Race to Redemption Read online

  RACE TO REDEMPTION (Full Throttle)

  By

  Megan Faust

  Copyright © 2013 RascalHearts.com

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact us at [email protected]

  Prologue

  Gerald Bye was twenty-one and he was standing on the threshold of the biggest opportunity he would ever get in his young life. With a stock car, dirt track, state championship under his belt he was sitting in his motel room waiting for the phone to ring.

  Any minute now, he thought, fighting the urge to pace the cramped room. Donnie will call and we’ll have the sponsorship and I can kiss the farm and potatoes good-bye for a good many years.

  The ceiling fan clicked rhythmically overhead as he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone. Even though he was ready for it to ring, and waiting for it to ring, and willing it to ring, he still jumped when it finally jangled at him.

  He scooped it up, almost dropping the receiver in his haste. “Donnie? What did they…?”

  “Gerald, it’s your brother, Mark. I’m glad I was able to reach you.”

  He didn’t sound glad, he sounded relieved and exhausted. Gerald frowned. “Mark, I’m waiting for an important phone call. Are you at the farm? I’ll call you back in…”

  “Gerald, this can’t wait.”

  “…ten minutes. Really. Donnie should be calling any second. He’s probably cursing the busy signal right now.”

  “Gerald, Mom is in the hospital. Get your ass home.”

  “Mom’s been in and out of the hospital for two years. I’ll be home in a day or two. I have some things to finish up here and…”

  “Gerald, you don’t have a day or two. Are you hearing me? The doctors say this is it. Twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight. No more. Get home now. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t get to say good-bye.”

  Gerald’s heart sank and he nodded though his brother couldn’t see him. “I’m packing.”

  The line went dead. No one in his family said ‘good-bye’ before hanging up the phone. The irony of the situation was not lost on Gerald and he started packing his racing gear into the giant duffle bag.

  The phone rang again and he picked it up with a sullen, “Yeah?”

  “Gerry! Is that any way to greet your best friend in the whole world!?”

  “Hey Donnie.” He tried to sound cheery. “How’d the meeting go?”

  “You’ve got the sponsorship. They want you in Kansas in four days.”

  “I’ll try, Donnie. My mom’s in the hospital and…”

  “Gerald, don’t quit on me now. This is everything we worked for! If you win in Kansas you’ll be set for years. If you place, well, you’ll be set for a few more races. But you can win this. You’re hot, kid, the best. Now get your gear down to the trailer and we’ll high tail it to Kansas.”

  “I have to go home first, Donnie. You drive the car down. I have enough saved up to fly myself down after I say good-bye to my mother.”

  “This is your career, Gerald.”

  “And she’s my mother, Donald. I’ll be in Kansas before race day, but I have to do this.”

  “Don’t let me down.”

  Dial tone. Gerald sighed and hung up the phone and finished packing his gear.

  * * * *

  Home was a potato farm outside of Sturgis, Michigan. His grandfather had settled there and his father had inherited the farm. Now his eight older siblings were all married to farmers, or owned their own farms nearby, and that left only Gerald to inherit the homestead and the acres of potato plants that went with it. But potato bugs and tractor engines weren’t in Gerald’s plan for the future, not yet, anyways, not until he couldn’t race anymore.

  He’d made his own way, since there was no extra money, at least not according to his father, a strict, traditional, conservative man who believed that sons should follow in their father’s footsteps. His mother had been gentler, more understanding of Gerald’s need to stretch his wings.

  Two years earlier she had been diagnosed with a tumour. They had called it Cancer, whatever that meant. But for the Bye family it had meant medical bills as the tumour came back again and again. So maybe his father was right, there was no money for cars and dreams, not when his mother was fighting for her life, but that dream was his only way off the farm and away from the family that didn’t understand.

  He broke out of his reverie as the elevator doors slid open with a ding. He could see his siblings, their spouses, and their children, all huddled near one doorway just down the hall so he went that direction, one hand jammed in the pocket of his jeans, the other clutching a bouquet of wild flowers. His family parted for him, nodding, offering smiles, patting him on the back as he went by.

  His mother lay in the hospital bed in the sickly white room, a needle in her arm and a machine beside her bed counting out her heart beats. She opened her eyes and smiled at him but the smile faded too quickly and she started coughing.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, holding out the flowers.

  Another brief smile. “Thank you, Gerald. Did Mark bring you up to date?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I know, there’s no need to say it.”

  “You’re a good boy, Gerald, and I’m proud of you.”

  He nodded, choking back tears. “I won,” he said. “I won the state championship. I got a sponsor. Donnie thinks we could make some money doing this.”

  “Donnie was a bright boy but don’t let him fool you, Gerald. I’ve seen boys like him before, seen the men they grow up to be after the money gets them.”

  “Okay,” Gerald said, not understanding but not wanting to push anything serious with his mom while she was weak like this. He shuffled his feet and glanced around the tiny room.

  “Oh, go talk to your brothers and sisters. You don’t want to be stuck in here with an old bat of a woman like me.”

