#Swag (GearShark #3) (30 page)

“It doesn’t work that way. She was caught with a modified car. She knows the regulations and the consequences.” He looked at me. “You’re out. There is no win here for you today. Pack up and go. The division will be in touch with your management as to what this will mean for your future races.”

It was my final blow in the epic battle that was today.

Jace pulled me against his side, and I leaned against him for a moment while my head swirled with doom.

My career was over. I drove like mad today. I literally beat the odds—the men trying to tear me down—out there today. I showed everyone I deserved to be on the track.

I won.

I won only to be disqualified after and was accused of cheating.

Even if they let me race again, I would be branded a cheat. I would lose sponsors and credibility. The press was going to eat me alive for this. My father was going to go ballistic.

The man with the clipboard ripped off a piece of paper from the stack and held it out to me. On the top it read: NOTICE OF DISQUALIFICATION.

I stared at it with contempt and shock. Hopper reached out and took it when it became clear I wasn’t going to.

I couldn’t accept this. I wouldn’t.

The men with their suits and judgmental expressions strode away. I gazed after them, anger beginning to build.

Hopper stepped in my line of vision. His features were nothing but a blur in front of my eyes. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I won’t let this touch your career.”

“It already has,” I told him. “No matter what, I’m out today. All that out there”—I flung my hand toward the track— “was for nothing.”

He nodded, grim. “You’re out today.”

“Not for nothing!” Jace argued. “There has to be something we can do.”

“There is, but not today. They won’t change their mind on the win. They won’t even bring out the car. They’ll confiscate it,” Hopper told him.

“Who would do this, Joey?” Drew asked, his voice hard.

I shook my head. I couldn’t… My head was spinning.

“Why?” Drew pressed when I didn’t reply, his hands balled into fists.

I glanced at Hopper. “They’re that pissed?” I rasped.

He paled. He actually staggered back a step. “They wouldn’t…”

But they would.

“What?” Jace demanded, his voice wholly suspicious.

I swallowed. “My teammates,” I spat. “The other pros I drive with. They’re pissed I’m crossing over. They hated me before… but now it’s worse.”

“I need to make some calls,” Hopper said. The paper in his hand crinkled in his fist. “I won’t except this. I’ll take it to the top of the division if I have to.” He pulled out his cell and strode away with angry, quick strides.

The entire crew was standing around looking at me. Some were whispering. My eyes found the man I suspected of making the change to the lift plate. I made sure my stare drilled into his.

He turned and walked away.

“Wait a minute!” I yelled and raced after him. The entire crowd seemed to follow me.

I grabbed him by the arm, and he looked over his shoulder.

“Why?” I asked him, low.

He jerked away from me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t!” I growled.

“What’s going on?” Jace demanded.

“Don’t blame me because you got caught cheating,” the mechanic said.

I jerked like he slapped me.

His words were like salt in the wound. He just denied what I know he did, and he not only did it in front of the press, but he implied he knew it was me who ordered it.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, leaving me here… with the pieces of my career at my feet.

Paparazzi descended like buzzards on roadkill. They smelled defeat, and they wanted it on camera, captured on film so the entire world could see my ruin, and I would have record of it for the rest of my life.

“Joey G., do you have a comment on being disqualified from today’s race?”

“Joey G., why would you cheat?”

“Joey G., do you think your actions will affect Gamble Enterprises?”

They fired at me like bullets out of a machine gun, so many questions with so much force. Each of them hit me; each of them pierced my skin.

The walls were closing in on me. I needed to breathe.

Don’t let them see you bleed.

“No comment!” I yelled, stepping away from Jace and straightening. The questions kept coming. The mics were in my face. People stared at me as if I were a criminal.

“Do you think today was your last race?” someone yelled out.

I snapped. Like broke in half.

“No more!” I screamed and threw my arms up in the air. “Pack the fuck up!” I roared.

Everyone stopped and stared. They acted like they were in shock at my outburst. It pissed me off.
I
was in shock. Not them.

It lasted maybe three seconds. Then everyone burst back into a flurry of movement.

“Joey,” Drew said, stepping to my side.

I pulled away from him. From everyone. I felt Jace’s stare, but I refused to look. I was so angry. So shocked. If I looked at him even once, I’d probably cry.

Crying was the worst thing I could do.

No.

The worst thing I could do was see the look in Jace’s eyes. The condemnation.

“I’m gonna go grab my bag,” I said to no one in particular and went swiftly toward the giant locker rooms for the drivers and staff.

They were co-ed down here on the track, ‘cause you know, up until I started driving, there wasn’t any reason for a female bathroom on a male-driven raceway. It would be discrimination to keep me out, so instead of making changes to the buildings, most places added another sign to the door, one of a figure in a dress right beside the male one.

I didn’t care. What difference did it make? There were stalls, and it wasn’t like I’d never seen a urinal before. Or a penis. I barely ventured past the lockers anyway. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even go in there at all if I didn’t want a place to lock up my bag and some extra clothes.

I hadn’t even used to do that, until of course the tampering started. Until a lock had become necessary.

I should have known this was coming. I should have prepared for it. Although, how did someone prepare for something like this exactly?

I felt like the “preparations” I’d made up until this point had been to harden myself, my heart, and feed the chip on my shoulder until I could use it as a shield.

The thing about shields?

There was always one weakness. Always something that could penetrate to hit its mark.

