Two hours before race time, and the stands were already half-full. The grand lady at Talladega loomed like a mirage in the middle of the Alabama countryside. It was the biggest track on the circuit, with thousands of campers crowding the infield, and banking so steep you’d fall over if you tried to stand in the turns.
The drivers loved the speed. The fans loved the racing. The roar of the field as they came off the backstretch and into Turn Three sounded like a fleet of jets taking off. The barely controlled chaos during the race as cars went two, three, even four wide had fans holding their breath and hardly ever sitting in their seats.
Needless to say, Talladega wasn’t the place for emotions, and their team had enough feelings flying around to satisfy Dr. Phil’s schedule for at least a month.
There was too much to do before the race for her to waste time worrying. With the rest of the crew’s help, she and her father organized the pit area, all the equipment and got the car into its place. By the time Kane and James strolled up, she had her car chief’s hat firmly in place and had locked away her uncertainties.
And her assistant-for-the-day got the expected stunned reaction.
“Dad?” Kane asked when he reached them.
“Hey, son.” Sweaty, his white polo stained with grease and wearing a team Sonomic Oil baseball cap and a broad smile, football legend Anton Jackson rocked back on his heels as if he was having the time of his life. “Lexie invited me to help out today.”
Given the iciness between all of them, she’d taken a big chance by bringing Anton to such an important race. But there’d never be a perfect time. Racing wasn’t going to stop so they could live. With all the drama this season, she’d learned that, if nothing else.
Kane turned his head toward her. “You invited him?”
“He came to the race on his own, and I didn’t see any point in him standing on the sidelines.”
Kane shrugged and turned away. “Whatever. As long as you people do your job, I won’t have any problem doing mine.”
Anton’s smile faltered, but Lexie patted his shoulder. “Hang in there. He’s always cranky before a race.”
“Are you sure—”
“This is my pit, not his.”
“No, I meant, are you sure you want him? He’s got a serious ego problem.”
Lexie grinned. “Like father, like son.”
“Hey, I never—”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Okay, maybe he comes by it naturally.”
“Come on, Mr. Hall of Fame,” she said, guiding him toward the pit box. “I’ll teach you the art of lap timing.”
“HANG IN THERE,” Harry said through Kane’s headset. “Twenty laps to go. Run your race. Think ahead, and watch Lockwood’s car.”
Kane suppressed a stream of cuss words. “Lockwood? What now?”
“He sent his car chief down here to complain about you cutting him off.”
The guy gave a whole new meaning to jerk. “Too bad.”
“We need a top five out of this, so just keep your eyes open.”
“How about a win?”
“Just dedicate it to me.”
“You got it, boss.”
Kane wasn’t sure when it happened, but he and Harry were doing better. He still wasn’t happy about what he considered his emotional blackmail of Lexie. But ultimately Lexie had made her own decision, and he had his own part in pushing her to it.
Later. Save it for later.
He pushed aside his frustration. He had plenty to say to her, as soon as the race was over. And he’d never wanted a race to be over so badly in his life.
At least Cheryl would be happy her plan worked.
“We got an offer from the sixty-three. He’s going. You wanna go with him?”
“Let’s do it.”
With five laps to go, when the sixty-three car pulled out from their tight pack of seven cars, Kane followed him, putting his car millimeters from his back bumper and allowing the front car to pull him along in its wake. A couple of other cars jumped out behind him, and the whole line surged forward.
The sixty-three crossed the finish line first, and Kane sailed across just behind him.
“Great job, guys!” he shouted into the radio.
He pulled into his pit, then slid out of the car. After high fives from Lexie and the guys, he did the obligatory TV interviews, then rushed off to congratulate the winner.
On his way back to his hauler, he encountered Danny Lockwood.
“You cut me off.”
With no intention of wasting one minute with this guy, Kane kept walking. “I drove through the giant hole you left open.”
“I’m tired of having to deal with you.”
