Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (11 page)

“If the lion didn’t bite the tamer every once in a while it
wouldn’t be exciting…”  Darrell Waltrip

Carrie

Marco
and I are heading towards the Beachcomber, a swanky Daytona Beach hotel near
the water. During race season you spend so much time going from one place to
the next you just live out of your team trailers. They’re nice, but they’re
small and pretty soon you start to feel claustrophobic; well at least I do. It
turns out Marco feels the same way. That’s why we chose a suite on the top
floor of the Beachcomber. We’ll be able to spread out, relax and enjoy
ourselves.

As much
as I admire and respect Marco, there are things about him that are cause for
concern. Why ism’t he grieving for the loss of his father? Why isn’t he more
upset about being benched? Sure, he had the one afternoon flip out, but that’s
all. It leads me to believe he is planning on doing what Dr. Nguyen claims he
is planning on doing. I have to put a stop to it.

“What is
up with you?” Marco asks.

“I’ve
got a lot on my mind,” I reply.

We get
to our room, and I flop down on a spacious, unbelievably soft couch and flash a
weary smile. “Sorry Marco. I know how you hate it, but we have to talk.”

“What
makes you think I hate that?” he replies.

“Well
let’s see...since your father died, you haven’t said more than a dozen words
about it. You’ve been benched from racing and other than a one-time freak show
moment you’ve said nothing. Marco, you hate to talk.”

“I do
not!”

“Okay,
prove it. Tell me what your life’s goal is
after
you’re too old to race.”

“Probably
the grave since I’m going to be racing like my father only much older.”

“Seriously?
You don’t have a plan B? What if you’re in an accident?”

“Okay,
stop it right there. The second a driver makes plans for a plan B, he needs a
plan B. That’s the fastest way to jinx a driver.”

“You
don’t have any other goals beyond winning at Daytona? What is there to look
forward to if you win this year?”

“Okay
fine. I wasn’t going to tell anyone... I want to have my own racing team.”

“Don’t
you already have that in Team Panata?” I ask.

“Team
Panata is a team my father built. I want to build my own team from the ground
up and I don’t want it connected to my father’s team in any way. I want to
build my own racing empire. That is my ultimate goal, Carrie.”

“So have
you taken any steps towards making that happen?” I ask.

“Well, I
kind of have a protégé that I’ve taken under my wing. He was street racing in
Fontana California. He would win anywhere from 500 to 10,000 a night. Of course
every penny would go into his car. I introduced him to NASCAR a few years ago;
let him do a few laps on one of our back up cars. He did well. It’s not the
kind of racing he’s used to but he’ll learn. I’d like him to be my premiere
driver on my team one day. The sooner I can make that happen the better. Those
kids down there on the streets of Fontana risk their lives every weekend for
spare change. Kid’s gonna wind up dead.”

“Wow,
well there you go. You have your first driver. Now you just have to figure out
how to get some sponsors to fund the team.”

“You got
any idea how much it takes to keep one car racing? To field just one driver and
the team to support him and the cars comes out to about three million a year.”

“I like
it when you talk about the future beyond racing Marco. It’s a huge turn on.”

“Is that
so?” Marco begins to scoot himself across towards me.

He
reaches out and touches my knee and the feeling’s electric. In an instant all
other thoughts fade back into the recesses of my mind allowing me to just focus
on how this man makes me feel. He moves in for a kiss. Our lips touch, clothes
scatter in every direction. It’s like we can’t get at each other’s bodies fast
enough. I lose track of time and become incapable of rational thought as I follow
where my body leads, giving in to desires I never even knew existed.

I have
no idea how much time has passed when my other senses return to my body and I
am able to function again. I look around me. It looks like a whirlwind swept
through here leaving everything untouched save our clothes. Marco’s face down,
snoring into a pillow. I regard his sleeping form for a minute. He doesn’t have
a farmer’s tan like many drivers do. His skin is perfectly tanned, a light
golden brown. I let my eyes caress his body, unwilling to wake him just yet.
It’s not often I have the chance to really get a good look at him.

