Smokin' & Spinnin' (33 page)

I nod my head and look down.

“Are you sure you are ready to do this?” Jerri asks.

I look up and push down the lump in my throat. I nod. “No, really, Jerri, I can do this. I have to start back somewhere, right?”

She smiles at me reassuringly. “I have complete faith in you.”

Jerri’s words mean so much to me. I have come a long way in the last few months that I have been employed at GCR Racing. And we have all been through so much in these last few weeks. The stress and aftermath of my accident still shows around Jerri’s eyes. It makes me sad because I know I am the root cause of it all. It breaks my heart that I have let her down.

Jerri turns to leave, then turns back to me. “Still nothing?”

I know she is referring to Ryan. I shake my head. “I have e-mailed his schedule to him, but have not received a response.”

Jerri nods. “He will come around. I am sure he is anxious about the weekend, too. We all are.” A truer statement has never been spoken.

* * *

I arrive at the airport in record time. I have gotten to be a professional at timing my travel just right so that I don’t have to wait to board the plane. I hobble through security and walk into my gate just as the attendant gives the first boarding call. I can walk much easier these days since my cast was removed this week. I was able to ditch
the crutches for a new walking boot. It is removable and will help me to readjust to using my leg again. It will make this weekend much easier on me, physically that is. I settle into my seat and take a deep breath.
Here we go…

After four hours and a brief layover in Washington, I land in the historical town of Richmond, Virginia. I wish I had the time to tour, but sadly, that is the drawback of being in a different city each week. There is only time for one purpose, racing. Over the past few months, I couldn’t give a shit less about anything else but watching Ryan drive his #62 Chevrolet around in circles. It has become my life. I desperately hope that thrill of my job is not lost because of the end of our relationship or my accident.

I check into the Jefferson Hotel under Jerri’s name. The young girl at the reception desk eyes me intently. “Here is your key, Ms. Andrews.” She smiles and asks hesitantly, “Do you work for a race team?”

I nod. “Yes, I do.” The young girl watched me walk across the lobby with my impairment, so undoubtedly she has put two and two together thanks to my picture being blasted across every news media outlet in the country. She smiles back at me broadly.

When I insert my key into the lock, I open the door to a large room with a king-size bed. On the bedside table is a bottle of wine with a card beside it. I laugh, but wonder anxiously who it could be from.
Ryan, maybe?
My heart skips a beat. I rip open the envelope. Jerri. The note says,

She is right. I do need it. I put the bottle into a bucket of ice, grab the room service menu, and desperately try to take my mind off tomorrow.

* * *

The alarm clock on my iPhone sings out at 7:00 a.m. Ugh! I cry out as the bottle of wine that I killed last night, courtesy of Jerri, hammers in my head. It was the only way that I could sleep though. I stagger to the mirror in the bathroom. I take a deep breath and recite to myself several times,
I can do this. I can do this
.

I shower and dress in record time. Track activities start early this morning and culminate tonight with the Nationwide Series race, which is the minor league to Sprint Cup Series. I start to get excited, but I can feel the anxiety creeping back in on me too.
What will Ryan say? How will he act?

I meet the courier in the hotel lobby. He will take me over to the track. In each city, I get the opportunity to meet new people. GCR hires couriers and runners in each city to help transport staff and drivers around each area. In addition, they run errands and help with support during the race weekend.

My driver today is a middle-aged man named Charlie. He is sweet. He gives me a brief tour of the city and points out some historical areas on our way to the Richmond International Raceway. It takes my mind off the issue at hand and calms my nerves temporarily.

As we approach the track, I can feel a lump welling up in my throat. No! No! No! I try to fight it back, but it doesn’t work. My chest starts to constrict. What the hell? As we approach the infield tunnel, it is hard for me to breathe. I try to take a deep breath, but my lungs seize and resist. I reach out to grab the door handle to steady myself.

Tears spring to my eyes. I look up at my driver, who is watching me intently in the rearview mirror. “Are you OK?” he asks warily.

I nod, unable to speak. Fact is, I don’t know if I am or not. What the hell is happening to me? I manage to catch my breath. “I just realized that I left my schedule back at the hotel. Do you mind if we go back?” I manage to stutter.

“No…Absolutely not!” Charlie exclaims. He turns the car around en route back to the Jefferson.

Instantly, I can breathe better, but my chest is still heavy with pain. It feels like a hundred-pound elephant is sitting on me. Charlie parks the car outside of the Jefferson and turns back to face me.

“Are you sure you are OK, Whitney?” Charlie asks.

I nod again.

Charlie eyes me intently. “Now, I have strict instructions from Mr. Carter to look out for you this weekend.”

I gasp, “Which Mr. Carter?”

He smiles. “Garrett, of course. I have been working for him for many years. I know what you have been through. If you need some time, I can come pick you up later.” Charlie reaches down to pick up a card. He passes a business card to me with his cell phone number imprinted on it.

I take the card and shake my head, fighting a new lump in my throat. “Actually, I don’t know if I can do this at all,” I say. “But, I will call you if I think I can go back.”

Charlie smiles at me. “I can be here quickly. Take all the time you need.”

I text Jerri when I get back into my room.

_____________________________

I just had to leave the track.
Major panic attack.
I don’t know if I can do this.

_____________________________

My phone rings instantly. It’s Jerri. “Hi,” I mutter.

