9. Ryder
Ryder
“I can’t believe that Reggie Buchanon isn’t racing this weekend! How does not one car, but two, end up failing inspection?” I ask Teague loud enough for our crew chiefs to hear and weigh in. Teague’s crew chief, Pit Bull, is engaged in a deep discussion with Soup, and neither bother to answer my question.
“Count your blessings. Now you actually have a chance of winning,” he jokes. He waves toward our crew chiefs. “There’s a rumor that Reggie’s cars were sabotaged, which is why Bull and Soup are doing a quick once-over on ours.”
“What? Why would anyone do that?” I scan the area, searching for anyone who looks suspicious, but no one catches my eye except for Blake. Her long legs move gracefully across the pavement as she approaches us. She draws my attention, but for entirely different reasons—her beauty and smile captivate me whenever she’s around.
“Did Soup and Bull find anything wrong with your vehicles?” she asks with concern as soon as she’s close enough to be heard.
I shake my head. “Nothing so far. I’m sorry to hear about Reggie having to drop out.”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow and folds her arms across her chest. “Are you really, Ryder? I thought that Reggie dropping out would make you ecstatic.”
My heart breaks at the unspoken accusation. “I hope you aren’t suggesting that I sabotaged Reggie’s vehicles. I was nowhere near them. Reggie might irritate me with his shenanigans, but he’s a great driver and challenges me.”
Teague sulks, “Hey! What am I, chopped liver? I’m more than just a pretty face, Ryder. Don’t let my good looks distract you from the fact that I’m a skilled driver. I’ll give you a run for your money.”
I snort. “You are a great driver, but I know your every move, Teague. Reggie is unpredictable and keeps me on my toes. I want to win, but I want to do it fairly. I would never resort to cheating.” Of course, with my background, I would likely be the first suspect.
Blake gently places her hand on my arm to comfort me. “I wasn’t suggesting that you would. I was merely implying that it was a fortuitous set of circumstances that ended up in your favor.”
“You work for Wheelie Good Tires, Sis, and are on the inside track. Did they catch the guy who did it?” Teague asks. I turn my head so I can hear her answer more clearly over the noise of the pit crews going about their business.
“No. The only individuals close to the cars were the crew and nothing seemed out of place. However, one individual was lingering nearby who appeared suspicious. He had a scorpion tattoo on his neck, but his face wasn’t clearly visible. From what we caught on tape, he never got within ten feet of the vehicles.”
“The Savage Scorpions,” I mutter.
“Isn’t that the motorcycle club your father belonged to?” Teague asks.
I nod. “What I don’t understand is why they would go after Reggie when I should be the target of their wrath. What was he wearing? Can I see the tapes?”
Blake stares at her feet as if they are the most fascinating objects around. “He was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of your stock car and number on the back, as well as a Morrison Motors ball cap pulled low over his face with 67 stitched on the front.”
My brows come together as I try to put the pieces together. “I promise, I have nothing to do with this.”
“I believe you, Ryder,” Blake says adamantly. “Like I said before, the man didn’t come anywhere near the car. He just looked suspicious.”
Teague disagrees. “I think someone is trying to frame you, Bro. That guy could have paid one of Reggie’s crew to tinker with the cars. Either someone hates you enough to get you suspended or is a huge fan and wants to see you win. Neither bodes well.”
I take my ball cap and turn it backwards as I begin pacing the pit. The race starts in less than 15 minutes, and I have a choice to make. “There’s only one person I can think of who would resort to such measures, and the scorpion tattoo is a dead giveaway—my father. I’m sorry that Reggie is getting caught up in my mess. I need to apologize to him and explain.”
Teague eyes his sister. “This is why the two of you should not date, even in secret. If what Ryder says is true, then Simon Stone still has pull, and no one is untouchable. That includes you, Blake.”
Blake ignores her brother. “Ryder, I’ll talk to Reggie and take care of the apology for you. We’ll just have to up the security around the cars until the situation is resolved. I wish you both good luck in the race. May the best man win.” She gives her brother a hug, then leans in to kiss me on the cheek. She catches herself and extends her hand instead.
“May Teague win,” I say as I wrap my fingers around hers. “I’m withdrawing from the race. If I remain in it, it might give people the impression that I was involved with the sabotage when the rumors begin to circulate. And they will spread. If it’s an overly enthusiastic fan, they’ll quickly realize that if I can’t win fairly, then I won’t compete at all.”
Teague grasps my shoulder firmly. “Are you sure, Ryder? When I win, it won’t have the same degree of satisfaction without you in the race. You also don’t need to give my father another reason to get rid of you.”
“Missing one race shouldn’t be the end of my career, and if this blows back on me, Morrison Motors’ reputation is also at stake. I’m trying to protect the brand as much as I am myself.” As I walk over to deliver the news to Soup, I send up a silent prayer.
“Please let this be the right decision.”
“Your dad will definitely have questions about us once he finds out you flew back to Texas with me,” I tell Blake on the drive to the prison to see my father. We took the first flight home after the race concluded, with Teague finishing in third place.
“I didn’t exactly plan on telling him, Ryder, and I doubt he even knew I was there to begin with. My father might be a bit controlling, but he doesn’t monitor my comings and goings. At least I don’t think he does.” She bites her thumbnail as she second-guesses her statement.
I reach across the console and gently take the hand she’s nibbling on, bringing it to my lips to nip at the tips of her fingers. “Hmm. Tasty. I see the appeal.”
She pulls her hand away with a laugh. “Goofball! You could have just told me to stop worrying.”
I wink. “My way is more fun.”
The smile slips from her face, and her eyes once again fill with worry. “Do you think my dad is tracking me?”
