Chapter Thirty
Kace leaned against the wall of the garage bay and waited for the dizziness to stop. He had to get into the car soon. The moment he had been waiting for was upon him. He was back at the Montana Speedway, and he would finally race as a professional driver. But his symptoms had run nonstop. The alcohol last night had been a bad choice, but he had missed Tara and wanted to chase the lonely feelings away.
He could climb into that car and drive because he didn’t want to be the reason Roy Burger and the team lost. Once he got behind the wheel, the symptoms would disappear the way they always did. He had even convinced Trevor to fly in and be his spotter. He always raced better when he and Trevor worked together. Nothing could go wrong today.
The cheering of the crowd drifted through the garage. Team Burger was dead last in the points, so they had the last garage bay, but he couldn’t miss the excitement buzzing from the spectators. This was the championship race. Every driver and team had been preparing all season. Team Burger was the underdog. But they had him.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed off the wall. Simon and Jason huddled over the car’s engine, making last-minute adjustments.
“Kace, I’ve been looking all over for you.” Gus ambled up to him and patted him on the shoulder. “You all set?”
“Completely.”
“Don’t worry about being in the back of the pack. Just do what you always do and stay relaxed. When everyone else tenses up, pushing too hard to get the lead, you take that deep breath and fly.”
“I got it. I’ll be fine. I know what to do.”
Gus gripped his arm. “Are you’re sure you’re okay to drive?”
“I would say if I wasn’t.” Which was a bold-faced lie, and he couldn’t hold Gus’s gaze for fear Gus would find him out.
The car was ready, and he climbed inside. Every driver grabbed his or her position in the starting lineup. He sucked in several deep breaths to slow his heart. Sweat rolled down the side of his face, and nausea burned in the center of his chest.
The pack of cars bolted when the green flag waved. Engines roared to life, making the crowd cheer. He focused on the cars in front of him.
“Kace, man, that’s a good start. Stay in the middle.” Trevor’s voice came through the communication system loud and clear.
All he had to do was listen to Trevor’s instructions. Trevor would help him get to the head of the pack. They had hours to go, but if he could get a lap or two ahead, that would help. But what if someone crashed? What if he was hit again and the symptoms became so bad he was never the same?
He took the second turn on the outside.
“Kace, you’ve got Max Dixon on your left. Don’t hesitate in the next turn, but you need to come down out of the top.”
“Got it.”
The colors of the cars raced around him. His vision blurred, making the colors blend into one another like that old spinning paint toy he’d played with as a kid. He fought the bile in his throat. He had never been carsick in his life.
Turn three was up ahead. He pulled behind the number seventy-seven, catching the draft. The car’s wind pulled him forward and increased his speed. He was topping two hundred miles per hour. Sweat ran into his eyes. He blinked it away. He downshifted at the last second before the turn ended and killed the draft for the in-front car.
“Now, to the right.” Trevor’s voice vibrated in his head.
He yanked the wheel and took the open spot on the right. He hit the gas and flew past the other cars. He had taken the lead.
“Holy shit, man. You’re in the lead.” Trevor’s voice bounced in his head. “I am so glad you brought me out for this. I want to see you take the whole thing.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Are you okay? Your voice sounds like it’s slurring.”
“Fine.”
He had passed all the teams most likely to win with their big budgets and sponsors. If he could keep the lead—and it would be hard—he could give Roy Burger one unexpected upset win. And he would be the lead driver for Burger Garage all of next season.
If he didn’t vomit in his lap. The car was hot, and he was already sweating through his underwear. The pain above his eyes increased, as if someone twisted a vice around his head. His hands shook even though he clutched the wheel.
He wasn’t sure if he could go any faster, and he would have to push the car to the limit around the next turn to keep the lead. The pressure from the speed was too much for his head. “Trev, do I have any space here?”
“Can’t slow down. They’re right on you. Dixon is coming up on your ass fast. He’s going to try and pass you on the inside.”
He needed a pit stop just to catch his breath and pull himself together, but those seconds would cost him the lead. This team was counting on him.
But what if he crashed? Every time he thought about it, he lost focus.
“Kace, what the hell are you doing? Don’t let up,” Trevor said.
He hadn’t noticed that he had eased off the gas at all. Dixon passed him on the left, took the turn and the lead.
“I’ll get it back.” But he didn’t know if he could. Never in his years of racing had he wondered if he could take the lead or not. He had always had the skills and determination to place high in the winning ranks. Today was different. Today the concussion was winning.
He came out of the turn fighting for a position in the pack that wouldn’t get him gridlocked. Stuck in the middle could increase the chances of a big crash. If his head got smacked around, he might be in trouble.
Dixon tapped the corner of the fifty-six. The driver spun and took two other cars with it.
“Trevor, where are they?” Panic strangled his voice into a high-pitch squeak. His instincts were to hit the brakes, but that would only keep him caught up in the mess. He needed to get out of there before someone hit him.
“Dixon is spinning right for you. Can you hit the gas?”
But it was too late. The crunch of metal rattled his teeth. He bounced in his seat. His head shook inside the helmet. He had worsened his symptoms. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. His car slid down the track out of his control and rolled into the grass.
“Get the backup driver. I’m done.” He pulled himself from the car, not wanting to wait for anyone to help him. He needed to feel the solid ground under his feet. He fell to his knees and yanked the helmet off.
Seconds before he threw up.
****
Gus met him in the garage area. “What happened?”
“The last crash. It’s worse. I can’t.” His brain fogged up. All he wanted, besides a shower, was to talk to Tara. Her soothing voice would relax him enough until he could get home. And once he was, he would beg her to take him back and stand by him while he got better.
He couldn’t race. Not now. Maybe ever.
“They sent the backup driver in. You’re going to need to explain this to Roy.”
“Later. I have a call I need to make first.”
“What call?”
“I need to tell someone they were right.” He should have listened to Tara and confessed how bad his symptoms were. He had allowed himself to be arrogant enough to think he could outsmart his medical condition. He had been stupid and reckless. All of it had to end because he had a woman he loved and a family to come home to.
“He’s going to fire you. Talk to him first.”
“Gus, until ten minutes ago I would’ve worried about losing my job and my chance. But now, it doesn’t matter. I have never felt so sick in my entire life. Just explain it to him for me, will you?” He didn’t wait for Gus to answer. He needed to get to a phone.
His cell was in his locker. He focused on one foot in front of the other, ignoring everyone who tried to stop him to ask what happened. Burger’s mechanic, Simon, gave him the middle finger. Yeah, he deserved that.
He would have a lot of apologizing to do at some point. But that would have to wait too. With each step he needed Tara more. She would be the person who could save him. She would be the person who would make him whole. Make him a man. Driving hurt had made him anything but a man, and he hadn’t realized that until he lost control of his car.
A television blared at the front desk of the locker room. An attendant ignored him and the TV. He leaned his head against the metal locker door and let the cold seep against his skin. He wanted to go home.
His fingers wouldn’t respond to commands. Digging his phone out of his bag took two tries. The news anchor on the television said something about domestic violence.
He fumbled with the phone before hitting Tara’s number. The phone rang and rang, then went to voicemail.
“Babe, it’s me. You were right. I’m coming home. Call me.”
He wasn’t sure if he could make the two-hour drive back, but he would have to try. He couldn’t wait for a bus or a train.
The newscaster said in his monotone voice, “Drew Paxton and his wife were admitted to the Backwater Hospital for observation.” The screen switched to a picture of Tara and Drew from their wedding.
His stomach turned to ice water. The television station went to commercial.
He grabbed his bag and ran.