Sweet Carolina

by Roz Lee

  “Don't do anything stupid,” Caro warned through his headset.

  Dell acknowledged her warning with one of his own. “Who's driving this car?” he asked as he cut deep and low, throttling up when reason cautioned to do the opposite. His opponent hesitated, no doubt taken by surprise at Dell's audacity. Stater recovered, recognized Dell's reckless bid and edged down the track until his rear bumper was within inches of clearing the front of Dell's car.

  It was now or never. Dell pushed his car to the limit, calling Stater's bluff. The two cars jockeyed for the lead through the backstretch into turns three and four. Dell held his ground in the high-speed game of chicken. Coming out of turn four, Stater dropped low, bumping Dell onto the apron. Dell gripped the wheel tightly and retaliated by swinging back onto the track, right into the driver's side of Stater's car.

  Metal ground against metal as the two cars rubbed along the front stretch toward the finish line. All he needed was an inch. A one-inch clearance to win this segment and be one of the top four in the final segment. Dell glanced to his right, but couldn't see Stater clearly. He calculated the distance in his mind and counted down silently. When he reached zero, he jerked the wheel left to disengage from the other car, and in the same instant, he throttled up. Stater did the same, but a fraction of a second too late. Dell shot forward, crossing the finish line ahead of Stater by six inches.

  Dell immediately throttled down and watched as Stater shot him the finger as he sailed past him. None of it mattered now. He had the purse for winning the fourth segment, and he'd start in fourth position for the final ten-lap showdown.

  “Shit, good driving, Dell,” Jeff said. “Bring her in for the mandatory pit stop.”

  “Coming in,” Dell said as he took a cool down lap before turning onto pit row. He came to a stop in their designated stall. The crew rushed to do their job, readying the car to go back out for the last segment. He'd start fourth, ahead of what remained of the fifty cars that began the race. With a million at stake, everyone was pushing it, taking risks they normally wouldn't, and as a result, the final field would be about twenty-five cars. Of those, few had any chance of winning, but it wouldn't stop them from trying. With that much cash on the line, even the sanest of drivers could go a little nuts.

  Some of the drivers elected to stretch their legs during the ten-minute stop, but Dell stayed in the car. That didn't stop the reporters from jabbing microphones and cameras in the window. He expected the questions after the way he took the segment lead away from Stater, who was now regulated to one of the twenty or so also-rans starting in the back of the pack. Dell answered their questions, ignoring the way they tried to get his reaction to his Madman nickname.

  The reporters got their sound bites and moved on to someone else. Dell focused on the final laps. This is where the gloves came off. The four winners of the previous segments would duel it out for the prize money. This was pure racing. No rules. Just drive, and do it better than the other three. Dell fired the engine on cue and took his place in the second row, behind the pace car. Two laps around, the pace car would drop out, and the green flag would fly.

  “Go get 'em!” His spotter's unnecessary words echoed Dell's thoughts as he throttled up and easily moved into third. The first and second place cars widened the gap, but Dell was on a mission to win. He closed the gap, but the drivers were running two-wide to prevent him from making a move. Dell counted down the laps in his head as he kept pace with the neck-and-neck leaders. Both cars belonged to the same owner, a man known for the nasty tactics he encouraged his drivers to employ on the track.

  Dell cursed as they cut off his next bid for the lead. He backed off and settled in behind the pair for another lap. They came into turn four and Dell eased up on the bumper of the low car.

  “Careful,” Russell cautioned. “Those two aren't gonna to give you an inch.”

  “Fuck them,” Dell said and tapped his grill against the lead car's bumper again. This was fucked up bullshit. It was obvious he had the faster car. They teamed up to shut him out, but he wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

  “Don't do anything stupid, Dell.” Caro's voice came through his headset.

  “Winning isn't stupid,” he said as he gave the lead car another nudge, forcing both cars toward the wall, creating a gap on the inside. Dell cut left, slipping down the track on the front stretch into turn one. His combatants closed the gap, cutting him off once again.

