Page 19 of Be Still My Racing Heart
Blake steps out of her car and approaches us with a grim expression on her face. She rises on her toes to kiss my cheek before nodding at Teague. “I just spoke with the pit crew. They’re baffled about how both vehicles failed the Optical Scanning Station. The disk was positioned over the engine area to show that it was the issue, but it fell within specs. The lights should have shown green since the engine didn’t need to be changed out for the race requirements and it passed the last inspection.”
“Simon mentioned that someone hired Doug to take Reggie out of the race, making it look like I did it. Maybe Doug used some of that money and paid someone to tamper with the OSS during Reggie’s inspection,” I suggest.
“Or he paid someone on Reggie’s pit crew to tamper with the engine and then fix it before anyone could notice,” Teague adds. “Why mess with Reggie to get to you? Even if they were trying to frame you, you weren’t anywhere near those vehicles.”
Blake’s eyes fill with remorse, and I don’t understand why. “It’s not a secret that you and Reggie have a beef with one another.”
I shake my head in dismay. “I have a great deal of respect for Reggie’s driving skills. My only beef is that he’s playing games by hiding himself from everyone.”
Blake points to her chest. “I know that, and you know that. However, the rest of NASCAR does not. You and Reggie have a rivalry that’s become a popular topic of conversation.”
Teague narrows his gaze at Blake. “That doesn’t answer the question of why. Who would want Ryder out of the picture?”
“If it’s not Ryder’s father, then that doesn’t leave many options,” Blake replies with an equally narrowed gaze.
“I hate to say it, but Dad doesn’t want the two of you near each other and all but threatened Ryder’s career,” Teague retorts.
I raise my hands in the air and step in between the siblings. “Mr. Morrison could simply fire me. He wouldn’t need to go to such extreme measures. We have to be missing something.”
Blake’s eyes well up. “If my dad fired you, another sponsor would snatch you up in a heartbeat. I wasn’t supposed to say anything yet, but Wheelie Good Tires is looking for another driver to be part of their team next season. You are a contender for that spot, and instead of being rivals, you and Reggie would be teammates. However, if your reputation is ruined, then your career would truly be over.” She leans around me to look at her brother. “Would Dad really go that far?”
Teague nods. “I love Dad, but he is used to getting what he wants and by any means necessary. I wouldn’t put it past him. He wouldn’t go as far as to endanger someone’s life, which is why I think the car failed the inspection instead of having a catastrophic failure on the speedway. He’s likely been tracking both of you from the moment he made the threat against Ryder.”
I jangle my keys in front of them. “There’s nothing we can do about it right now, and there’s a perfectly good road course waiting for us. Nothing like a ton of steel to clear the mind and kick us into high gear. We’ll figure out what to do later.”
Blake takes the keys from my hands and slides her hand around the back of my neck. “If what Teague says is true, then there’s no point in hiding my feelings for you.”
Her lips crash against mine in a fiery explosion of pent-up emotion and a sweet release of the yearning burning inside us both. As much as I appreciate the fact that Blake isn’t afraid to take control of the wheel, it’s my turn to drive. I heft her up on the hood of my car so that her legs dangle over the edge. She can let them hang or she can wrap them around the back of my thighs to support herself as I devour the small mewls escaping her lips. The choice is hers.
The moment I turn Blake’s head to deepen the kiss, my back is peppered with clods of dirt. “No kissing in front of the sibling! You made a deal!” Teague shouts. “She’s my sister, and you’re like a brother to me! This is wrong on so many levels!”
I chuckle as I nip the bottom of Blake’s pink, plump lip that now looks like it’s been stung by a bee after being thoroughly kissed. I glance over my shoulder at Teague.
“She kissed me first, and there wasnothingsappy about it.”
Trevor and I sit down at a table and work on his school assignments, algebra being the bane of his existence. “I always get so confused about which ones I’m supposed to multiply first. Binomials aren’t going to help me play basketball,” he says, exasperation lacing his tone.
“You’re probably right, but math helps in other areas of your life. It teaches you critical thinking, breaking down a problem into smaller, manageable pieces, and handling tasks one step at a time. Think of it like basketball. You don’t step onto the court and suddenly know how to play the game. You learn how to dribble, pass, shoot, the positions, rules, and more. Algebra reinforces learning the steps to put it all together. Can I show you what my teachers taught me to help with multiplying binomials?” I ask. I wait until he’s ready and receptive, because otherwise, I would be talking in one ear and out the other.
He slides his paper over to me, and I reach for a pencil. “It’s simple once you learn the acronym FOIL. You multiply the first together, then the outer numbers. Next comes the inner numbers, and then the last. FOIL: First. Outer. Inner. Last. Why don’t you try the next one, Trevor?”
“You learn something new every day,” says a man standing in the doorway with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. He’s an unusual-looking fellow with blonde hair that’s beginning to recede and gray eyes darting around the room, absorbing every detail. “Did you know that the word ‘forty’ is the only number to have all the letters in alphabetical order?”
“I didn’t. Is there something I can help you with, Mister…?”
“Milo!” Trevor yells in delight when he looks up from the math problems that are the bane of his existence. With the homework all but forgotten, I join the rambunctious teenager as he scrambles toward the strange man wearing a Play It Forward windbreaker with a neon-green fanny pack cinched around his waist.
For someone who appears to be in his mid-40s, Milo dresses as though he’s on a seniors’ cruise and about to play shuffleboard. He’s wearing khaki, knee-length shorts that show off his glow-in-the-dark white legs and a pin-striped button-up shirt. The only thing missing from the ensemble is black socks that reach the calf and a pair of leather sandals. At the thought, my eyes instinctually drift toward his feet to see if that’s the case. Milo isn’t wearing what I expected, but heisdonning a pair of brown loafers with a pair of mismatched socks—one red and the other orange.
I extend my hand and try to hide my smile. “I’m Ryder….”
“Stone,” Milo says, shaking my hand vigorously. “Martha has told me all about you. I don’t know what I would do without her. Probably end up somewhere in Timbuktu. Did you know that Timbuktu is a real place? It’s in Mali.”
Still shaking my hand with gusto, I smile in response. “I thought it was just a made-up location and a turn of phrase.”
When I try to pull away from the handshake, Milo’s grip tightens a fraction before he lets it go. Rather than let his arm fall to his side, he steps toward me and breaks the comfort barrier by giving me a hug. “You know what they say—well, actually, no one says this, but I do, and I think it’s good. ‘A hug a day will keep the gloom away.’”
With my eyes, I beg Blake to help me out when I notice her and her mentee, Mina, walking toward us. She giggles but takes the hint. “Milo! How wonderful to see you! Where’s my hug?”