I’d been busy with my life, with friends who came to town to see me, additional press and travel. With Jace and the way he made me feel.

I dropped my guard. My shield.

I knew better.

This was my punishment.

I went to the sinks, turned on the cold water, and splashed my face. The icy droplets helped rid some of the fog weighing down my thoughts. Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t an option. I needed to think, to act.

After I used a crappy paper towel from the dispenser to pat my face dry I pulled the clip out of my hair and let the dark curls spring forward.

I studied myself in the mirror above the sink. I looked deep into the green eyes staring back at me.

Was this really worth it?

It always seemed no matter how hard I tried, it just was never enough.

Despite my best efforts, a tear escaped. With absolute loneliness, I watched it trail down my reddened cheek. Another fell. And another.

I loved driving, the thrill of speed, and spending my days behind a wheel, not at a desk. Was everything that came with it finally starting to break me down?

A sob broke free of my throat, and the dam burst open. Grabbing another paper towel, I buried my face in the scratchy paper and cried.

My body shook like a thunderstorm. I cried out of humiliation, loss, and even defeat.

All these years of being strong, of never letting it break me down… It ended in a win today… Then that win was swiftly stolen away.

I allowed myself to cry longer than I wanted. Actually, my body took over and seemed to pour out so much despair I was frightened. Which, of course, made me cry more.

Eventually, I sniffled, lifted my chin, and stared down at the torn, saturated towel in my palms. Slowly, I looked up. For once, my reflection showed what I was really like on the inside.

Broken. Kicked. Torn down.

The skin around my eyes was swollen and red. The fair skin on my cheeks was splotchy and hot. Dry, cracked skin coated my lips, and the end of my nose was raw from the stupid paper towel.

There was a smudge of dirt on my cheek, likely from the race… and it flooded me with memories of the first night I spent with Jace. Of the way we went at each other and the way he looked in that dirty T-shirt.

I started to cry again.

What if I lost him along with everything else that had already been taken?

I tossed the ruined cloth in my hand away and retrieved a fresh one. After mopping up my tears a second time and wiping my nose, I threw it away and washed my hands.

Enough was enough. Standing in a bathroom and crying wasn’t going to change anything. Walking out of here with a face giving away how I really felt was going to be embarrassing enough. If I still wanted to cry later, I could do it in the privacy of my hotel room.

Pity party for one was now cancelled.

At my locker, I entered the code and opened the door. My brown leather hobo bag waited for me in exactly the same position as when I placed it there.

I wasn’t quite ready to go back out there with everyone, to face the questions, the conversations… the looks. I stalled for time by unzipping the jumpsuit I was wearing and stepping out. It smelled like sweat and gasoline. The back was damp from how badly the sweat pooled between my shoulder blades. Beneath it, I was dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a simple gray loose V-neck T-shirt made of combed cotton.

The brush of cool air against my previously confined skin was like a kiss from Jace. Teasing but refreshing. Soft but exciting.

I had to take off the boots tied on my feet to pull off the suit, so I sat down to quickly do so, but when I went to put them back on, I couldn’t. I was so tired… Instead, I reached into my hobo and found a pair of flip-flops. I was stuffing everything in my bag when the door to the locker room opened and slammed shut.

I glanced up, thinking it was Jace, not objecting at all to his presence. I kinda wanted it right now. I just wanted to feel his support. I needed it.

I knew almost instantly, though, it wasn’t Jace. My back stiffened as someone stepped around the row of lockers into sight.

All the little nagging thoughts, the suspicions my subconscious held close, rushed to the surface. Along with it came humiliation, defeat… anger.

“If I were you, I’d turn around and get the fuck out,” I said, grabbing my bag and slamming the locker door closed with a bang. It made a nice exclamation to my words.

“Joey, Joey, Joey,” he intoned, stepping forward. “You look like you’ve been crying.” He made a sad face, and in that moment I knew true hate.

Dean Cannon was an arrogant bastard who thought the world revolved around him. He wasn’t a large guy, standing about five seven, with a slim build and a head full of brown hair. He definitely wasn’t my cup of tea—or my cup of anything really—but I knew a lot of fans thought he was a heartthrob.

He liked to remind the entire team of that whenever possible.

He had his own line of T-shirts, some with his name on the back. He also had a couple endorsement deals, one of which pretty much made him a household name. Well, for anyone who watched TV and paid attention to commercials.

My father sponsored him, along with a few other big companies, but it was the deal he had with my father that made him part of my “team.”

Technically, drivers weren’t on teams. But my father sponsored quite a few drivers in the pro division. Our headquarters was at Gamble Speedway. Everyone had apartments there. The garages and mechanics were there. Hopper and a few other managers were there.

We drove together a lot. We occupied a lot of the same training facilities, and we used the same team of people to get us ready for races.

Everyone got along with each other, but no one really got along with me.

I was the outsider. The driver who remained apart even in a crowded room. People recognized it. I downplayed it.

Because really, I didn’t care.

Not much, anyway. Okay, fine, sometimes it hurt like hell. Sometimes, I felt like a kid in kindergarten who stood in the back of the class while a popular kid handed out party invitations, waiting for mine, but it never came. Everyone got invited to the party, everyone but me.

Why not me?

When we were at work, I was all business. I ignored the jokes, the looks, and the occasional snide remark. I didn’t go out for pizza and beer or watch old racing tapes after hours in the headquarters media space.