  Dell could taste the win. Could see the checkered flag come down as he crossed the finish line in the lead. No one was going to snatch it from him and get away with it.

  Two laps to go.

  He made one more bid for the lead and they cut him off again.

  “So that's the way you want to play it,” he muttered to himself. They weren't going to give him track position, so he'd take what was his, and be damned the consequences. If he wasn't going to win, they weren't either.

  Dell drove under the white flag. One more lap. They thought they had it won, but Dell wasn't ready to concede the race. They rode high in turn one and Dell punched the nose of his car alongside them on the inside.

  “Three wide,” his spotter said.

  No shit.

  They realized their mistake and in turn two, they crowded him onto the apron. Dell crowded right back, grinding against the closest car – forcing him and his partner in the conspiracy to go high.

  “Three wide!” his spotter yelled in his ear.

  The cars bumped and rubbed through the backstretch into turn three. They forced Dell back to the apron in the turn, hitting him with a solid bump intended to take him out of the race. Dell countered with a quick jerk of the wheel, sending them all careening toward the wall.

  “Dell!” Caro's voice.

  “Fuck,” he said as the outside car hit the wall first. Like boxcars on a runaway train, the second car followed the first in a shower of sparks and grinding metal. Dell glimpsed clear track ahead, then a cloud of smoke obscured his vision.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  The impact rattled his teeth, then he was spinning inside the cloud. Crumpling metal and screeching tires added to the surreal tableau. He caught glimpses of bright colors interspersed with showers of sparks as he spun. Another jolt knocked the breath from his lungs. His body slammed against the restraint and back against the seat. He was weightless. Then the world tumbled in a kaleidoscope of colors, some bright, some dark and all accompanied by the devil's orchestra.

  In the back of his mind, he understood what was happening, but he was helpless to stop it. He was nothing more than an ant in a tin can being kicked down the street by a giant.

  He heard voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. He shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. His head pounded and his shoulders ached where the restraints bit into them. Too tight, he thought, wondering how it got that way. It wasn't too tight when he started the race.

  Dell opened his eyes. His world was upside down. He shook his head again and still his world was upside down. He swatted at the hand trying to unhook his restraint. No. Can't take it off.

  “Easy man. We'll get you out. Just take it easy.”

  Dell turned toward the man speaking. His head spun with the effort to make sense of the helmeted head poking upside down through his window. Dell reached for his own helmet and fumbled with the fastener. A gloved hand grabbed his wrist.

  “Leave it on, Dell. We'll have you out in a minute. Let us do the work.”

  Dell mumbled something in response, then his world went black.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Time slowed to a crawl and Caro watched in horror as the scene played out before her. She'd seen plenty of crashes, but none as violent as this one. And Dell was right in the middle of it. Her stomach lurched and her lungs ceased as the mass of twisted, grinding metal encased in smoke, sparks, and the occasional flame careened around turn four and came to an eerily silent stop on the grass buffer between the track and pit road.

&nbs
p; “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she chanted. “Dell,” she shouted into the microphone. “Dell!”

  Russell put a hand on her arm, momentarily drawing her attention away from the horrific scene on the track. “Give him a minute, Caro. He'll be okay, you'll see.”

  No, she didn't see. Emergency crews were on the scene almost before the mass of metal came to a complete stop, but it did nothing to ease her anxiety. A cloud of smoke obscured her vision. A lone figure emerged in a clear spot, only to be swallowed up again by the smoke. Caro's heart skipped a beat. She realized the man swaggering out of the acrid mist wasn't Dell and her heart stopped completely.

  “Where is he?” she asked. “Why isn't he out of the car?” She thumbed the communication button again. “Dell! Answer me, goddamn you!”

  “Caro, calm down. Give the boy some time.”

