Full Throttle (19 page)

Had she thought this was going to be easy? Had she believed Kane, competitive, fierce Kane was going to just nod and let her go?

Oddly, some small, desperate part of her was flattered. Which only made her decision more difficult to follow through on.

She did, though she chickened out on the actual words. She'd said them before, and they hadn't made any difference.

“I always have, and I always will.”

 

K
ANE
'
S ARMS SLAPPED
the surface of the water as he plowed his way across the pool.

He swam so he couldn't think, and prayed he wouldn't feel. He wasn't interested in reliving anything that had happened that day.

The memories intruded anyway.

You only started racing to defy me.

In the beginning, the secret of his racing had been an enticing draw. But eventually the rush of competition had overwhelmed that. Plus, he was good.

The quick reflexes he'd inherited from his father had served him well. And though his size had been a detriment on the football field, it had benefited his fit in a stock car. Disadvantages had become advantages.

I'm your father. I'm supposed to guide you.

Grudgingly he acknowledged he'd done that—in every other area besides sports. He'd taught him honor, loyalty, compassion and graciousness. And he'd shown him how to love a woman. How to treat a wife. A husband's devotion to his wife wasn't something every child got to see firsthand.

Maybe Kane hadn't always been understanding about the pressure his father was under, how hard it was to explain that his son hadn't wanted to follow in his footsteps.

A healthy dose of teenage ego and attitude certainly hadn't helped.

Regardless of his dad's good qualities, though, Kane needed to be free to live his own life. Part of him was relieved he'd unloaded his anger and frustration. He'd kept those feelings of never measuring up inside for too long. His delivery had been lousy and disrespectful, but he was still glad he'd said what he had.

Maybe the respect he longed for wouldn't be found in silence but in protest.

He dove underwater—deep, so his chest skimmed the bottom of the pool as he swam the length. His lungs burning, he surfaced at the shallow end, where the rock wall and fountain spurted recycled water. The gurgling noise was supposed to be relaxing. The designer had gone on and on about a Zen experience.

At the moment, the Zen was too quiet—probably the point. He needed noise, something to block out his conscience.

Are you sure you really want me? Or did you just enjoy standing up to your father for once?

Lexie's voice replayed in his head as he hoisted his body out of the pool. The cool fall air sent chill bumps racing across his skin. A welcome distraction.

Of course he wanted her, but he was furious and frustrated with her. He was furious and frustrated with himself.

Was he not enough for her? Was she choosing the team over him?

His ego and his anger assured him the answer to those questions was yes. He wanted her to devote herself to him, for him to be the center of her world and her attention.

On some rational level he realized she was in an impossible situation. The team her father had so painstakingly built was in jeopardy. She was being pulled in opposing directions. She wanted what was best for his career, but felt he couldn't be the best or have success when they were together. In his opinion, Harry and his father were exerting emotional blackmail. He wasn't going to fail or wash out of The Chase just because he and Lexie were together.

But once he set aside his ego, he knew he also had to examine his own actions. Had
he
devoted himself to
her?
Was she the center of his world?

He remembered thinking a few weeks ago that though he couldn't have his father's respect, he had Lexie's. Like he'd won her as a prize in a contest. Like one canceled the other. He couldn't confuse the two issues any longer. He wanted a better relationship with his father, but that was separate from his feelings for Lexie.

What
were
his feelings? How did he expect her to risk everything for him when he couldn't even say what he wanted? Or felt?

Somehow, even though he was a guy, he was pretty sure “I'm not sure whether you're the love of my life or not” weren't the words she was longing to hear.

Until he could figure out what he wanted, he had to suffer in silence.

His frustration over her choices wouldn't end, though. While his instinct was to stand his ground and prove them wrong, she chose to retreat. Why couldn't she see they didn't have to trade them for racing?

He wanted the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Championship. He wanted it almost more than he wanted to draw his next breath. Endless breaks and sacrifices had gotten him to this point.

But he wanted more than racing. He wanted more than casual dates. He wanted a wife and a family. For so many years he'd thought those events were way off in a distant future, but now he was facing them.

Was the idea that he was even considering
wife
and
Lexie
in the same breath proof enough? Or was she just someone familiar to fall back on? Was he just angry she'd dumped him—again—or was the pain in his chest something much deeper?

He couldn't seem to sort through it all.

“Kane!”

He winced at Cheryl's shout.

And I'm definitely not in the mood to deal with her.

“How did you get in here?” he demanded as she stalked toward him in a turquoise minidress and mile-high sandals.

She held up a key. “James.”

And his buddy was going to catch major hell for sending the Powder Puff Mafia after him.

He snatched a towel off a lounge chair and wrapped it around his waist. “I'm not interested in company.”

She cocked her hip. “No kidding?”

