Full Throttle (17 page)

Not just teenage infatuation, but the happily-ever-after kind that changed a man forever. The kind of relationship that had him wondering about building a family and changing anything in his life necessary to keep her happy and devoted to him.

Was he already there?

As she moved around in the kitchen making a cup of tea, she wore only his T-shirt. Her hair was tousled, her face relaxed. He'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

But when did you
know?
Did you just look at a woman one day and know?

She's the one. I want to spend my life with her.

He'd have to remember to ask his dad. Despite the years that had passed, the struggles of life and the temptations encountered by a famous athlete—and the man had the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders hanging around—his parents were still very much in love. They understood and supported each other. They connected on levels he had no concept of.

He knew Lexie's parents had had that same kind of relationship, though they'd been cheated out of their lifetime together. He'd never understood until recently how much that mattered.

“He doesn't think I'm good enough for you,” he said, not even realizing the thought had entered his brain until the words emerged from his mouth.

Lexie looked up, watching him from over her mug. “He's got on his crew chief cap,” she said, obviously not needing an explanation for who
he
was. “He's pissed off that I'm distracting his driver.”

“You're not distracting me.” He grinned, his gaze sliding down her half-bare body. “Well, you are, but he's upset about more than me driving his car.”

“He's jealous. I'm the only woman in his life. He doesn't want to share me.”

“He said that?”

“No, but that's the heart of his issue.” She rounded the bar, then sat beside him on the couch, her bare legs curled next to his jean-clad ones. “That and not wanting to see us fall apart again.”

“Who says we're going to fall apart?”

“Nobody said we're
going to
. He just worries that
might
happen.”

“We've been back together less than two weeks, why—”

“Is that what we are? Back together?”

“Sure, what else?”

Her gaze flicked up to his. “We've had one date, a couple of sleepovers, and now we're spending the weekend together.”

“Right.”

“So we're exclusive?”

What else would they be? “Yes. You have other plans?”

“No. Just checking. And you didn't ask, by the way.”

He furrowed his brow. Was she annoyed, or just messing with him? “You want me to ask you to go steady?”

Smiling, she set her mug on the table. Then she turned to him and curled her hand around the back of his head. “Oh, Kane, how sweet. How traditional.”

Messing with him. Definitely. He slid his arms around her. “How about if I offer you my senior ring?”

“I never gave it back.”

He frowned. “You didn't?”

“No. It's still in my jewelry box.”

“You didn't burn it or toss it out of a fast-moving car?”

“Of course not.” She blinked innocently. “Thought about it a few times.”

“Well, I feel loads better, and you're distracting me from my point.” What
was
his point? Touching her was always distracting.

Harry. Not good enough. Ah, falling apart.
“Do we have to spend every moment reliving past mistakes?”

“Hey, you asked. He remembers how hurt I was before. He considers you the cause of that pain.”

“I was.”

“It was a two-way street. I let a lot of things bother me that I wouldn't today.”

“Like…”

 

L
EXIE LOOKED DOWN
, then back into Kane's eyes. She'd been teasing him, but the issues were serious ones. She shouldn't still be carrying baggage from the old days. “I was unsure of myself, and I didn't like the other women who hung around. I was jealous of the time you spent in the garage. Your dedication to racing. I always felt I was second. A very distant second. I realize now that's just part of who you are. It's something I have to accept.”

He stroked her cheek. “Racing isn't first, and you aren't second. You don't have to accept leftover time from me.”

For a long time she'd dreamed of hearing those words from him. Were they really true now, or had they been true before and she'd just been too insecure to see them? She wasn't sure, but she hadn't imagined his distraction and his restlessness when they were together.

One thing she knew—they were both young. Could things be different this time? Could she be more confident? More demanding when she needed to be? Could he be less impatient off the track and still be aggressive on it?

Other than nearly knocking Danny Lockwood on his butt at Bristol, he'd certainly found a good balance between driver and man off the track.

He'd listened to her advice and understood she wasn't criticizing but helping. The younger Kane never would have done that. He would have lost his temper, and they would have fought, or he simply would have walked away from her. His track performance was benefiting. The cautious driver she'd started with in February at Daytona had been replaced with one of smart ambition.

“I was lousy at balancing things before,” he continued. “I'm better now.”

But he still had an unquenchable desire to win, for hardcharging competition—every driver did. And he still had a desperate desire for his father's respect. For his father to see him as an equal. She wasn't sure that would ever happen, and she wasn't sure how that affected every other relationship in his life.

She couldn't turn away from him, though. Regardless of her father's warnings, of her own internal doubts, she'd thrown her heart into the ring with Kane Jackson again.

The risks were like debating the success of a two-tire pit stop. Smart for some. Stupid for others. And a complete crap shoot for everybody in between.

