On the Move (17 page)

“I think he went back to the eight-two camp,” he said over a mouthful of food. “Something about watching qualifying from atop the hauler.”

“He could have done that here.”

“Guess the view’s better from there,” the guy said. “Oh, and hey, you’ve got a visitor in there.”

“In where?”

“In the lounge.”

“Who?”

The guy shrugged again. “Some old man. I don’t know. He walked in like he owned the place. Wouldn’t answer my questions. Since he had a hard card, I just figured you knew him.”

A “hard card” being a NASCAR season credential. Maybe it was a reporter.

“Said you and he had some unfinished business. Something about Florida.”

“Thanks,” Brandon said, reaching for the metal handle on the sliding-glass door. Once inside the hauler, he focused his gaze on the door at the end of the long aisleway, or more specifically, the two steps at the end of it that led to the hauler’s twenty-by-twenty lounge. He hesitated a moment outside.

Calm down. It’s no big deal if it
is
him. But his hand still shook as he let himself inside.

It was just as he feared. His worst nightmare faced him.

“Dad,” he said, going to the cabinet to the right and pulling out his uniform.

Be cool. The man doesn’t have any power over you. Not anymore.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, setting the red-and-orange suit down. Yellow writing with the words
Snappy Lube
sprawled across the chest, the
Snappy
on one side of the Velcro,
Lube
on the other.

“What else would I be doing here?” his father asked in the same, scruffy-toned baritone voice Brandon remembered so well. “I’m here to straighten you out.”

He’d been in the midst of pulling his shirt off, but Brandon paused. “Straighten me out?”

“Yeah,” Harold said. “I don’t think I need to tell you that your driving hasn’t exactly been up to par.”

Brandon whirled. “I’m still learning how these cars handle—”

But then he cut himself off. What the hell was he explaining himself for? He didn’t owe the old man anything. Damn him.

“I know I’m struggling,” he forced himself to say—and to calm down. “But you know what, Dad? I’m having a good time learning. For the first time in my life, I’m driving for an owner who really seems to care, a crew that wants to help me be my best, and an agent who doesn’t just want a cut of the money—she cares about
me.
”

“Sleeping with her, are you?” his father asked.

“No,” he said.
Not at the moment.
“And even if I was, she’s the type of agent who’d lay down her life for a client she represents. She might not like the athlete she represents, but that wouldn’t stop her from doing a good job. She has
ethics.
”

Unlike some people in the room.

“Wow,” his father drawled. “I’m happy for you, son. I really am.”

Yeah, right.

“Sounds as if you’re in a real good place. Too bad it doesn’t show up in your driving. But we can work on that.”

“
We
aren’t doing anything,” he said. “Or did you expect me to forget about all the money you stole? All the fraudulent bank accounts. The credit cards in my name that weren’t really mine. The cars and boats—everything you bought for yourself.”

“I told you in Florida, I bought that for us,” his father said, taking a step toward him.

“Yeah, right,” Brandon said. “And when the money dried up, when I lost my ride, where was the us?” His cheek began to twitch. Brandon told himself to calm down. He shouldn’t let his father rile him up, not anymore, and
especially
not just before qualifying. “I can’t believe you,” Brandon said. “I can’t believe you actually have the nerve to come here as if nothing had happened.”

“I came because I’m your father,” Harold said.

“I lost my dad years ago,” Brandon said, refusing to back down. “I lost him when I made my first million and my dad went on a gambling binge in Las Vegas. But you know what? I probably lost him before that. Back when I was thirteen and I begged you to get me a tutor because I wanted to learn how to read. You said no. Do you remember that,
Dad?
You told me I didn’t need to learn that stuff. That I was going to be a famous race-car driver and all drivers needed to do was learn to go fast. I
begged
you to get me some help, and when I wouldn’t shut up, what did you do?”

He waited for his father to answer. He wondered if he’d have the guts.

He didn’t.

“You beat me black-and-blue,” Brandon said.

His father’s eyes went hard.

“And that wasn’t the first time, either. The first time was when I didn’t make that race down in South Carolina. Do you remember that? And the time after that was when I snuck off to go fishing with a friend. Remember? And throughout the years, I took it. Oh, I tried to fight back—once—but you were bigger than me. By the time I was old enough to match your size, I was so beaten down I wouldn’t have fought you over the last drop of water on earth.”

Brandon steeled himself, took a step toward him. “Not anymore.” Despite his words to the contrary, he braced himself for his father’s fist. “I’m through with you, Dad. When my career started to nosedive and you took off to find greener pastures, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m on my own now. I like it that way. So you can just show yourself out.”

He turned, jerked off his shirt, then waited for his father to leave. The whole time, the entire damn time, his flesh tingled in anticipation of the blow that in times past, he’d have most certainly received.

“You’ll fail,” his father said in a voice that was almost a snicker. “You’ll fail at this just like you failed driving an Indy car.”

“You know what, Dad?” he asked softly. “That may be. I may be the worst driver NASCAR has ever seen. But at least I’ll fail on my own. At least I won’t have to put up with you stomping on my self-esteem. I’m done with that. Look at the money you stole as a parting gift. I never pressed charges because I’d hoped you’d just stay away, but I should have known better. Frankly, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to track me down.” He jerked his shirt back on. He could change in the damn public restrooms.