“Whitney, are you OK?” she asks with quick concern.

“Yes,” I reply hesitantly, “but I don’t know if I can go back, or if I can go back at all.”

Jerri sighs, “You can do this, and I have complete faith in you. Just take all the time you need, OK? Rest and try again tomorrow. And call me if you need anything.”

I sigh deeply. “I will!” I hang up the phone and sink down deeper into my desperation.

Chapter 37

I
arrive at the track early Saturday morning. Anxiety and trepidation rack my body again as I make my way through the infield tunnel, but I push through this time. There is no turning back now. I have to do this today no matter what. The fact that I have not seen or heard from Ryan during his suspension will only make our first encounter today a tense one, I am sure of it. But I can’t avoid it anymore. I am stronger than this!

I make my way through the infield to Ryan’s hauler. It is empty. There aren’t any crew members milling around, which is strange. I put my backpack down in my spot and grab my two-way radio. As soon as I switch it on, it immediately comes to life.

“Whitney!” It’s Ben. “It’s great to be back, isn’t it? Are you ready?”

“As I will ever be!” I respond dryly to his over enthusiam.

“OK, then, let me know when you have him! I know you know this, but we have to be on step today,” Ben squawks through the radio.

No shit, Ben! That is the understatement of the century. I press the speaker button to simply reply, “Stand by.” I am not in the mood for chitchat.

I walk through the maze of million-dollar luxury RVs to find Ryan’s bus. Anxiety starts to well up in my throat as I spot it. I genuinely hope we can talk a few minutes before the start of the mandatory drivers’ meeting. It will be better for both of us to get the awkwardness out so Ryan can get down to business in his race car.

I knock firmly on the bus door. The door opens slowly as my breath catches in my throat. Only, it isn’t Ryan who stands to greet me. All I can see is a cascade of blonde hair and boobs. It’s Annalise!
Son of a bitch!

Taken aback, I quickly recover to give a polite but forced smile. “Is Ryan ready to go?”

“Ryan has already left for the drivers’ meeting,” she says sultrily, suggestively, and smugly. “I made sure he was awake early!” she finishes with a wink.
What a bitch!

I don’t even bother with a response. I turn sharply on my good heel as she closes the door.
Damn it!
I wish I was closer. I could have slapped her in the face with my ponytail as I left. That’s it, I’m officially homicidal! The pain in my chest is back. But it is no longer anxiety; it is straight up anger. I am about to burst with rage.

I stride as best as I can, fuming, to the meeting.
How could he do this? Why her? Has he been with her the whole time he was suspended?
Then my thoughts stop me dead in my tracks. Or is he doing this to piss me off? If so, he more than succeeded.

My radio crackles with Ben’s voice again. “Whitney, what’s the status!”

Leave me alone! Damn it!

“No!” I shout into the radio. I take a deep breath to regain my composure. “No, apparently he is already at or en route to the meeting.”

“OK, I will be on the lookout,” Ben responds.

When I arrive at the drivers’ meeting, I am greeted both fondly and sympathetically by those in attendance. It pisses me off even more. I quickly survey the room to find Ryan seated in the very front. I try to make eye contact with him but fail. He is looking everywhere but at me. David, head of NASCAR safety, leads the meeting with an invocation and politely welcomes Ryan back. He begins with garage safety, and I know it is pointedly toward Ryan, GCR, and my accident. The thoughts send goose bumps throughout my body, and I shudder. That frightening apprehension rises inside me and turns my stomach. No! I chatise myself.

The meeting concludes with the day’s forecasted weather and a few other safety concerns regarding pit road. Then, we are off for morning track activities and sponsorship events.

I wait beside the door because Ryan will have to pass by me to get to the exit. He strides past me, completely ignoring me, much like our first race together. Anger fuels my resolve, and I immediately pick up his stride. I am grateful that I was able to trade in my crutches this week for a new walking boot; I can almost match his pace. But it is difficult, and I will no doubt pay the price for it tonight. He must know it is hard for me to keep up, but he continues at a strong pace. It only makes me angrier. Bastard!

Once we are out in the open air, I grab my radio and press the speaker to talk to Ben. “We’re walking.”

He replies, “Ten-four.”

Ryan and I walk in continued silence. Either the silence or my radiating anger must get to him because Ryan finally steals a sideways glance over to me. I keep a stoic, face-forward expression. Ryan knows I’m mad as hell. He recognizes the signs. He has witnessed my rage on more than one occasion. I follow him into his assigned pit box, although I’m not sure why we are here. There is no one in the vicinity. His first event is across the infield. Ryan turns to face me full on. I know it is about to burn him up that I am so quiet, but it is taking all my determination to remain silent. Calm, Whitney, calm.

“Where the fuck were you yesterday?”

I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses and shake my head, trying to keep calm, but his curt words blow the lid right off my anger. I snap back, “Where the hell have you been for the last six damn weeks?”

Ryan takes a deep breath and gives me a cold stare that says,
I’m still waiting for your answer.

“I missed my flight!” I exclaim with a lie.

“Oh bullshit!” Ryan hits me right back. “Charlie said he picked you up from airport Thursday night.”

Thanks a lot, Charlie!

I explode. “Don’t start this shit with me, Ryan! We have to work together, and I’ll be damned if you’re gonna treat me like this.”