“The next nine weeks are the most important of our professional lives,” she said.

“And we're going to succeed. Together.”

“It's going to be complicated.”

“It wasn't before?”

“It could get messy.”

“It wasn't before?”

She threaded her fingers through his silky hair. “Your optimism is inspiring.”

“It helps at 180 miles an hour.”

“But you still don't think you're good enough.”

Shadows passed through his eyes. “The track is different.”

“No, it's not.” She pulled him close, until their lips were a breath apart. “You're good enough—no matter what. Don't let anyone tell you different.”

He kissed her, but before the top of her head spun off, she managed to pull back. “So if we're exclusive, that means I'm your girlfriend, right?”

He trailed his lips along her cheek. “Right.”

“Does that mean I can punch out those chicks who drool all over you at meet-and-greets?”

Smiling, he leaned back. “I thought you said you'd grown beyond that.”

I lied.
“Can I at least
think
about punching them out?”

Considering, he angled his head. “Are these women carrying licensed merchandise?”

Oh, good grief.
Merchandise—aka model cars, T-shirts, caps, coffee mugs, pillows, watches, et cetera—he made money from the sale of. Every driver's retirement plan. As part of the NASCAR community, however, she
was
opposed to bootlegged goods. “Fine. Only the ones with unlicensed stuff.”

“No kids.”

“Did I say anything about kids?”

His eyes laughing and bright, the shadows gone, he pulled her into his lap. “Deal.”

 

T
HE NEXT DAY
Kane walked through the hauler to the small room at the back that they used as an office/locker room. “Can I talk to you?”

Hunched over the desk and staring at a computer screen, Harry didn't even look up. “We've got qualifying in a few minutes.”

“It's important.”

Sighing, Harry took off his cap, scratched his head, then leaned back in his chair. “So talk.”

Reining in his temper at the impatient look on his face, Kane rolled his shoulders. “Lexie and I would appreciate your support.”

“For?”

Kane ground his teeth. “Us seeing each other.” And if he asked
when,
he was going to lose it.

“I'm sorry. I can't give it.”

“Why not?”

“The timing is lousy.”

“The timing will always be lousy.”

“It's bad for the team.”

“I can't live to please the team.”

“It didn't work out before.”

“We were young before.”

Harry's eyes narrowed. “You hurt her.”

“I know, but she's willing to forgive me. You can't do the same?”

He said nothing for a long time, and Kane felt the weight of his choices—both past and present—bear down on his shoulders. He'd made mistakes in not working as hard on his relationship with Lexie as he had on his cars. He'd been too selfish to notice her struggles. He'd been too impatient to succeed.

He wasn't that guy anymore.

“She's my only little girl, Kane,” he said finally.

“I thought you trusted me.”

He folded his hands and looked down at them. “I'm worried about her. She…cares about you.”

“Lexie isn't some weekend conquest for me.”

Harry met his gaze. “She isn't?”

Kane turned away, trailing his hand through his hair. His chest tightened. He couldn't believe this was happening. That he and Harry had come to this impasse.

After all they'd been through, Harry didn't trust him, didn't respect him or want him anywhere near his daughter.

“I've made mistakes in the past,” he said finally. “But Lexie means the world to me. Always has.”

He stopped short of the
L
word. As much as he wanted to convince Harry of his sincerity, he didn't fully understand his own feelings, so he didn't see how he could share them with anybody else. Maybe Harry sensed his uncertainty. Maybe his concern was justified.

He turned back. “Just give us a chance. Lexie feels your disapproval, and I don't like seeing her upset any more than you do.”

That blow obviously landed. Harry's hands clenched. “It's up to her to give you a chance. I won't lie and tell her I like any of this.”

Kane forced himself to relax his jaw so he could speak. “If you can't support
us,
I'd appreciate you supporting Lexie.”

“I'd appreciate you not telling me how to treat my daughter.”

Kane absorbed a blow of his own. The personal connection he'd always had with Harry was crumbling, and it was clear neither of them intended to back down. “I'm sorry I bothered you,” he said, then turned and stalked from the room.

K
ANE
'
S HEART POUNDED
as he crossed pit road and headed to the wall separating the team from the car during the race. The smell of engine oil and gasoline washed over him, comforting him with its familiarity.

Chemistry was so important to a racing team. The interaction between the members was often the difference between winning and losing, between finishing well and sliding into the wall on the last lap. The Chase had barely begun, and his team's chemistry was imploding as a result of the tension between Kane and Harry. And while he felt like he'd already had a successful season by making the top ten, he didn't want to rest there. He wanted to win. More and often. He wanted the championship.

He also wanted to punch something but didn't. He wanted to scream but didn't.

He'd spent much of his life working on control. Because he was a fierce competitor, or because he just lacked patience?