Two
hours later, I’m sitting on the balcony sipping a second cup of coffee and
contemplating my life. Marco has gone to a team meeting so I am left to my own
devices for now. The Daytona 500 is in three weeks. If Marco races he forces me
into a decision I’m not sure I am ready to make. I have three choices really.
One, I can remove myself from the equation and not show up for race day. Two, I
could blow the whistle on Marco and that’ll be the end of his NASCAR career, or
I can show up for duty and support him any way I am able. I keep telling myself
there must be a fourth option that I can happily live with but none comes to
mind. The closer it gets to race day the more stressed I’m going to become and
I’m not sure I can hide that from Marco. I’m a terrible liar, always have been.

“Driving a race car is like dancing with a chainsaw…”  Cale
Yarborough

Carrie

The next
couple weeks are a blur of extreme highs punctuated by super highs. Marco
finally opens up to me about his father and what it’s like living in his
shadow, especially when he still has not lived up to the legend or his own fans
expectations of him. I could never understand Danny, but I think I finally
understand Marco. The angry outbursts that were Marco have faded into the past
and have been replaced by the patience of a saint and a love beyond anything I
could have ever dreamed of. We explore one another’s deepest passions just
about every night and Marco’s ability to understand my body and what I need
even before I know it myself is uncanny. I swear, if I suddenly died today I
would not have a single regret—now how many people can say that?

But the
bubble has burst and reality comes crashing down around my ears. The hotel
staff just dropped off a package for me to sign. A courier delivered it moments
ago and I wouldn’t have given it second thought had I not seen the office it
came from: Hansen Neurological Associates. I know that name. Dr. Hansen is the
doctor who gave Danny his bogus medical release and ultimately got him killed.

I can
feel the blood leave my face. Suddenly I can’t breathe anymore. A package from
Doctor Hansen can mean only one thing. Marco has chosen to cheat the system in
order to race coming Sunday.

“Dammit!”

How dare
he put me in this position? He should have had the damn package delivered to
his trailer or something, not to me. Now I have to make a decision I’m not
prepared to make nor do I want to make it. I collapse on the couch, package in
hand. What am I going to do? He is forcing my hand. Marco is making me support
him. And if I don’t support him then he forces me to be responsible for the
entire Team Panata who will all lose their jobs when he can’t continue racing.
I can’t believe he would do this to me. This is the whole reason he has been so
sweet to me these past ten days. It’s the reason he’s been so open and honest.
It was just a show to get me on his side so that when this came I would keep my
mouth shut. Well guess what Marco, your plan failed. I know the truth.

I grab a
knife from the kitchen with the intention of opening the package but for some
reason I don’t carry through with it. I guess a part of me still believes Marco
wouldn’t do this to me. A part of me believes he is innocent and he isn’t
trying to cheat the system. On impulse I start searching through his things
piled on the desk in the study. I’m not sure what I’m looking for if anything.
I just can’t stand to sit here and do nothing though so I’m searching his
belongings. When I get to his clothes I find an envelope folded up and in one
of his jacket pockets. Curious I take it out.

It’s
from Fidelity Retirement Services. It’s already been opened so I take a peak. It’s
a statement of activity on his retirement account. I resist the temptation to
look at the balance; it’s none of my business after all. But I do go through
his transaction records and find something very curious. He seems to have
liquidated significant stock holdings and had the cash wired to his primary
checking account. The amount is a little over $50,000! Holy crap, what does he
need that much for? Two seconds later it dawns on me. This is the money he is
probably paying the doctor to provide the fake medical release forms. It all
makes perfect sense. There’s another envelope from his bank. I start to open
it. I’m sure it’s the withdrawal of 50k. He probably has to pay cash to the
doctor to keep it off books. I don’t need to see any more. I know exactly
what’s going on here. Now I just have to figure out what I’m going to do about
it.

I don’t
know how long I sit at the desk, envelope in my hands and lost in thought
before I finally can move again. I look up at the clock. Shit! Marco’s gonna be
home any minute. I don’t think I want to be here when he comes home. In fact,
I’m sure I don’t want to be here when he comes here. He’ll see it written all
over my face. He’ll know I’m onto him and it’s going to get ugly. These last
ten days or so have been heaven, I do not want to see hell. I have to go.

I take
one last look around before closing the door behind me. I still don’t know what
I’m going to do, but what I do know is that I can’t be a part of the deception.
I may not say anything to NASCAR authorities, but either way we’re done. No
more Marco and me. Tears stream down my face as I race across the hotel lobby
and get into one of the taxis parked outside. Fifteen minutes later I’m
standing in the lobby of the Daytona Beach Holiday Inn. The driver was right.
This one’s in a different world from the Beachcomber but I really could care
less.