The woman was way too smart-alecky, and he had to admit he had a slight case of nerves at seeing her. Cheryl had a way of making people do things they never intended to do but did anyway because she just made them happen. He'd actually thought men were the only victims of this phenomenon until Lexie had told him about the ambush makeover Cheryl had pulled on her recently.

Truthfully, everybody at Hollister Racing was intimidated by their buxom office manager. He and James had flirted with her mildly when they'd first joined the team, only to have Cheryl inform them in brisk terms that she didn't date people she worked with. And besides, race car drivers—and their buddies—weren't anywhere on her list of turn-ons.

“I'm really busy,” he said, scowling at her.

“Swimming.”

“I'm an athlete. I need to exercise.”

She rolled her eyes. “Convenient.”

“Yes, it's convenient to swim in my own backyard rather than going to a gym.”

“You do this daily, do you?”

How did she do it?
She'd
barged into
his
house, and he was already defensive and making excuses. “What do you want?”

“I'm so glad you asked….” She smirked, obviously pleased he'd given in to her demands so quickly. “You need to apologize to Lexie.”

“Me?”
he asked, incredulous and not pretending to understand how she knew the details of his love life mere hours after they'd occurred. “She's the one who broke up with me.”

“Only because you forced her to.”

“I didn't—”

“She dumped you because you were the greater risk.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You mean more to her than racing, but she understands racing better than she understands you.”

“That's even less clear.”

She spread her hands and smiled. “Hence, our conversation.”

He dropped into a lounge chair and crossed his arms over his chest. If he was surly enough maybe she would go away. “We're not having a conversation.”

“Not a very effective one, no.”

“Because I don't want to talk—to you or anyone else.”

“I realize that.” She sighed. “But I'm an optimist.”

“No, you're not.”

Her hands planted on her hips, she glared down at him. “I'm trying, but you're making it awfully difficult. Back to my point,” she added. “She's afraid to put her trust in you.” She raised her eyebrows. “I can't imagine why.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She rolled her eyes again. “And here I thought you'd catch on. I should have known.”

“If you're pissed, you could leave.”

“The easy way out,” she said as she perched on the end of his lounge chair. “Something you should be familiar with.”

“I—”

She raised a finger, and he fell silent. The woman was a witch, the way she commanded a room. Or, in his case, several acres of prime North Carolina real estate.

“How do you feel about Lexie?”

“That's none of your business.”

She shook her head. “It's worse than I thought. You don't have Insensitive Male Syndrome. You just don't know, do you?”

A long silence followed. He was angry, tired and frustrated, but she was all he had. He couldn't imagine dissecting the female mind with James—his buddy knew less than he did.

He dropped his head into his hands. “I have no idea.”

She patted his knee. “No worries. I'm here.”

“But you scare me.”

“Yes, I know.” Standing, she paced beside his chair. “You like Lexie?” she asked after several minutes.

Confused, he looked up at her. “Of course I like her. She's a friend, a colleague. We grew up together.”

“But we're not talking about your friendship. We're talking about love.”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“And we're not talking about the team.”

“Right.”

She raised her eyebrows, her gaze boring into his to the point he had to resist squirming. “You can do that? Separate the car chief from the woman?”

“I've got to, don't I?”

“Definitely.” She resumed pacing. “So, racing aside, how do you feel when you're with her?”

He said nothing. This whole deal was beyond awkward.

“Please. I'm your therapist.”

His mouth went dry at the thought. A therapist. A buxom blond therapist who—

Okay, there were worse things in life.

“I feel…fine.”

“God help us.”

“Okay, so maybe I feel great. I feel like I can conquer anything, like smiling is natural. I feel strong and important. I feel comfortable and safe, challenged and…”

“And?”

“Awed.” He stared at the rippling pool. “I'm awed that she continues to be there for me, at how much she's helped me, after all we've been through, after all my shortcomings.”

She was silent for so long, he finally looked up. “There's hope for you, Jackson.”

“Oh, gee, is there really?”

“Surprisingly, yes. You communicate well?”

“We're attached by headsets at least three days a week.”

She waggled her finger. “No racing.”

“But we still—” he searched his mind for significant conversation that didn't involve racing “—talk,” he finished lamely.

“And the physical communication?”

“I'm not going there with you, Cheryl.”

“Well, she's never complained about any of
that.
”

“No kidding.”

“It's important, you know.”

“No kidding.”

She cleared her throat. “Okay, moving on…”

“Thank God.”

“So, you…talk. About…something.” She cut her gaze toward him. “Something complimentary about her would be good.”

“I do that.”

“Obviously not often enough.”

“You're really getting on my nerves.”

“Part of my job.”

“Which I don't remember hiring you for.”

She waved that technicality away. “So, you feel great around her, you have open communication and you want to be with her?” She glanced at him for confirmation.

“Yes.”

“You're in love.”

He surged to his feet. “Just like that?”