  “You were never a bat,” he said. You were never really old, either, and now you never will be, he thought but the words wouldn’t come and he fled to the relative comfort of the hallway.

  He stood listening to them discuss flowers and churches for a long time before he said, “I have to leave, right away. I have a race, in Kansas and…”

  Mark, the eldest, turned on him. “Your mother is dying, Gerald. Get your head out of your damn pipe dreams and start thinking straight. How are you going to make it to Kansas? Are you really going to miss the funeral? Who’s going to stay with Dad after all this is done? The farm is a lot of work and we all have full plates too, you know—families, farms, real work.”

  “Racing is real work. I have a sponsor. I can’t just not show up.”

  “You can miss a few races.”

  “A few races! Do you have any idea how this sport works? If I’m not out there driving with the big logo on my car every race, that big logo will disappear, and if it disappears so does all the money.”

  “There is no money in dirt track racing! It’s a sport for spoiled children who want to pretend they’re driving real race cars on a real track. You don’t have the talent for that or you wouldn’t still be driving those dirt races.”

  “Just because I don’t drive formula doesn’t mean…”

  “That’s exactly what it means. Dad is down the hall talking to the nurses. Go tell him you’re here.”

  Gerald glared, hating the way Mark simply ordered him about, but stormed off down the hall inste
ad of staying to fight it out with his older brother in front of the disapproving eyes of all his siblings and all their spouses. By the time he got back Mark had already called Donnie and cancelled the race in Kansas.

  There were no races after that. There was nothing but funeral arrangements, farming, and his eventual marriage to his small-town high school sweet heart. Three kids later and his dreams of racing were all but dead.

  When Gerald’s son turned sixteen he dropped the boy in a stock car and told him to drive. Brant and the stock car were a match made in heaven. Five years later Brant was on the road to the big time, his younger brother Seth was a damned good mechanic, and even Chloe, the baby of the family, had the racing bug, much to her mother’s disapproval.

  But, as always, there was the farm to deal with. So when Brant’s career took him to the big city for the first time, Gerald had to send his children off to win or lose without him.

  Chapter One

  I’m actually in New York City, Chloe Bye thought as she stepped off the airplane and looked around. There were easily as many people in the airport as there were in her home town of Sturgis back in Michigan. She stood just off to one side of a busy walkway, her wide eyes giving her away as a first time visitor. Finally her travel companions, Brant, Seth, and Rueben, returned from the customer service kiosk.

  Brant and Seth, like Chloe, had brown hair, naturally highlighted by long hours in the sun. The three siblings shared a light build and green eyes but Chloe was the only one cursed with freckles. “Angel kisses” her mother used to call them, as if they were something special and not something to be loathed and hidden under foundation and blush.

  Rueben Carlton was related to them in that small community, ten degrees of separation, everybody’s married to somebody’s sister, sort of way—his grandmother had married Chloe’s grandfather’s cousin, or something. More importantly he was a close friend of Brant’s, though he was a full five years older, a shrewd business man, and Brant’s manager. It was his job to deal with the media, not that there had been much of that to deal with yet, and the sponsors.

  Chloe smiled at them, unable to contain her excitement. “So? Are we set? Do we know what’s going on?”

  “The car beat us here,” Seth replied. “We can check in at the hotel then head straight to the track for some practice time.”

  “You guys don’t need me for practice laps, right?” Her smile got a little wider.

  Brant scowled. “You’re coming with us wherever we go. This is a work trip, Chloe, not a vacation.”

  “I know that, Brant.”

  Seth, recognizing that his older and younger siblings were gearing up for a full-out, bang-heads, yelling and screaming sort of fight, grabbed Brant’s arm and started walking for the door. “Let’s grab a cab and get our asses to the hotel or we won’t have time for practice laps.”

  Rueben rolled his eyes and Chloe smiled. Not even a near fight with her eldest brother could dampen her spirits now. They squeezed into a cab and weaved slowly through the crowded streets. Chloe sat squeezed in between her brothers trying to see out the windows while Rueben chatted away with the driver. The window seats were wasted on Brant and Seth who had no interest in the hustle and bustle of the big city. Seth was reviewing the practice schedule and the track specifications while Brant sat pressed into the corner, arms crossed tight over his chest, still scowling.

  The hotel wasn’t far from the airport and soon Chloe was whisked inside and up to her room. In the elevator she said, “I know this is a business trip and all, but can’t I at least have a moment to take in my surroundings?”

  “You mean sightseeing.”

  Seth elbowed his older brother. “Lay off. Chloe, we have to get to the track. There will be time to get your bearings and take a look around later.”

  They’d gotten three rooms side-by-side, a double for the brothers and two standard rooms with Chloe tucked safely between Rueben’s room and her brothers’. They dropped their bags and then they were off and running again, much to Chloe’s dismay. From the middle of the back seat of a yellow taxi cab she watched the city zip by her, the whole time longing to be free of her brothers long enough to explore the wilds of New York.

