Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance)

by O'Connor, Brynn

  With a shaky voice I reply. “Doctor Craig Allan Hansen. It’s a different doctor.” How could I have made this mistake? I was so emotional that I didn’t even pay attention.

  “Read the report,” Harvey says.

  I open it up and start scanning the pages. I don’t have to read every detail to get it. Dr. Nguyen’s report is there along with a new CT scan and a follow up report from Dr. Elias Hanson. There’s also another report dated later by Dr. Nguyen again. I scan through it as fast as I can. My heart’s pounding in my chest and I’m holding my breath. Dr. Nguyen is confirming what Dr. Hanson has already said. There is nothing wrong with Marco and the spot on the first CT scan was an anomaly and did not show up on two subsequent scans. Dr. Hanson has cleared Marco to race again effective immediately and Dr. Nguyen supported the findings in a statement of his own. Finally I can breathe again.

  “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the third envelope.

  Rachael hands it to me. “That’s from Brian France, confirming that Marco is fit and cleared to race again effective immediately.”

  This time my tears are of relief. Everything is all okay in my world once again.

  “Don’t get all happy just yet.” Harvey commands. Marco still has to win this race.”

  “Oh shit! I forgot. We have to get to the track!”

  We grab our things and the three of us rush out of my room and down to the lobby. There a taxi takes us to a nearby helicopter pad where a chopper is fueled and waiting for us. Soon as we’re airborne I am reminded of another helicopter ride a year ago when my fiancé Danny Franchetti was involved in a fatal crash at this very track that we’re flying to now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Haunted Memories

  Carrie

  Daytona 500 February 20th 2012…

  Danny Franchetti is dead.

  The words keep echoing around in my skull and I keep doing my best to deny it. Danny is dead! I swear to god those words will never pass my lips. I refuse to believe I have just stood by and watched my fiancé die in an accident that could have been prevented by me.

  Rachael has to drag me away from the car kicking and screaming.

  “Check again dammit!” I scream. “Check on more fucking time Rachael!”

  The way Rachael is looking at me. The same look you might give a rabid dog that is trying to bite you but cannot on account of the leash. There’s a healthy bit of respect in that look, but there’s also a measure of pity. She is watching her best friend come unglued before her eyes.

  “Look at me Carrie. I’ve checked and rechecked. Hell, you checked yourself three times. What more do you want me to do?”

  “Just check once more,” I reply, not realizing how crazy I must sound right now.

  But she obliges and places her two fingers at throat. I can tell by her expression that nothing has changed. The track’s Chief Medical Examiner is standing by to examine my fiancé and proclaim the time of death.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the car please.”

  I look up. It’s one of Daytona’s track officials along with the medical examiner that I have been keeping at bay for the last fifteen minutes. Their expressions are both set with determination. They won’t leave until they have the information they came for and I guess there’s not much I can do now. I reach through the window and unstrap his helmet. With great care and gentleness I slowly remove his helmet.

  My first observation is that he looks fine; like he’s resting peacefully. Maybe he is. He’s...he was a tortured soul and like many souls like him, they don’t find their peace in life, only in death. And when I stand here looking at Danny one last time in a race car, he looks like he’s found that peace he’s been looking so hard for. I lean over and give him one kiss on his lips, then on his forehead.

  “Goodbye Danny...”

  I don’t even bother to hide the tears as I walk away from the car. The Daytona official and the ME look down and away as I pass by them. Don’t know if that was a merciful act of sympathy or they just didn’t know how to deal with a grieving almost widow. Rachael matches my steps and takes my hand in hers and I’m grateful for the small comfort.

