Page 51 of The Player Penalty
Jake drops some printouts, letting them fall to the table. “In Daytona, meeting with other owners. Why?”
That’s unfortunate. I planned a great speech about her staying out of my private life and no more white dresses. “I figured you would be the one going.”
“Sarah handles the business part. We get to do the fun stuff.” Jake points his thumb between himself and Robert Deere, a minority partner in his newly formed racing team. “Check out the latest wrap.” He shoves the car design over for my inspection. “We landed a new sponsor, one from Bert’s time.”
“It turns out their new head of marketing was an old drinking buddy of mine,” Bert says. He has a perpetual sunburnt complexion, either from too much sun or perhaps he still enjoys the occasional drinking day. “It’ll be good to see him this weekend.”
“We fly out tomorrow morning for a promo video,” Jake says.
“You’re Murphy’s boy, aren’t you? He was a great competitor in our day,” Bert says. His complexion darkens as his voice grows louder. Beside him, Jake’s smile turns into a flat-out grin.
“Julian Murphy Senior,” I say, and silently hope this conversation ends soon. “He retired to Florida a few years ago.”
“He once spoke like you would take over from him,” Bert says. I change my mind about the day drinking. He’s merely a loudmouth. “I suppose that wasn’t meant to be. You don’t put the spoiled milk back in the bottle.”
Is that made up? Who says that?
“I’ve never been interested in ownership. Racing is enough for me.”
Bert nods in acceptance, but his expression says he doesn’t quite believe me. Daddy Murphy struggled with it, too. Up until the end, he thought I’d come through with the family business, right up to cheating for my brother.
Now, it doesn’t matter if I wanted to or not. My family’s stigma would cause any future racing team to carry the stink of scandal everywhere. Boone Rivers never thinks about it, but his family’s reputation is one of the reasons I even have a second chance.
“I suppose it is,” Bert finally says. “Your performance is damn fine this season, damn fine. You’re second in points, and I expect you’ll stay there. You’ll make this boy work for it.” He pokes Jake, who frowns.
That’s honestly funny. “Poor Jake is doing his best.”
Jake slaps his chest. “What the hell? I’m right here.”
“Doing your best,” I say, appreciating the conversation steering to a less personal topic.
Bert’s loud sigh is partly amusement and a lot of nostalgia. He leans back in his chair and hikes up his belt. “It’s all different from my day. We raced clean all season and then handed over anice trophy at the end of it. These days, you have points, stages, and all these rules. It’s enough to drive an old man batty. But you know what they say.”
“You don’t put spoiled milk back in the bottle,” I offer.
Bert snaps his fingers. “Ain’t that the truth?”
“Sarah will be at Texas with us. You can speak to her, then,” Jake says. It’s a hint to end the conversation, and I get it. We’re in the middle of the season, and he’s trying to build a company from bootstraps and spit. I do not envy him.
“Appreciate it. I’ll be in the sim room if you need me,” I say. They won’t.
Alone in my office, I shut the door.
One day, questions about my family won’t give me the feeling of army ants crawling over my body. Reporters ask, looking for a story; other times, it’s an older man innocently reliving his glory days.
Lily isn’t coming in today either, so she isn’t available to distract me, at least not until tonight.
I pick up my office phone and dial without knowing why. His voicemail is probably still full.
“Yeah?”
My usual rant dries up from the familiar voice. “Jason. Where’s Dad?”
“Oh.” That single word tells me he would not have answered if he had recognized the phone number. “Dad is sleeping, so I answered for him.”
“In the middle of the day?”
“Retirement gives him a lot of free time.”
