Chapter 40 Regan
FORTY
REGAN
I spend a lot of time in the shop with the crew and Dad to ensure everything is covered before leaving for Atlanta for the next race. Everyone has already left, and I was going to stay a bit longer until my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Leslie, texting the group chat with Cindy and myself.
Leslie
I need a drink and my girls. Meet me at Dragon’s Fire at 5
Cindy
I’ll be there after class. Don’t get drunk without me
Me
I’ll be there
I’m a bit worried about Leslie wanting to meet up like this, especially so close to the next race. I finish up at the shop, clean up at home, and head out to meet them at Dragon’s Fire Brewery in uptown Charlotte.
I find Leslie outside on the brewery terrace that faces directly at the tall buildings in the center of uptown.
When the sun sets and all the lights illuminate the buildings, I’m sure this would be a beautiful spot to sit and hang out, maybe take a date.
This is one of our favorite breweries. The inside is transformed into what looks like a fantasy tavern.
“Hey,” I say, swinging a leg over the bench to sit down across from Leslie.
“What’s up that you need a girls’ night out?
” She already has a beer and is looking down, then she finally looks up at me and I can tell that she’s been crying.
Her eyes are red and puffy, and bits of mascara and eyeliner have settled on her cheeks.
She sniffles and wipes her face with the heel of her hand, spreading the makeup further.
“I told Chase that I really liked him, and he said he didn’t feel the same way and decided to cut ties with everything.” The tears start to flow again, causing her to keep wiping her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Les. Did he say why?” She shakes her head and takes a small sip of beer. I reach out and take one of her hands in mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “He’s the one missing out. You’re amazing, and if he can’t see that or keep your friendship, then that’s on him.”
Another sniffle. “I know. I just need to forget about him. It’s just so hard to do that, you know?”
“I know. It’ll come with time,” I say. I order a beer from a passing server as Cindy takes a seat next to Leslie, out of breath like she ran here.
“What did I miss?” she asks, turning to greet Leslie. “Oh, honey, what happened?” She pulls Leslie into a hug.
Leslie fills her in, and Cindy is just as comforting as I was earlier, with just a bit more swearing. The server comes back with my beer and Cindy and Leslie order for themselves; seems like we’re going to be here a while.
Leslie is done talking about Chase, so Cindy fills us in on her college classes and how excited she is for the upcoming semester. Then somehow, the conversation gets turned to me.
“What’s been going on with you and Dixon?” Leslie asks, slurring her words a little bit. Looks like she is cut off for the night.
My cheeks heat, giving me away instantly. I quickly down what’s left of my beer before answering. “Well—uh.” I struggle to find the words. “I mean, we have been doing the benefits parts if that’s what you’re asking,” I finally say.
Leslie and Cindy glance at each other, and then back at me. Both their eyes are narrowed in suspicion.
“And?” Cindy asks, trying to coax me to explain further.
“And what? It’s benefits only, that’s the whole point. There is no ‘and’.”
“That’s bullshit, and we all know it,” Cindy accuses. I just blink at her outburst. Cindy is usually blunt, but not in this way. Her nostrils flare, moving her piercing, glinting in the string lights that have turned on as the sun has almost set.
“It’s not bullshit,” I say defensively.
Yes it is.
Cindy just glares. Fuck, she can see right through me, as always.
I honestly don’t know what to tell her. I’m still working through my own feelings right now.
When I woke up in his arms the last time we were together, he was holding onto me like he didn’t want to let go, like even in sleep, he wanted to keep me close.
I slipped out before he woke up. I got scared that I enjoyed that feeling of being in his arms too much.
“It is, Reg,” Cindy counters. “I know you. I’ve known you since we were eight years old. You like him as more than just benefits or a hookup or whatever you are doing, and it scares the shit out of you.”
I drop my head down into my hands that are resting on the tabletop. “I don’t know how I feel,” I admit. I lift up my eyes back to Cindy and Leslie. Leslie’s eyes are full of worry, and Cindy just raises her brows as if to say, well? Go on.
“The last time we…you know. I accidentally slept over, and I liked waking up next to him.”
“That’s what has you so rattled?” Leslie asks, confused. Of course she is, she doesn’t know my fucked up dating history like Cindy does.
“I think you should give Dean a chance,” Cindy says. “I have a feeling he is more invested than you think.”
“Pfft, what makes you say that? He’s not the relationship type, remember? Grid girls and what not?”
Leslie taps her chin as if she’s remembering something. “Now that you say that, he hasn’t brought any grid girls to any track since…Martinsville, when he came late.”
I pause, thinking back. She’s right, and that’s before we agreed on exclusivity. Was that on purpose or a coincidence?
“Reg, I think you have a chance at something here. Don’t let some jackass from your past ruin it for you,” Cindy says.
“What happened before?” Leslie asks, then instantly looks like she regrets her question. I answer her anyway.