“Too bad.”
Lockwood shoved his shoulder. “I’m talking to you.”
Kane stopped and turned. He’d dealt with his anger in productive ways—exercising, deep breathing and thinking through the consequences of giving in to his anger. He’d kept his cool through arguments with his father, nearly losing his crew chief and losing his girlfriend.
But he’d flat had enough.
“Get away from me,” he said to Lockwood.
“Not until I have my say.”
Blood roaring in his head, Kane clenched his fist and drew back. But before he could land the blow, Lexie jumped between him and Lockwood.
“Kane, no!”
“Get out of the way, Lexie.”
She grabbed his arm and hung on. “No way.”
“Let’s go, son,” his father said, laying his arm around his shoulders. “And I suggest you move along,” he said to Lockwood with a piercing blue stare.
It wasn’t easy, but Kane drew a deep breath and moved away with Lexie and his father.
“Need your daddy to fight your battles for you, Jackson?” Lockwood yelled after them.
As Kane turned back, one of his fans—dressed from head to toe in red and yellow Sonomic Oil/Kane Jackson gear—decked Lockwood.
Crew members and officials rushed toward them, some surrounding him, some surrounding the prone Lockwood. Kane was escorted to the NASCAR trailer, while Lockwood was taken to the infield care center.
He agreed wholeheartedly with the NASCAR big dogs that aggression and violence were no way to solve personal problems. With about twenty witnesses who saw him walking away, he figured he could afford to be magnanimous. NASCAR’s president glared at him suspiciously, as if there might be a conspiracy between him and his fan.
Privately Kane vowed to pay all the fan’s court fees if Lockwood pressed charges, and get him tickets and pit passes to any race he wanted.
When he left the trailer, his father was waiting for him. “Everything okay?”
Now that the excitement was over, the awkward tension between him and his father returned. “Probably. They said they’d give a final ruling Tuesday, but I don’t see how they can blame me. I was walking away from the guy.” He paused. “Uh, thanks for that, by the way.”
“I was glad to help. I’m always here for you.”
Kane stared at the ground. “Sure.”
“Why don’t I walk with you back to your coach?”
“Okay. I could really use a shower.”
By moving quickly and ducking around the crowds, they managed to get to the drivers’ compound with a minimum of stops for autographs. He guessed it was time to end the silence between him and his father, but he wanted to talk to Lexie even more.
After his shower, he found his father holding a bottle of Gatorade and pacing in the kitchen. “You want one?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Anton pulled one from the fridge for Kane, and they stood just feet apart, each obviously waiting for the other to make the first move.
“Hey, thanks again for—”
“I didn’t come to the Richmond race because of that newspaper article criticizing my support of your racing.”
“I know.”
“But it was a wake-up call for me. I’ve put too much emphasis on your image and how you’re connected to me in the media. I’ve put too much distance between us because of my resentment of your racing. I truly never understood your fascination with the sport, mostly because I didn’t want to. I wanted you to be like me, and you’re not.”
“I tried to be.”
“I know, and I’m sorry you felt pressured to try. I’m sorry if anybody—including me—made you felt less than important because you were different.” He laid his hand on his shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, of what you’ve done and what you’re doing. Never again will you apologize to me or anybody else for doing what you love.”
Relief and pride filled Kane. The equal footing he’d at least wanted a chance to share was there for him to enjoy. It would no doubt have been there sooner if he’d listened to Lexie and stood up to his father sooner. If he’d shared his frustration instead of bottling it.
He grinned and hugged him. “You got it, Dad.”
After a few moments, his father pulled back slightly. “You be your own man, son. I’m here for advice whenever you need me, but I want you to do things your own way.”
“You’re not such a bad role model.”
“I wanted to punch the crap out of that guy.”
“Me, too,” Kane said.
“Why didn’t you?”
Kane grinned. “There was a time…” He shook his head. Obviously, he had grown up. “But mostly I was afraid.”