I raise one shoulder half-heartedly. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Controlling or not, you and your brother are heirs to billions and could be kidnapped and used for ransom. It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t want you to come with me to the prison to visit my father. Teague is right, if my father was behind the sabotage, then his reach extends beyond the prison walls, and you could be in danger if he sees us together.”
“I didn’t give you much choice. You’re willing to risk your career if my father finds out that we’re seeing each other in secret. If you’re not going to kowtow to my dad, I’m surely not going to run from yours.”
I admire her spunk and fortitude. “Last chance to back out, Blake. We’re here.”
Her eyes light up and scan the parking lot of the prison. “Ooh! Someone visiting is riding in style. Look at the '67 Chevy Chevelle Convertible! It’s in pristine condition!”
I sigh since I know exactly who the car belongs to. “It looks like you’re about to meet more than my father today. You’re about to meet my great-great Aunt Mabel. Knowing her, she’s likely got her two best friends with her, Lettie and Alma.”
Sure enough, the moment the doors on the McLaren whoosh open and we get out, three blindingly-bright heads of hair emerge from the prison. My aunt leads the way, sporting a teal-colored wig and floral dress. Lettie is behind her, donning a pink wig cut in a bob and wearing similar attire. Alma is going bold today with a wig made up of fluorescent orange curls and a dress printed with pictures of various citrus fruits.
Blake grabs my arm and smiles up at me. “They have to be the cutest little ladies I’ve ever seen. They’re adorable!”
“They’re ornery. Don’t let them fool you for a second,” I say with as serious a face as I can muster. “They’re known as the Baggersville Biddies, and they give as good as they get. They may seem sweet, but they don’t sugarcoat their words.”
“Ryder! My boy!” Mabel shouts, shuffling toward me with a speed that rivals anyone on the track. “I thought you were racing this weekend!”
I hug my aunt and the other two Biddies before making introductions. I also explain why I didn’t participate in the race. “I’m here to talk to Simon and find out what role he played in what happened and ask him why he did it.”
“Goodness gracious! Your father had nothin’ to do with that,” Mabel says with a conviction that surprises me. “I’d bet my life on it.”
I gesture towards her beloved baby parked beside us. “Would you wager your car on it?” I jest, anticipating that she’ll renege on her earlier statement if her prize possession is on the line.
“Oh. Well,” she hesitates, but then smiles like the cat who got the cream. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
I step back, her words hitting me with the same impact as if a car had struck me at 150 miles per hour. “You believe in Simon enough that you would risk your car? Why?”
“Boy, I told you I’ve been stoppin’ by to talk to your father after church every Sunday since you told me he was here. I came armed with the Bible and some backup,” she says, holding up the book in her hand and then gesturing toward her partners in crime. “I have faith that the Good Lord has been workin’ on your father’s heart.”
Lettie grins, showing me her perfectly straight dentures. “When it comes to Mabel, it’s more like hammerin’ it home than talkin’, but she’s been penetratin’ the thick ‘Stone’ wall nonetheless. Simon’s been acceptin’ it with an open heart.”
Alma is in her own world as she pinches Blake’s cheeks. “You’re as cute as a button, and I....”
“There’s nothin’ cute about a button,” Mabel interrupts. “I never understood why people say that. They’re purely functional devices used to hold your blouse closed.”
Lettie adds her two cents. “It means small and dainty, Mabel, and some are quite pretty.”
Mabel huffs. “Blake is beautiful, but she’s a foot taller than all of us. There’s nothin’ small or dainty about her.”
Alma snickers. “That’s because we’ve shrunk over the years, otherwise we’d be lookin’ her in the eye. But ‘button’ refers to a button quail—a tiny little bird that tastes like chicken.”
“Everything tastes like chicken,” Mabel retorts.
This devolves into an argument about buttons and birds that I can no longer follow or wrap my head around. I place my hand at the small of Blake’s back. “We should get out of here while we can. They’re liable to start throwing barbs, and we don’t want to be in the line of fire.”
I calm the escalating argument by saying our goodbyes, but before we get more than a few feet, Mabel asks if we still plan on stopping by for dinner on Tuesday and visiting with her and her husband, Wendall. I let her know that we’ll be there and that we’re looking forward to it.
After hurrying us inside, I blow out a sigh of relief the moment the doors close behind us. “Those ladies have been the best of friends since they were children, but they bicker like toddlers.”
As Blake and I hand over our identification and empty our pockets, she smiles warmly at me. “I think they’re great, and they seem like a lot of fun. They remind me of Milo.”
Once we’re on the other side of the scanner and our belongings locked away, I bend down to sign us into the visitor log. “Who’s Milo again?”
“He’s the director of Play It Forward. He’s… Well… Let’s just say he’s an odd but interesting fellow. You can’t help but love him despite his eccentricity. I’d try to describe him, but he’s the kind of guy you have to meet for yourself. Nothing I say will do him justice.”
“Maybe I’ll get to meet him soon. Are you ready to meet my father?” I ask as the guard leads us to the table where we sit and wait for the guest of honor. I’m a confident guy, but right now I’m quaking inside.
Blake wraps her fingers around mine to quell the rising nervousness and kisses my cheek to put me at ease. “The better question is whether you’re ready to see him.”
The doors to the visiting area open up, and another guard escorts my father inside. Ready or not, it’s happening.
Simon Stone stands tall and proud in front of me, his 6'4" frame making me feel like a child in comparison. “Hello, Son. It’s been a long time.”
Part of me longs to embrace the man who raised me, while the other part wants to run and hide. The only thought running through my mind is: Has it been long enough?