  “Time?” She stood and yanked her headset off, throwing it across the war wagon. It hit the other side of the desk and recoiled as it came to the end of its tether. “He's had plenty of time,” she said. “How freakin' long does it take to get out of a car?”

  Too long, her analytical brain told her. It was taking too long. Something was wrong. He couldn't get out. She had to help him. “I'm going down there.”

  “Caro, wait,” Russell called after her, but she was down the ladder, heading for the break in the wall.

  “You can't go out there, ma'am.” The burly guard wearing a yellow windbreaker with the word, “Security,” emblazoned on it, stopped her before she got her leg over the wall.

  “That's my driver out there,” she said by way of explanation.

  “I don't care who it is, you aren't going past this point. Let the emergency folks do their job.”

  Caro scanned the wreckage. The undercarriage of one car stuck up, one tire spinning, the other three nothing more than ragged strips of torn rubber. A man wearing the telltale, red fire suit of a track medic lay on the ground on the driver's side, his body half in, half out of the driver's window. Caro swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

  Dell. Dell was inside that car. She pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the crumpled wreckage. “That's my car. I own it. Dell drives for me.”

  The security guy looked in the direction she pointed. “I understand, ma'am, but I still can't let you onto the track.”

  “Please,” she begged.

  He sighed and she swung her leg over the barrier again only to sail back over it in the next instant. Wrapped in strong, yellow-clad arms, she wasn't going anywhere.

  “Look, lady, if you promise not to make a run for it again, I'll take you over to where the ambulance will come through. You can wait there. I'll try to find out what I can for you. Okay?”

  Caro looked over her shoulder and nodded. “Okay. Let's go.” She wiggled and he released her. Then, grabbing her bicep in a vise-like grip, he force-marched her to a gap in the wall.

  “Wait here,” he said, looking her in the eye until he gained her agreement. She watched helplessly as he headed toward the wreckage.

  She'd never prayed so hard in her life as she did during the minutes she waited for the guard to return with news. If Dell were dead…

  No. He couldn't be, because she was going to kill him. She held onto her anger, refusing to believe she wouldn't have the chance to unleash it on Dell. He had to be alive. She wouldn't accept anything else.

  Minutes ticked by and her world narrowed to what she could see of the car. The medic on the scene obscured her view. He was still half inside the car. That was good, wasn't it? If Dell were dead, there wouldn't be any reason to still be there. He'd move on to someone he could help. No use wasting time on a dead man.

  Please. Please. Please. The mantra repeated in her head. I love you, Dell. Don't you dare die on me now. She didn't question the strength of her feelings. She'd known for some time now she was in love with Dell. There was nothing comforting about the knowledge, so she'd ignored it, except for yesterday when she'd let her stupid emotions get the best of her.

  Dell wasn't the kind of man a woman could count on. He lived only for himself with little or no care for others. And for whatever reason, he courted death every time he got inside a race car. No, he wasn't the kind of man she should give her heart to, but damn it, her heart wouldn't listen to reason.

  Caro chewed her lower lip as the security guard spoke with the medics. He turned, pointing in her direction. Several sets of eyes looked her way, then the knot of men put their heads together.

  Please. Please. Please.

  An eternity later, the guard returned. Her whole body shook with dread. Caro folded her arms around her mid-section and locked her knees so she wouldn't fall. “Well?” she asked as he got within hearing range.

  “He's alive. That's about all they know. They said there wasn't much blood.”

  “That's good, right?”

  “Could be. Could be internal injuries. They said he blacked out right after they showed up. Hasn't come to yet.”

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  “Look, lady, he's probably going to be alright. They said he most likely passed out from hanging upside down – that's all. They're doing everything by the book. They'll get him out, but they have to be careful not to make things worse.”

  Caro nodded in understanding, not trusting her voice beyond single syllables. The guard put both his big hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the wreckage. “See? They've got him out already.”

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she prayed. Please let him be okay.