I let out a breath to give her the short version of the story.
“My last serious boyfriend cheated multiple times during our relationship. I broke it off with him and he came crying back months later. I stupidly decided to give him another chance. I went to surprise him for his birthday at his place and caught him balls deep in someone else. I never looked back after that.”
“Regan, I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she says softly, taking my hand in hers.
“Yeah, me too. So, you can see why the possibility of having feelings for someone who has Dean’s reputation might be causing some issues.”
She nods, and I can tell that she’s fighting the urge to ask me something else. I dip my chin to allow her to say whatever it is she wants to say.
“What else is stopping you?” Leslie asks. I crook my head to the side. Was my cheating story not enough? “There’s something else besides your past stopping you. What is it?” she continues.
Nothing escapes these two, it seems. But that’s why they are both my closest friends. “I’m worried if I get into Cup and we are seen together in public as more than just rivals, that people will think I slept my way to the top.”
Cindy nods at the admission, like she can see where I’m coming from. If I’m dating another driver, that’s all anyone is going to talk about. Not my talent or anything else that matters, but that I just fucked Dean to get to the top.
“Can I be honest?” Leslie asks, and I gesture for her to continue.
“People are going to think what they want about you, hell, about me, too. We are women in this male dominated sport. There are people in that garage every weekend who still think women don’t belong there.
No matter what we do, no matter what we accomplish, it’s going to be criticized and picked apart.
The best thing you or I can do is flip them the middle finger and do what we want, and do it better than they ever could. ”
Wow, this is not the pep talk I thought I’d get. Hell, she’s the one who needed the pep talk when I got here. Maybe that speech was as much for her as it was for me. I shouldn’t care about this, I don’t know why this is the thing that bothers me so fucking much.
It’s so stupid that I have to be the one who thinks about this. I’m sure none of this has ever crossed a man’s mind. Ever. Guys like Dean can bring a different girl to each track, and no one bats and eye, but if it gets out that I’m sleeping with another driver—all hell is going to break loose.
“Enough about me,” I start, changing the subject. “From what it sounds like, you are back on the market. Let’s get you some phone numbers.”
We laugh and order one more round. I do my best to try to keep my mind off Dean, but I’m not as successful as I’d like to be.
When I arrive home that evening, the house smells amazing–garlic, oregano, and other spices. Dad must have made his famous spaghetti and meatballs. My stomach grumbles just thinking about digging into a big bowl of it.
I stride into the kitchen, and he already has the small table set with plates, forks, and the steaming pot of spaghetti in the center.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask. This meal only comes out with some kind of big news or if I ask really nicely.
“No occasion. Just wanted a meal with my daughter. Is that a crime?” Dad asks, motioning for us to sit.
“No, of course not.” I take my usual seat, and although it’s just the two of us now, there’s still a third chair at the table that was Mom’s seat.
I stare at it and think back to the meals we used to have here.
When Dad was on the road, she’d help me with homework, have game nights.
My eyes tear up at the memories. I miss her.
The anniversary of her death is approaching, and probably why Dad made this meal.
Dad dishes out the food on each of our plates, and the silence is loud. I know there is some sort of bomb that is going to be dropped, and I’m trying to think of something—anything. I open my mouth but everything I want to say falls to ash on my tongue.
“Ready for Atlanta?” he asks, digging into his food.
“I think so. I finished setup and virtual testing with the team today,” I say, taking a bite of pasta. It’s as good as always. More silence as we eat, just the sound of forks on plates while we twirl our pasta.
“I wanted to talk about the anniversary of Mom’s death. I was hoping we could go together to go see her.” He asks me every year, but I always refuse to go. It’s too much, too overwhelming. Dad goes without me, and I always feel bad, I just can never bring myself to go with him.
“I’ll go with you, Dad,” I find myself saying. I meet Dad’s gaze, and shock and joy flood his features. Something is telling me that I should go. To be strong enough to face the feelings that come with visiting Mom.
“I know she’d love to see you, Regan,” he says with a bright smile.
“I know.” My heart skips a beat before I continue. “I’m sorry I haven’t gone. It’s…” I trail off, not able to continue what I want to say.
“It’s alright. I understand. I’m happy you’re coming now.” He takes another bite of pasta before speaking again. “Is there something else going on? I feel like your mind has been somewhere else lately.”
Dad is nothing but perceptive about everything. He has always been able to tell when something is bothering me or on my mind. I was hoping he wouldn’t say anything, but I should’ve known better than that.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I say, pushing around the food on my plate. Talking to Dad about boys has always been awkward. I know he understands that I’m an adult, but he still sees me as that little girl, crying in his arms at the hospital after we left Mom’s room for the last time.
“Okay. Just know you can talk to me about anything. I’ll never judge you about anything. Unless you tell me you like pineapple on pizza, then I don’t think I can help you.”
I huff a small laugh. “I know. Thanks, Dad.”