  February 24th 2012 Four Days Later at the Funeral…

  Today I learn just how paranoid and superstitious race car drivers really are. I’ve gotten to know a lot of drivers and crew members over the last 18 months. Danny was an immensely popular guy. As I look around the church I don’t see a single one of them. Of course his parents aren’t here, they died several years ago in a boating accident. His little sister is here though and it’s probably the third time I have ever seen her. She refused to watch him race, just like his parents, just in case he got hurt. So that leaves just the non-racing people in Danny’s life and that’s not a lot given how he eats, drinks, and breathes racing. Rachael is here, not for Danny but to support me.

  I don’t know why, but at some point in the service I turn around and there are two strangers standing up in the back of the church. One was clearly too old to be a driver, and the other was too out of shape to be one. They were dressed in expensive suits so I figure they’re here on official business.

  Carpe diem is the theme for the service. Seize the day, that’s what Danny certainly did. I am full of conflicting emotions, anger and sorrow being the predominating ones. I’m not bitterly angry at losing my fiancé before we even got to start our life together. I’m not angry that he got taken away too soon, he was only 26. I’m angry because he tried to cheat the system and got away with it right up until the point he didn’t get away with it. Then he died. I’m angry at myself for not stopping him.

  I keep trying to tell myself it’s not my fault. He was a grown man fully capable of making his own choices and living with the consequences. It was not my place to make his decisions for him. I keep telling myself that but it doesn’t help. I suffer through another twenty minutes of people standing up there next to a giant picture of Danny in his racing uniform and saying all these wonderful things about him and it turns my stomach. Where’d they get these people anyway? I certainly don’t know them and I don’t think they really even knew Danny. Would they still be saying all the crap if they knew about his violent temper? Danny had a short fuse when we were alone together. When we were in bed he was like Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He could be the most loving person and a controlling asshole at the same time. The real question is, how did I put up with that for so long? There must have been a good side to Danny Franchetti, but not one that these people up there are talking about. They really didn’t know him at all.

  When the service finally concludes and I’m making my way back down the aisle to the end of the chapel and step outside into a grey wet afternoon. The two strangers match my step, one on each side of me.

  “What do you want?” I ask, making no attempt to hide the scorn in my voice. I know these two are up to no good and ambushing me like this the day of the funeral is contemptible.

  “My name is Doctor Samuel Saul, I’m the medical director for the track hospital here in Daytona, and this is NASCAR Chairman Brian France.”

  “I know who you are.” I reply coolly.

  I have met Dr. Saul on a previous occasion but I know Brian by reputation only. He is related to Bill France, of NASCAR’s founding family. For them both to ambush me here outside the church means there is something serious going on here.

  Dr. Saul gets right to the point without preamble. “Ms. Zane, did you happen to see Danny’s medical release form?”

  “Just in passing. I didn’t study it or pay it any attention, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “That’s what we’re asking. Did you happen to see which doctors were on those papers, particularly a report from Doctor Carmichael, Danny’s neurologist? His report would have to have been in with that report and it would have been addressed and commented on...would have been quite a few pages that report if it was legitimate of course.”

  “Not many drivers here tod
ay,” Dr. Saul observes.

  “Drivers are a suspicious bunch, aren’t they Carrie?” comments Mr. France.

  “You would know,” I reply.

  “Some nice things were said,” Dr. Saul says lamely.

  “They don’t like to be reminded of their own mortality,” Mr. France replies. “Makes them feel vulnerable. Especially the ones who’ve lost their edge, for whatever reason...”

  “Was that a thick report?” Dr. Saul asks abruptly.

  “Yeah it was pretty thick,” I reply.

  “But no report from Dr. Carmichael? That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”

  And here’s where I blew it. “Oh there was something there with his signature on it,” I reply without thinking.

  “Forgive me, but maybe I wasn’t paying attention Ms. Zane, but didn’t you say earlier that you really paid no attention to the report?” asks Dr. Saul. “Just in passing...That’s what you said, Ms. Zane.”

  “Look, I’m not thinking too clearly today for obvious reasons. You guys just ambushed me and you expect me to remember every detail of some obscure conversation or event that happened a while ago. Look, if you want accurate answers why don’t you do the decent thing and allow me at least the weekend to grieve before you start your interrogation.”