  * * * *

  More voices, hushed this time. Not like the others he remembered – some shouting orders, another one – calm and confident telling him to let them do the work. What work? Dell forced one eyelid open a tiny crack. Bright lights. He was cold. Still.

  Dead?

  He shifted his legs. Pain. Not awful, but enough to tell him he wasn't dead. Dead people didn't feel, did they?

  “Dell.” Caro's voice. “Dell, you're okay. You're going to be okay,” she said though there wasn't much conviction in her words. She sounded a bit shaky to him. He wanted to assure her, but he wasn't positive there were assurances to be made.

  He tried to smile, but he couldn't be sure if his facial muscles followed orders or not. He tried to raise his hand to get her attention, but like his face, he wasn't sure anything moved. Someone squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. Caro. He'd know her touch anywhere. He smiled again, not knowing if he smiled for anyone besides himself.

  “Dell,” she coaxed. “You're going to be fine. Rest.” She held his hand in hers, patting the back with her other hand. “Get better.”

  Her breath brushed across his ear in a soft caress. Were those her lips on his cheek? Maybe he imagined her kiss. He didn't care. If it were a dream, it was a good one. “I love you,” the dream whispered in his ear.

  * * * *

  “Wake up so I can kill you, you arrogant, self-centered, suicidal idiot.”

  She was going to kill him – as soon as he was awake and able to understand what was happening to him.

  Caro swiped the moisture from her cheeks with trembling fingers. God damn him all to hell for making her love him.

  He lay so still, she caught herself leaning up from her chair beside his hospital bed, checking to make sure he was still breathing. Of course he was. They'd only sedated him to keep him still while they assessed the damage. They said he was belligerent when they brought him in, insisting he was fine.

  In truth, he wasn't hurt all that bad. A few bruised ribs from the where he slammed against the restraint system, and his left arm was badly bruised, probably from being caught between the door panel and the driver's seat. He was damned lucky. Caro closed her eyes and sniffed back another bout of tears.

  Damn. This wasn't fair. She wasn't supposed to fall for a driver, especially one hell-bent on destroying himself and her company in the process.

  A knock on the door jolted her to attention. She dried her eyes again and sat up straighter.
The door opened a few inches and Caro's shoulders slumped. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “How is he?” Butch Renfro pushed the door partially open and stood with half his body in, the other half hidden by the door, as if he might need to dart behind it as a shield at any moment.

  “Alive,” she said. “I'm surprised you care.”

  He had the grace to look chagrined. “I'm sorry about what happened. Warner said he couldn't avoid hitting him. You know how it is, one minute you're fine, the next…”

  “Yeah, I know. Who won, anyway?”

  “Petersen. Can you believe it? He went from nineteenth to first in a matter of seconds. The kid did okay, avoided every crash of the night, and came out the winner.”

  Caro nodded her head. Sammy Petersen drove for one of the smaller garages with few sponsors. They could use the money. “Lucky.”

  “Yeah.” He looked at his feet, glancing toward the still figure in the bed, then to Caro. “Can I see you outside for a minute?”

  The last thing she wanted to do was talk to Butch Renfro, but the time had come to consider his offer. Why else would he be here? Hawkins Racing was as good as dead on the side of the road – it was only natural Renfro would drive by to see what parts he could strip before she was able to find a tow truck. If there were such a thing. She'd been too worried about Dell to run the numbers in her head, but his stunt today may have spun the last lug nut off.

  She glanced at Dell to make sure he was still sleeping before she joined Renfro in the hall. “Make it quick, I need to get back in there in case he wakes up.”

  “I'm not going to beat around the bush, Carolina. You and I both know Hawkins Racing is on its last lap. In fact, today's crash may have done you in for good. Your daddy was a good friend. I'd hate to see the doors close on his legacy, so I'm offering to buy you out.”

  It was exactly what Caro expected, but she wasn't ready to give in yet. “I'll think about it,” she said, and turned to go back to Dell. Renfro's next words stopped her. She didn't bother to look at him as he delivered his coup de grace.