Since qualifying was about to get under way, he sat alone for no more than a few minutes, but the time allowed him to control his thoughts and emotions.

“Great party the other night,” Mike Streetson said as he walked up and sat beside him.

“Thanks.”

“The pressure getting to you yet?”

“Yep.”

“You belong here, you know. Just keep doing what you've been doing all season.”

Without access to Harry, Kane felt directionless and alone. Knowing he was the cause of conflict between father and daughter, guilt was piled on top. “Don't think I can.”

“Success changes people, Kane. It affects the dynamics of the team. It changes personalities, goals and expectations. You wanted to make the top ten. You have. Now what?”

How did he tell the man and the driver he admired so much that racing had very little to do with his problems?

“You go for it all, that's what,” Streetson continued in that quiet, determined way he had. “It's any man's championship. Just because you've never been here before doesn't mean you won't be the one hoisting that trophy in December.”

“I'm the only one of the ten who's never been there.”

Streetson scowled. “Doesn't matter. Stay focused. Keep your team up and motivated. If you can't win, get a top five. If you can't get top five, get top ten. Be smart. Save your engine, your tires, your brakes. Be there at the end. This game is about consistency, not just a celebration in Victory Lane. Don't forget that.”

But he still felt like the guy who'd skated in, who didn't belong but had somehow pulled out a last-minute miracle. What Streetson was trying to remind him of was that miracles were the stuff of NASCAR legend.

His father was the legend, though, not him.

“My father would do it.”

“Hey, we all make our own way in the world. You can't define yourself by other people.
Especially
people you're related to.”

“But if I fail, the world knows.” He hunched his shoulders. “And comments.”

“Oh, I know you're not going to fall back on ‘Oh, poor, pitiful me.'”

Kane sighed. “No, I'm not. Truth is, my driving isn't what worries me. It's Lexie.”

“She's a great car chief. What—”

Kane said nothing, but he could see the wheels in Streetson's brain turning. “Who you were awful close to at the party. Who you used to be even closer to.”

Kane nodded.

“This is personal.”

His stomach pitching in the same weird fall he'd felt when he and Harry had argued, Kane nodded again.

“Mmm, well, that makes things sticky, doesn't it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I don't have to tell you racing is just as much mental as physical. And your personal life plays a part. Still—”

“Sir? Mr. Streetson? Could you sign this?”

Kane and Mike looked up to see a young boy with a model car held out and a hesitant smile on his face.

His mother stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders. “I know you're busy, but…”

Streetson waved away her apology with the ease of a veteran and took the car from the boy. “What's your name, son?”

“Michael.”

Streetson smiled and set his Sharpie into motion. “Like me, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” The kid's smile was wide, and he was all but dancing on the tips of his toes. “I think you're the greatest driver ever.”

Streetson handed back the signed car and winked. “You'd be right.”

Kane watched the exchange in silence, never resenting the attention his friend got and admiring his smoothness and confidence. “How do you get past that?” he asked when the boy walked away. “How do you agree you're the greatest driver?”

“I don't agree all the time. But do I think I'm still good enough to win? Hell, yeah. I prove it every once in a while. And I'm definitely not ready to hang it up. I see the end coming, but I'm gonna fight like crazy until then.

“And until then the fans keep me going. The fans buy sponsor products. The sponsor dollars keep us racing. Simple as that. And when I feel like crap, when I'm hot and tired and want to just get the hell out of some broke-down, wrecked, ill-handling race car, I remember those kids. You do, too. Otherwise, I wouldn't bother myself to talk to you.”

“Harry isn't happy.”

“I imagine not. You're way too close to his little girl for his comfort. Forget he's one of the best crew chiefs ever. He's a father.”

“I get that. I tried to talk to him.”

“No go, huh?”

“No way.”

“Give him time.”

“We've got nine weeks.”

“Harry's a professional. He won't let this affect the team.”

“How can it not?”

Streetson grinned as he rose. A man who'd seen it all, done it all. “Avoiding him as much as possible couldn't hurt.”

Right. He's my crew chief. Maybe I should ask one of the other Hollister teams if they'd mind me pitting over there during the race.

“And, Kane?” Streetson said as he turned back.

“Yeah?”

“Don't go looking at
my
daughter. I'd hate to break up our friendship.”

Well, now he felt loads better.

He couldn't deny he understood. If he ever had a daughter, he wasn't sure he'd want her involved with a pedal-to-the-metal race car driver. But being the driver in question was beyond frustrating.

 

A
S
L
EXIE HANDED
K
ANE
a Sharpie, he shifted his beer bottle to his left hand and sent a flirtatious smile her way.

The VIP crowd assembled in their sponsor's sky box was mostly people they'd met many times before, but somebody always showed up needing an autograph for Aunt Susie, or a guy who'd decided he needed a signature to prove to his third-grade teacher, who thought he was a sure-fire loser, that now he was a bigshot.

