Page 5 of Too Close To Call

I’m sitting at my desk in the back room of the garage trying to work, but really I’m finding things I need to take care of before leaving for three weeks. I should have already been on the road.

I’ve heard people talk about falling into a career, and it was never truer than when I ran into old man Bivins six years ago. He was retiring and I bought the garage off him for a spot to work on restoring a car I’d had in storage with plans of bringing it back to as close to original as possible as soon as I could get to it.

With my racing schedule, I’d never had the time. After my career-ending wreck, I had nothing but time and no direction. I was lost and had no idea what to do. I started off working on my car, but then, little by little, friends, neighbors, or tourists would come in with car trouble or needing an oil change. Of course, I helped them out. Which meant they kept coming. At the time, I was literally the only person on-island with the knowledge to do the work.

I hired on two buddies that were in my pit crew and, between the three of us, we did what we could in the way of general repairs and maintenance, but our bread and butter came from the restoration projects we took on.

My crew has now grown to six and I refuse to take on more projects than what we can do comfortably. I don’t need the money and I like to have time to go sailing or fishing. My guys are more than capable of running the shop without me, but I don’t want them to know that.

I check the time again and sigh. I need to go. I regret saying yes when I was invited, but the race is in honor of my mentor, friend, and second father figure. The man that took me under his wing when I was fifteen and taught me everything about the racing world. I owe my career to Dale Hamilton. Every success I had was due to the racing icon.

My hands begin to sweat and then shake. I take a deep breath to settle my racing heart. I never should have said yes to driving in the charity event. I hold my hand in front of me. I’ve not stepped foot in a race car since the accident because this is what happens when I think about driving professionally again. What if I can’t do it? I have to know and that’s why I said yes.

“Hey, I thought you’d be gone by now.”

I jerk my hands below the desk and look up to find my oldest brother Adan. “I know, I should have left two hours ago.”

As usual, my brother looks immaculate in dark blue slacks and a crisp blue button-up shirt with a matching blue and yellow striped tie. Adan wears his dark hair perfectly cut and groomed without a single hair out of place.

I prefer the natural, rumpled look and rarely make an effort to get a haircut. I run my hand behind my head and encounter my shaved neck, reminding me of my time in Brandy’s salon chair just yesterday.

Adan makes himself at home in the stiff wooden chair across from my desk. “Your hair looks good. I haven’t seen it that short in years. And are you wearing jeans and a t-shirt that isn’t covered in grease?”

I shrug. What did he expect? “It’s for the charity event. There will be publications and media coverage. I didn’t want to look like the island bum I really am.”

“You know, Case, I did offer to go with you. I know this is hard for you.”

He doesn’t know just how hard it will be to go back. Nobody in my family does. They only know the basics and they made assumptions that I never corrected. They all think I left because of Cindy LaJoie. Cindy was never anything to me. We were seen in public together because my publicist insisted, but I wasn’t torn up as the media portrayed me to be. My interest had never been with Cindy and she had never been interested in me. She had a thing for my buddy Ryan. Unfortunately, their marriage didn’t last long.

It was easier to let my family assume than to tell them I’d killed a man. A man I loved and respected, and that I have panic attacks every time I think about getting in a race car again. I’m such an idiot to have accepted the invitation to drive. It could be the push I need to get back to driving… or it could blow up in my face and the media would have a field day. I quickly click to shut down the computer to mask my shaking hands. “I’ll be fine.”

My brother sees too deeply into my offhanded remark. Luckily, he lets it drop. “If you change your mind, I’m always here for you. I’ll see you at the race unless you need me there before.”

After Adan leaves, I turn the light out and close the office door. I stop by the garage bays to let my guys, Paul and Axel, know I’m headed out. They have been with me since my racing days. “Hey, guys, just wanted to let you know I’m leaving. You have my number if anything happens.”

Both men look offended that I question their grease monkey abilities. “You sure you don’t need us, boss?”

This will be the first time I’m driving without my crew—if I can go through with it. Doubts have already started to trickle into my head and I force a casual smile. “I’m not driving my own car and the car I am driving comes with its own crew.”

Paul tosses a greasy rag on top of a toolbox. “Suit yourself, but you know we’re the best.”

I have to chuckle. “Believe me, I never doubt that. You remind me often enough.”

Axel catches my eye and nods. Axel is a contradiction. He’s a ripped, bad boy biker on the outside and an intuitive teddy bear on the inside. He’s the one that has the most pieces of the puzzle. He was there the day it happened. He’s the one that pulled me from my burning car and he’s the one that helped me try to revive Dale.

My bags are already in my dark green metallic ‘75 Z/28 Camaro. A sweet little ride I restored when I first opened the garage. I suppose you could say this is my therapy car and the direction I needed to point me towards what to do with my life when I couldn’t race anymore. This car literally saved my life. At least my quality of life.

I could have flown in to the event, but it’s only a five-hour drive to Charlotte and I wanted the ride to get myself together and prepared. In all reality, I will probably see Tori. The event, after all, is in honor of her father. I’m not sure how seeing her again is going to go. She has to know I’m coming. She’ll probably make it a point to stay clear of anywhere I might be. She made it pretty plain she never wanted to see me again. That still hurts.How could she think that…

I pump the brakes on that train wreck of thought. I’m not going there. I can’t if I want to get through this. I need to find out if racing again is ever going to be in my future. I miss it so badly, almost as much as I miss her.

I slam the heel of my hand on the steering wheel. I’ve got to stop myself from going there.

I pull onto the ferry and park where I’m directed. Once we’re underway and the all-clear sign comes on, I get out and look to see if my Uncle Rod is working today. Evidently he’s not because I can’t find him. Since Rod and Jen had baby Brianna in December, my uncle doesn’t work as much. Who could blame him with a beautiful wife and precious baby girl at home? After losing his first wife to cancer fifteen years ago, Rod fell in love with Jen, who had her own tragic past. Everyone was stunned and extremely happy when the couple found out they were pregnant.

I’m not sure how Rod didn’t freak out, discovering at forty-nine that he was going to be a father. I’ll be thirty-one next month and I always thought I’d have a kid or two by this point. I can’t see it happening now. The only woman I’d want as the mother of my children hates me, and I don’t blame her.

I spend the forty-five minute trip on my phone going over the event’s agenda and emailing my publicist. Once we dock and I’m on the road again, the engine revs and purrs as I shift to exit onto Highway 40.

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