About
the time I’m walking into my new room my phone is ringing. It’s Marco. I ignore
it and collapse on the bed, bury my face in the pillows and cry for all I’m
worth. How could he do exactly what Danny did? He knew everything I went
through with Danny yet he still did it anyway. I should have known it. Racing
will always come before me, he just proved it. My phone rings again. This time
it’s Rachael. He probably called her to enlist in her help. I really don’t feel
like talking to her either. As high as the high was these last days with Marco
don’t begin to compare with the low I’m feeling now. He’s crushed my spirit and
my soul. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from this one. I’ll lose my job for
starters when I don’t show up for Daytona, but at this point, that’s just a
side note to a tragic story. I don’t know how long it takes, but finally I
manage to cry myself to sleep.

It’s
dark when I wake to the sound of my phone’s incessant ringing. I look at the
numbers. Danny has called eleven times, Rachael five times, Harvey three times,
and there’s a half dozen other numbers I don’t recognize. Wow, people really
want me to keep my mouth shut looks like. I skip dinner and go back to sleep.

It’s
nearly eleven when I finally wake again. Marco will be at the track getting
ready for qualifying on Thursday. That explains why he’s only called 5 times
today. I erase all my voice mails without even listening to them. I don’t want
to subject myself to him begging, trying to convince me to take him back.
Instead I just curl up under the covers and go back to sleep.

That’s
how I spend the next several days. Sleeping, ordering room service, and more
sleep. I don’t know any other way to handle my depression after what has
happened. On race day I wake up a dawn. My body’s internal clock won’t let me
miss the most important race of Marco’s life. A day that would have been
equally important to me had things been different. By starting time there’s a
pounding on my door.

“What
the hell?”

I
approach the door cautiously. I’m not sure if I should even answer or not. I
walk quietly up to the door and look out the peep hole. What I see makes my
mouth drop open. It’s Rachael and Harvey. How the hell is he racing without a
spotter?

“Come on
Carrie, we know you’re in there. Open up! We have something you’re gonna want
to see.”

I
freeze. I don’t know what to do. I can’t seem to find my voice or my muscles.

“Carrie,
there’s been a huge misunderstanding,” hollers Harvey. “Marco needs you.”

“Just
open up and I can explain,” shouts my best friend.

I’m just
about to go back to bed when she pulls something out of her purse and holds it
up so I can see. It’s an envelope from NASCAR officials. May as well get this
over with. I unlock the door and let them in.

“Carrie
you look like hell!” Rachael observes.

“Well it
hasn’t been a picnic. So why’re you guys here on race day?”

“You
were wrong about Marco. He wasn’t trying to cheat the system.”

“Really?
Well sorry to say, but I saw the proof the day I split. He is trying to cheat
and he spent $50,000 doing it.”

Rachael
digs around in her handbag. “Is this the proof you saw?” she asks, holding up
the envelope from the doctor as well as the bank statement I saw. She also produces
a third envelope, one from NASCAR officials. I don’t know what to say.

“Carrie
did you actually read what was in these envelopes or did you just see the
outside and jump to conclusions?”

She has
me there. “I didn’t need to read all the details—” I begin before she cuts me
off.

“Well
you should have. It would have saved you a weeks’ worth of crying for
starters.”

I snatch
one of the envelopes out of her hands. It’s Marco’s bank statements. The one I
saw and one from yesterday. With shaking hands I pour over the first statement.
It shows a deposit of $50,012.23. If that’s not proof...I look at the statement
dated yesterday. Strangely the $50,012.23 is still in there. In fact there
hasn’t been a withdrawal for weeks.

“I don’t
understand...” I mutter.

“The
money you think he used to pay off the doctor, it never happened,” Rachael
says.

I grab
the envelope from Hansen and Associates. “Yeah, well explain why he’s got a
package from the same corrupt doctor that cleared Danny!” I tear it open. I
can’t wait to see the evidence and prove her wrong.

Carrie
grabs my hands. “Look at the names,” she says. I look to where her finger is
pointing. Dr. Elias K Hanson.

“What
the hell?”

“Carrie,
what was the doctor’s name that cleared Danny?” Harvey asks.

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.