The sky box was carpeted in plush navy blue, with TVs hanging in the corners near the ceiling for visitors to view the action on the track. Furniture was artful, tasteful and plush. The men were dressed in business-casual khakis and polo shirts. The women wore designer clothes, and even the ones who went with a more casual jeans look had diamonds encircling their wrists and fingers. Even the kids were decked out in polished duds—though the looks on their faces were as eager as any kid at a local dirt track.

The buffet included prime rib, sautéed shrimp, caviar and delicately cooked vegetables prepared by world-renowned chefs. Crisp white tablecloths covered the tables. The lighting was gentle, the air filled with the scent of gently roasting meats.

Somehow, Lexie perversely longed for the heat, grease and noise of the pit road.

How far things had come from when she and her father had started. From the days when crew chiefs were tire changers, and the NASCAR awards banquet had taken place in a hotel in Daytona Beach instead of the grand ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York City.

The growth of NASCAR beyond the South had brought them attention, had enticed her father to come clear across the country from California and challenge the status quo. Though they'd been met with some resistance, having not been born in the bedrock of the sport, most everyone had eventually come around. They'd recognized her father's dedication and yearning to be schooled in the NASCAR way.

Today, with drivers, crew members and owners coming from every part of the country, this seemed silly, but Lexie remembered a time when they were rebels and newcomers. When multicar teams were an anomaly, rather than the norm. When engineers were met with skepticism, instead of a “hey, maybe these boys have something.” When
the boys
meant only the men instead of a generic term for the team. When not having a Southern accent made you stand out as the minority—well,
a bit
more than now.

NASCAR was surging again, and everybody was uncertain.

Pretending she was nothing more than a helpful crew member, she smiled as Kane signed the autograph. While she, Kane, her father and James mingled with the crowd as the NASCAR Busch Series race roared along the track below, she reflected that she was doing more and more of that lately.

Pretending. Smiling when she'd rather not. Swallowing her words when she'd rather argue.

Part of her understood this was a reflection of success. Nobody wanted to upset the gravy train. Nobody wanted to be the one to make noise. To make a mistake and be blamed for their failure.

And she was certainly included.

Lexie was beyond hurt by her father's reaction to her and Kane. She was pissed. She normally liked watching races, especially when she could evaluate from the sidelines without a vested interest in the outcome. Plus, Hollister Racing was going through a number of drivers, giving them each a five-race audition to join them for a complete season next year.

She liked watching the up-and-coming talent. She enjoyed talking to those drivers and sharing their excitement. She'd even gotten to the point in her career that the guys asked her advice about certain aspects of the sport.

But the tension tonight made her edgy and irritable. Despite the excellent buffet and rare opportunity to relax, she'd much rather retreat to Kane's coach, go over her lap times and strategy for tomorrow's race.

“You might want to make an appointment with the dentist.”

Lexie turned her head and glared at James. “What are you jabbering about?”

“You're gonna need some dental work after chewing all those nails.”

“You're not cute.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Sure, I am. All the ladies say so.”

“Not this one.”

He laid his arm across her shoulders. “Love isn't supposed to be painful, you know.”

“Really?”

“I could have saved you—if you'd listened to me. This whole business was doomed from the start.”

“I thought you were one of the two people who actually approved.”

“I was trying to be a supportive friend, but—” He frowned. “One of
two?
Don't you mean three? You, me and Kane?”

“That would be two—you and Kane. I think this whole deal is headed for disaster.”

“You can't go into a relationship with an attitude like that.”

“Why not?”

“That's the guy's job.”

“Well, then, blame all these men I'm around all the time.”

“Think positive.”

“Why?”

James grabbed her elbow and pulled her into an empty corner of the room. “We have wine, food, women and racing.”

Glancing across the room, Lexie saw two women pointing and whispering in their direction. “I think that benefits you more than me.”

James looked beyond her, smiled widely, then sobered as he focused on her again. “Lexie, I really don't think—”

“This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship? That's helpful, since this isn't the beginning by any means.”

“You are your father's daughter. Always thinking the worst.”

“Thanks, I—” She stopped because though normally she'd be thrilled to be compared to her dad, today she wasn't. Her dad's habit of considering the worst that might happen helped him win races, but it wasn't helping their relationship. He was being stubborn and inflexible, negative…like her.

As much as she resented his lack of acceptance of her and Kane, her attitude was just as lousy. Lexie didn't believe they would last.

There were so many obstacles in their path. While Kane desired her, he didn't love her, and she wasn't sure he ever would. She'd challenged him and incited his competitive spirit by telling him they shouldn't go out. Now that he had her, the initial rush would be gone. How would he feel about her in a week? Or a month?