father has to have some sort of impact, yes?”

  “You get used to it,” I reply lamely.

  “I think you two are some of the best out there, Carrie, and that’s why I’d like you and Rachael here to be on my team. If you need to think it over that’s okay.”

  “We’ll do it!” Rachael announces for both of us.

  “Carrie?” Marco asks.

  “Of course we will.”

  I can’t afford to sit on the sidelines very long if I’m going to remain a trauma nurse for a NASCAR team. It was hard enough getting back on one after taking so much time off after Danny died. Had it not been for Rachael I’d probably be working graveyard in some hospital or nursing home.

  “Good to hear!” Marco announces. Now if you ladies will excuse me I have a few calls to make before the nurses come back around and force me to rest.”

  He smiles, then gives me a wink before picking up his phone to make a call. Well...at least I’m still employed.

  Chapter Three

  Marco's Hospital Room

  “Auto racing is boring except when a car is going at least a 172 miles per hour upside down.” — Dave Barry

  Marco

  Marco Panata’s hospital room, present day...

  “Mr. Panata, you have visitors,” says a voice through the door.

  “Send ‘em in, sweetie.”

  The door opens, and in walk two very important men. There’s my crew chief Alonzo and Enzo Palazzo of Red Bull Italy, one of my primary sponsors. This does not bode well. I plaster a smile on my face and greet them like old friends.

  “Mr. Palazzo, Alanzo, come right in.”

  “Please, call me Enzo. It’s good to see you doing so well, all things considered.”

  “Well, what can you do?”

  “Marco, we need to talk,” says Enzo, dropping his smile and the pleasantries that go along with it.

  “I haven’t even buried my father yet and I’m getting the win-or-else speech?” I ask, losing my smile.

  “You had to know this was coming,” my crew chief replies. “Red Bull foots a fifteen million dollar bill every year they’re your primary sponsor and up until now that’s been fine because your father’s winnings earn enough for both of you. Without his income we can’t keep big name sponsors like Red Bull. I’m sure you understand.”

  “So that’s it? You’re pulling your sponsorship, Enzo?”

  “Settle down Marco...I didn’t say right away. We’re two thirds into the season. We’ll continue to be your primary for the remainder of the season but with your father—may he rest in peace—with him gone, you’re going to need to finish in the top ten in points or win at Daytona if we’re going to be sponsoring you next race season.”

  “I see...” I turn to my crew chief. “So tell me Alanzo, who else is pulling out?”

  “No one yet, but if you don’t finish top ten or take the 500, you’ll lose your ride for sure. I’m sorry but this is a business—”

  “It’s an empire,” I reply, interrupting him, “It’s a dynasty my father built from—”

  “Yes,” he replies, “An empire your father built and keeps building but without him. It’s going to crumble unless you can start winning races!”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this! I thought the Panata name meant something.” I point to Enzo. “You guys have been getting rich off my name for years and—”

  “Your father’s name, Marco. We have done well because of your father and until you prove that you’re cut from the same cloth as him, you’re going to lose Red Bull and every other sponsor you have. My old man used to watch you when you were a kid racing open wheel. Nobody could beat you and when you grew a little and transferred to NASCAR we thought the same thing would happen so we sponsored you. We came through for you but you haven’t done a thing for us.”

  I’m so angry I can’t think straight. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My father’s not even cold and this guy’s talking about me not being cut from the same cloth? My ass! I’ll show him. I’ll show them all. I’m pulling out all stops. I’m gonna win races or die trying like my father did.

  “When are you going to be discharged?” Alanzo asks.

  “Tomorrow. Dr. Gordon is coming by after lunch with my papers giving me a clean bill of health to get behind the wheel again.”

  “Well that’s good to hear,” my sponsor replies.

  “Now if you two will excuse me, I’m going to rest.”

  “Sure thing, Marco. I know you don’t like me right now, but I am on your side. And, I’m really sorry about your father. I really am.”