  “After you’ve had the time to get your answers straight of course, but this is not an interrogation Ms. Zane, just a casual conversation in a chance meeting,” Brian replies. “We’re just doing our jobs.”

  “Your jobs? I thought this was a casual conversation in a chance meeting. That’s what you said Brian. Now I’m going to go home and grieve for my fiancé. Have a good day.”

  Without waiting for a reply I step away from them and hurry to my car. When I finally reach my trailer I’m still shaking. What kind of trouble have I gotten myself into?

  Two weeks later…

  Getting a private helicopter ride was expensive enough. Finding someone who was willing to look the other way when I began dumping, well that was another story. But I finally found the right guy, a former NASCAR driver turned pilot. I wasn’t sure I was going to go through with this, but after being harassed by race officials after the funeral I decided a big fuck you to NASCAR is in order.

  I’m pretty sure NASCAR would frown upon what I’m about to do, but I don’t really care anymore. Danny never left any final instructions in his will so I am left with my best guess, and that’s that he would want to be buried as close to the Daytona 500 as possible. So I did one better than that. I’m going to spread his ashes as we fly around the track at 500 feet.

  Rachael is good enough to come along for emotional support. I’m not sure how this is going to strike me. The flood of emotions I was expecting during the service never did show up. How can I not cry over my dead fiancé? Rachael has some theories but I just don’t know. She thinks that I am just way too conflicted to grieve right now, what with the way Danny treated me, the problem with NASCAR officials...It’s no wonder I’m blocked. Maybe she’s right.

  “Okay, we’ll need to make this fairly quick,” our pilot instructs us. “We don’t want track authorities catching on about a chopper flying around overhead and I really don’t need the heat. I’ll make three laps around the track at a slow speed. That should give you three or four minutes to do whatever it is you’re doing with those ashes.”

  “How’d you know?” I asked, thoroughly surprised.

  “You think this is the first time I’ve helped spread some driver’s ashes over the track?” he replies.

  As we approach the edge of the track, our chopper slows down and drops elevation. I say a quick prayer under my breath before speaking again. I open the urn, crack a window and tilt the container.

  “Goodbye Danny I—”

  That’s all I can manage. A sudden torrent of pain and anguish comes spewing out. I don’t even realize it until we’re heading back, but I have managed to drop Danny’s urn somewhere outside the chopper. I look at my empty hands, then back to Rachael. She reads me like a book.

  “You dropped it on pit row. I saw it hit. Pretty funny actually. Looked like a miniature smoke bomb going off.”

  “Oh shit! I didn’t...was there anybody down there? I didn’t hit anyone with it did I?”

  “Not square on the head you didn’t,” Rachael replies with a smile on her face.

  “Okay, who’d I shower with Danny’s ashes?” I reply.

  “Well I couldn’t be sure, because we were flying pretty high, but you dropped it on the Team Panata pit area and you showered a half dozen crew members who were there working on one of their cars.”

  I laugh in spite of myself. “It’s gonna take them a month to get Danny’s ashes out of their engine. He never could stand Panata. I guess he finally got the best of them. Too bad he couldn’t see it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Catching Walls

  “Speed has never killed anyone, suddenly becoming stationary… that’s what gets you…” Jeremy Clarkson

  Carrie

  Daytona 500 February 17th 2013

  “What’s so funny?” Rachael asks after we land and get clear of the chopper’s blades.

  “I was just remembering the last time you and I were in a helicopter flying to this track.” I reply as we walk across the landing area.

  “The dumping of the ashes.” Then she laughs. “Who would have thought when you were dumping Danny’s ashes on the Panata’s that 12 months later you’d be working for them.”

  “Yeah, who would have thunk?”

  We hop into a waiting cart and head towards the Panata pit box. Harvey disappears for a minute then comes back with two headsets. He hands me one.

