Page 28 of Be Still My Racing Heart
“Once you and your brother take over Morrison Motors, you can change the amount. I currently have it set at five percent of the annual profits,” Randall says. When Blake hands the check back because of the assumption that she will still take over his company, Randall raises his hands to placate her. “Only when you’re ready. If that never happens, then I’ll make the donation a non-negotiable stipulation if I have to sell. I promise; no strings.”
“That’s good, because I accepted the offer of the CEO position at Wheelie Good Tires, and I’ll be racing part-time next season.”
I stare down at Blake in disbelief. “You won’t get enough points to make the playoffs if you do that,” I say.
She smiles and pats my chest with her fingertips. “Then I’ll have to make the rest of this season count.”
Two weeks fly by while training at a facility about 20 miles west of Houston. The drive to work takes more than an hour each way, and I find myself wanting to speed along the country roads to get back and see Blake. The one thing stopping me is the idea that one more ticket results in jail time and a loss of my license.
Training has been a little different at Wheelie Good Tires. Instead of the full-motion simulators I’m used to using, I’ve been practicing on a mobile simulator that’s still pretty sweet. It’s not as effective, but since the company is based out of Maine, it’s the best they could come up with when Blake moved to Texas. They’ll be building a more permanent training facility down the road from the regional office where Blake will be working for the foreseeable future.
Exhaustion weighs heavily on me as I close my eyes and lean my head against the back of the couch. Blake’s willowy form is nestled next to me as we watch a movie; or at least try to. I can barely keep my eyes open. Usually, I do my simulator training on Wednesdays, but I’ve shifted it to the day before so I can have more time at Play It Forward. That makes Tuesdays much longer than I’m accustomed to.
The sound of Blake’s voice wakes me from my impromptu nap. “It’s hard to believe that the annual event is only a few days away. Tomorrow will be less mentoring and more heavy lifting. It’s a good thing you’ve got the muscles.”
“Muscles that feel like jelly.” I clasp the hand she has resting on my chest and start nipping at the tips of her fingers. The sound of her giggling warms me from the inside out.
“I’m sure that’s how Trevor’s brain feels after his Algebra test yesterday.”
“Yeah, but he’s a lot better since I took him and his family to Friendly’s for dinner and ice cream to celebrate his B+. His mind is fully refueled after the size of his meal. I don’t know where he put all the food. I don’t remember eating that much when I was growing up,” I joke.
“That’s not what your dad said when we saw him Sunday. Your dad told me the story of how you used to eat so much he had to put a lock on the fridge so there was food for him, too.” Blake has urged me to continue visiting my father, even though he’ll be out of prison in six months. She has accompanied me twice over the past two weeks.
I grin. “I was a growing boy!”
She turns in my arms as the movie plays in the background. “What’s your excuse now? You ate three veggie omelets after our workout session this morning! And don’t forget the four pieces of toast, two sides of bacon, cottage cheese, and a big bowl of fruit! I bet your lunch was a sight to behold.”
Mark doesn’t have any issues with me continuing my physical training regimen with Teague, but now that Blake’s secret is out, she’s been joining us almost every morning—including going out to breakfast afterward.
“I eat like that, so I have the energy to do this!” I begin tickling her sides, causing her to squirm. In an attempt to escape the onslaught, her elbow inadvertently connects with my nose, and I scream like a girl. “Ahh! Kleenex! Kleenex!” I shout as I stem the gush of blood.
Thankfully, she gets the hint when she sees crimson flowing from my nostrils. “Oh! Oh! Oh! I’m so sorry!” She scrambles to find a box of tissues and ends up falling on the floor in her haste to help. “Where are they?”
She doesn’t give me a chance to answer as she runs to the bathroom, only to come back with a wad of toilet paper. The problem is that she didn’t tear it from the roll, and there is a long trail that reminds me of the days when my friends and I would TP someone’s house. Not my finest moment in life, but still a fun memory.
“Hank hu,” I say as I press the tissue to my face and head to the kitchen to pull out the ice bin. With one hand, I grab the dishtowel hanging on the oven door handle and then use it to wrap some ice. Switching out the tissue for the rag, I lean my head back and sigh in relief as the coolness soothes the ache.
“How did your brother ever survive the summers with you?” I ask. “You’re a scrapper!”
Blake’s beautiful smile blooms on her face. “He always brought out the big guns.”
I flex the muscles in the arm that’s not currently being used to stifle the bleeding. “Like this one?”
She titters. “As impressive as your biceps are, Teague brought out thereallybig guns. He tattled to Mom! Now we keep our feuds on the track, which helps keep the peace. May the best sibling win.”
“I really wish you’d reconsider racing full-time. We’d get to be together more often,” I tell her.
She kisses the sensitive part of my neck that she knows elicits shivers from me. “We won’t be racing together next season, Ryder.”
“Why not? Did you change your mind and decide to continue driving for Morrison Motors?” With a top ten finish last weekend in Daytona and her second-place finish at COTA, Randall has been changing his tune and begging Blake to stay.
“No. I’ll still be racing for Wheelie Good Tires, but Mark and I had a long talk today aboutyourfuture. After this season, you’ll be training in a different car—the ones used in the Cup Series. Your times are good enough to pole in a few of the races if you can handle the extra horsepower.”
Wow! Mark wants me to race in the big leagues. I toss the rag in the sink now that my nose has stopped bleeding and wrap my arms around her waist to draw her as close to me as she can get. I lean down and nibble on her ear and then whisper, “If I can handle you, I can handle anything.”
She giggles and then pats my cheeks. “Oh, Ryder, that’s so sweet. But when it comes to ‘handling’ me, you still have the training wheels on.”
“When do the training wheels come off?” I ask as I pepper her face with tender kisses, taking special care to avoid her lips. I’m saving the best for last.