  I don’t trust myself to speak any more. Instead I roll over in bed and shut my eyes. Alanzo mutters something as he leaves. Somehow I knew this visit would be coming, but it still caught me by surprise. With my father still racing it was next to, if not impossible for me to make a name for myself separate from my father. I’m on the racing team bearing our last name and sometimes even sharing things like pit crew members and even backup cars. There was just no way to be my own man. With my father gone I should have the chance to finally make a name for myself separate from my father’s name. The only problem is, with his death and sponsors threatening to pull out, I may not have the chance to prove myself. I’ll have to talk to my crew chief, but I don’t think it is possible to earn enough points in what’s left of the season to finish in the top ten and keep my sponsors. That means, the only real chance I have at keeping the money rolling in, primarily from Red Bull is to win the Daytona 500 at the end of the season. I don’t know if that is a goal any more realistic than me placing top ten in points.

  Atlanta Motor Speedway, Hampton GA: The ADVOCARE 500

  Monday morning, 7am…

  “What the hell’s going on out there?” hollers my Spotter Harvey.

  “What’d you mean?” I reply.

  “This is your fourth go around and you still haven’t turned a lap above 200! Get your foot off the brake and show us what she can do.”

  And that’s what I get for not paying attention. We’re breaking in my back-up car. We’ve only gone a couple miles and already I don’t like how she’s driving.

  “You gotta take out some of the wedge!” I holler back.

  “Alright, bring her in then,” Max replies.

  When I pull into pit row I have a surprise waiting for me. For some reason that new nurse, Carrie something is standing there with her trauma kit, apparently waiting for me. As I come to a full stop she approaches the car.

  “Something wrong Mr. Panata?” she asks.

  “My father’s Mr. Panata. Call me Marco. And no, nothing’s wrong. Why does everyone think something is wrong?” I ask her.

  “Because,” begins my crew chief as he steps up to my window. “You turned in a top speed of 187 on that last lap! You keep runnin’ laps like that and you won’t even qualify!”

  Then he turns to the new girl. “Carrie, I’m taking him out of the car. I want you to check him out. Something’s up. Maybe the doctor’s at the hospital missed something.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Carrie

  Atlanta Motor Speedway’s Track Trauma Care Center...

  I lead Marco over to the trauma center to check out Team Panata’s sole heir and only driver in the field. Word is, he’s going to lose Red Bull and his ride if he doesn’t start driving like a superstar.

  On race day, this place is packed with medical personnel, the occasional driver, and race fans who have succumbed to the heat, or too much alcohol, or any number of medical issues that sometimes occur during the race. On a Monday morning, the place is next to deserted. I pick an exam room and direct my patient to remove his Nomex race suit.

  “I told you doc, I’m fit
as a fiddle,” Marco complains.

  “I’m not your doctor, I’m a trauma nurse and I’ll decide how fit you are. Now please remove your suit so I can complete my exam.”

  Reluctantly he removes his suit, but balks when it comes to the fireproof underwear.

  “Seriously?” I complain. “You afraid I might see something I haven’t already seen before?”

  He complies. When I’m working and a patient undresses in front of me, it usually doesn’t register, no matter attractive he may be. I’m working so that part of my mind stays switched off for the duration. For some reason when it comes to Marco Panata, I can’t seem to do that.

  I try not to stare as the Nomex undergarments slide down over his broad shoulders, revealing his smooth muscular chest. I watch the soft material slide down to reveal the most mouthwatering set of six pack abs I have ever seen. My eyes caress his every muscle as the material slips down over his narrow hips only to reveal—

  I snap my eyes shut. I can’t be thinking about his manhood when I am supposed to be giving him a medical exam. But I can’t help myself. He has certainly been blessed in that all-important department.

  “Doc, what’re you doing?”

  I let slip an involuntary gasp, and my hand freezes on his hip. Oh my god, was I about to cop a feel?

  “S-sorry Mister Pan...Marco, I just noticed something...Uh, do you have any pain here?”

  “Where?” he asks with a mischievous smile forming on his lips.

  “Your...your hip. I was just wondering if you were hurting there...on...your hip.”

  “My hip is fine doc, but I think I’ve got some swelling elsewhere...”

  “Some swelling?” I ask, not getting his meaning. Then it hits me. The man is getting a hard on, right in front of me. This cannot be happening. I’m a trauma nurse and I’m supposed to be giving this man a medical exam so he can finish his practice laps.