  “Now both of us can talk to Marco,” he explains.

  “You sure I should be part of this?” I ask reluctantly accepting the headset.

  “I’m not sure, but he is. Marco’s been asking for you ever since the race started. Just set your radio for channel forty-four. Now let’s go win us a race!”

  Harvey sprints for the spotters stand with me hot on his heels. I’m a little nervous talking to Marco. I just don’t think that the middle of the Daytona 500 is a good time to make up.

  I’m out of breath when we get up to the top of the stand, so I take a moment before tuning in to channel 44. When I finally do, Harvey and Marco are already talking. It appears that he and Ariel are going to be working together during the race. Then out of nowhere, Marco addresses me.

  “Carrie, you on yet?” he asks.

  “I’m here Marco. I am so sorry I—”

  “You don’t need to say a thing Carrie. After everything you went through with Danny, of course it looked like I was doing the same thing. No need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re here with me today.”

  The radio goes strangely silent. I’m just about to say something when I hear a gasp followed by groaning.

  “Marco, are you okay?” I shout.

  “That wasn’t me Carrie. You’d better check Harvey I haven’t heard a word in the last couple minutes.”

  “Got it.”

  I pull my headset off and look around. Last I saw he was going to the other end of the stand to talk to Ariel’s spotter. At the end of the stand there seems to be some sort of commotion. Fearing the worst I run to the edge of a crowd of spotters. There laying on the ground clutching his chest is Harvey. Heart attack? I grab my personal radio and call Rachael.

  “Rach, get your stuff. Harvey’s having a heart attack.”

  “On my way!” she shouts.

  I kneel down beside our spotter. He is conscious, alert, and in obvious pain. “Hang in there Harvey, Rachael’s on the way.”

  He opens his eyes. “Carrie,” he points to the headset in my hands. “You have to do it...”

  “What?”

  “You have to spot for me...”

  “What? No way, I can’t do that any more than you can do my job!”

  “I’ll help you.” I look up and one of the other team’s spotters has knelt d
own beside me. He offers his hand. “My name’s Hank, I spot for Irwin Fletcher. I’d be honored to help out.”

  I take his hand. “Thank you Hank. Thank you so much.”

  Just then Rachael runs up along with two track guards, presumably to help carry Harvey down to the ambulance. As she takes over I stand up and put on my headset.

  “You can stand over here with me,” Hank says, pointing the way.

  I wave to Harvey as they take him away. What horrible timing. There’s no way I can do what he does for Marco. I join Hank by the rails and look down at the cars. I click on my radio and address Marco.

  “Hey uh Marco, Harvey’s gonna be fine. I’m going to talk you through this with a little help from Fletcher’s spotter.”

  “You’ll do great Carrie. I trust you.”

  “I just wish I trusted me. Okay so what’s next? What do I do?”

  “I’m due at some point to change out these tires and to refuel. You have to find out when that time is. You’ll also have to warn me when I’m about ten stalls away from out pit box and let me know if I’m coming in too fast.”

  “How fast is too fast?”

  “Keep me at 50.”

  “Crap...what else?”

  “You gotta keep me informed as to where the other guys are that concern me and let me know if there’s debris on the track or a wreck I need to avoid. You gotta guide me around the track basically.”

  “Okay.”

  I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Hank. “The leaders are heading in. Tell your guy to come in. He’ll need to refuel and change the tires.”

  “I have to tell him that?”

  “Your pit crew will do the work. Just tell him to come in and make sure he doesn’t come in too hot.”

  “Got it. Thanks Hank.” I focus back on Marco. “Hey Marco, come one in. Everybody’s coming in so if you do it now you won’t lose your position.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  By the time the race is halfway finished I am drenched in sweat and a nervous wreck. I feel like I’m the one out there driving the car and not Marco. The amount of information I have to give him on a minute to minute second to second basis is overwhelming.