“Where are you going?” Harold asked.

Brandon paused by the door he’d headed toward. His father’s voice could still cause his heart to pound. Still caused him to flinch—albeit, inwardly. “I’m leaving,” he said with a tight smile. “Without you.”

He stormed out—and nearly ran Vicky down.

“We’re not through yet,” hollered a voice behind him.

“Oh, yes, you are,” Vicky told his father as she stepped around Brandon.

When Brandon turned, his father was standing in the doorway. He looked taller than he actually was thanks to the steps leading up to the lounge.

“I won’t let you push him around, either, and if you don’t leave, I’ll have garage security remove you,” Vicky countered.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m his agent,” Vicky said, hands on hips by now.

Suddenly Brandon’s anger faded as he stood back and watched the woman he loved—

Whoa!
Loved?

Yes, he admitted, pride filling him as she tapped his father on the chest. “But I’m also his friend,” she said. “Which is more than you ever were. You’re through messing with his head. Messing with his life. If you have an ounce of sense, you’d get out while the going’s good.”

That was when Brandon noticed something else. Behind him, lining both sides of the hauler’s aisle, was his team, each man facing his father as if they’d knock his father senseless if Harold so much as flinched.

“I think you might want to leave,” Chad said, his gaze firmly fixed on Brandon’s father.

Brandon felt his eyes burn.

He took a deep breath, tried to stifle the emotions rolling through him.

“Leave,” he heard Vicky say.

When he turned back to his father, the man was breathing harshly. His eyes darted around as if analyzing his chances of successfully bullying his way back into Brandon’s life.

“This isn’t over,” Harold replied.

“Oh, yes, it is,” Vicky said, leaning to the right. There was a door there, a back entrance to the hauler that Brandon oftentimes used to get in and out. “Go,” Vicky ordered again, pointing.

With one last glare in Brandon’s direction, his father finally left.

“No problem,” Chad murmured.

“I had no idea he’d been through so much,” someone else said.

She’d suspected. The moment she’d seen Brandon’s father—a man she recognized from press clips—slip through the hauler’s glass doors, Brandon apparently oblivious to his presence, she’d quickly collected Chad and anyone else she could gather. She’d known this confrontation between father and son wouldn’t be pretty. However, she stayed them all with a hand when she’d heard Brandon defend himself valiantly.

“You think I should follow him?” Chad said.

“No,” Vicky said. “I think he needs some space. How long till he has to qualify?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Can you buy him some time?”

Chad shook his head.

“Then I guess I’ll go after him.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“No,” Vicky said. “But I’m his agent. That’s what I do.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Chad said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure he knows that.”

Brandon’s team let her pass, but only as she stepped outside did Vicky realize she had no idea where Brandon might have gone. He’d been carrying his uniform, so maybe he’d gone to change. If so, where?

“Did you see Brandon Burke pass through here?” she asked a crew member from one of the other teams.

“Went that way,” he said, pointing.

“Thanks,” she muttered, taking off.

Fortunately, the track’s layout made it easy to get around. Both Daytona and Fontana had garages that faced each other—the buildings a giant equal sign—so it was a simple matter of going up one row and down the next, hoping to spot him coming out of a restroom or something.

Fifteen minutes later she was ready to give up. But then she spotted Brandon in his uniform, standing by Todd Peters’s garage. Actually, he was inside of it, talking to the driver himself, a group of fans lurking outside, cameras poised to catch a picture of last season’s NASCAR Sprint Cup Series champion.

She almost didn’t go up to him. What would she say? Sorry about your dad, but you’ve really got to go qualify? To her surprise, she didn’t have to say anything at all. Once Brandon spotted her, he gave her a tight smile, then waved her over.

“Excuse me,” she said, brushing by the fans.

“Have you met Todd?” Brandon asked, motioning to the other driver.

“Ah, no,” she said, baffled. She’d expected Brandon to be a wreck. To maybe excuse himself so they could go chat about what had just happened. Instead he politely introduced her to the other driver, the dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger greeting her with a warm smile.

“Todd’s married, but he just knocked up some other woman.”

“Hey,” the driver said, smacking Brandon in the arm. “Don’t say it like that. She’s going to think I’m a total jerk.”

“It’s true,” Brandon said with a teasing grin.

“My wife and I can’t have children on our own, but we’ve been lucky enough to find a surrogate,” Todd explained.

“I see,” Vicky said, with a glance between the two. “Ah, when’s the baby due?” she asked when she realized both men stared at her.

“September thirteenth.”

“Wow. Great,” Vicky said. “Congratulations.”

“Hey, guys,” someone named Dan said, a giant pair of blue headphones resting on his shoulders “We’ll be pushing off in just a few minutes.”

Brandon gave Vicky a smile. “Guess that’s my cue to get a move on.”

“Chad would probably appreciate that.”

“Walk with me?” Brandon said.

She stared at the hand he held out, debated whether or not to take it. In the end, something made her reach out, made her clasp his fingers.

Suddenly she knew. She just
knew
that she was starting to fall in love.