  * * * *

  Chloe stood in the skybox watching her brother, Brant, cruise around the oval track on the outskirts of New York City. In the background the city loomed, larger than life and twice as enticing. She could only imagine the adventures that occurred there daily, adventures she was missing out on.

  “What was my lap time?” Brant’s voice asked in her ear piece.

  Chloe gave her head a shake and looked down at the timer, taking off seconds for her daydreaming. “Uh, forty-seven seconds. Not bad for a warm up run.”

  “I need to do a lap at full speed to test the skid. Are you ready with the timer this time?”

  “Yes.” She hated the superior tone in his voice.

  When he zipped by she hit the button and kept her eye on the car. When he passed her again he said, “How was that?”

  “That was under twenty seconds. Looks like the next team is here, you need to slow down and bring the car back in.”

  The car sped by again.

  Chloe frowned and tapped her microphone. “Brant, did you hear me? Your practice time is up; we have to clear the track.”

  “I heard you.” He sped by again. “It’s not slowing down.”

  Chloe grabbed the walkie-talkie on the tool box and hit the talk button. “Seth, Rueben, we have a problem.”

  “Is it serious?” Seth’s voice asked.

  “Yes.” Setting the radio down, she turned her attention back to the track. “Brant, do you have any brakes at all?”

  “Barely, just enough to keep control on the turns.”

  “Take your foot off the gas!”

  “I’ve done that!”

  Her heart was pounding frantically in her chest as he whipped by again. She swore that he was actually going faster but she couldn’t be sure. A racetrack official came up to her. “Excuse me, #78 has to clear the track.”

  “We know,” Chloe muttered. “Something’s wrong with the car.”

  The man swore and took the headset from Chloe without asking. “Driver #78, this is the racetrack supervisor. Tell me what the problem is.” He listened for a moment. “All right, I need you to listen carefully to me. On the far straightaway you need to go through the infield boards, right at the ad for the track. There’s a mound of old tires right there, hopefully those will stop you. But brace yourself, it’s going to be one hell of a bump.”

  Chloe didn’t hear the response but Brant sped past her, whipped around the curve, and then there was a heart-stopping grating noise and tires went flying high in the air. After an eternity the racetrack supervisor said, “Yes sir,” and handed Chloe the headset.

  “Brant!” she practically screamed as she slammed the set back on her head.

  “I’m here, Chloe.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She could hear his laboured breathing over the headset. “It hurts.”

  “We may need an ambulance,” Chloe whispered to the supervisor. “And a tow truck.”

  Everything happened in a rush after that. Seth and Rueben appeared, Rueben staying with her while Seth went to check on Brant. She would rather have gone down to check for herself, but Rueben had been managing Brant’s racing career since he got his licence, and he wrapped a friendly arm around her so she’d stop shaking.

  “Seth knows what he’s doing. He’s been working with Brant longer than you have.”

  “Only because he’s older than me,” she muttered, trying not to cry. Brant wouldn’t cry. Seth wouldn’t cry. It was just a crash. I’m not going to cry.

  There was the sound of sirens approaching and then the ambulance pulled onto the track and two men in white ran towards the crash. Moments later Brant was wheeled out on a stretcher and the ambulance took off. Seth jogged over, his slender face serious.

  “He’s hurt
but not bad. They’re working on a tow truck right now. I should stay and look after the car; it’ll need a few repairs before the first race tomorrow. You two should get down to the hospital and check on Brant.”

  Rueben nodded and herded Chloe away from the track. The other teams were standing around the cars in the shop, whispering amongst themselves and watching Chloe and Rueben with curiosity and concern. She saw a young man in a leather jacket lounging against a work bench, his arms crossed and a lazy smile on his face. He was talking to a man in a neat three-piece suit and didn’t seem to take any notice of the sirens or the gossiping crowd. Then Rueben tugged on her arm and they were out on the parking lot under the glaring summer sun.

  Without the benefit of a siren it took them almost half an hour to fight through the New York City traffic to the hospital. Inside a nurse took them to the room where Brant and half a dozen other patients lay on beds separated by baby blue curtains.

  Brant had his eyes closed and his right foot in a cast.

  Rueben patted his shoulder and Brant’s eyes opened. “Well, Brant, how bad is it?”

  Brant shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt right now but they told me straight out that I couldn’t walk on it, or drive. They figure a single race before it heals could end my career.”

  “Dammit, why did this have to happen now?” Rueben dropped into the visitor’s chair leaving Chloe to hover near the curtain. “Brant, you know how important this race is.”

  “Don’t look at me, Rueben; I didn’t crash by choice here. Go yell at Seth, he’s supposed to keep that car running smoothly.”

  “Well, unless you race, and place, you won’t get a bigger sponsor. And your small town sponsors have made it clear that if you don’t make the big time and bring a little more fame to their brands they’ll move their money to the next up-and-coming star.”

  “You don’t think I know that?”

  The two men were getting louder and drawing curious glances from the other patients and the passing nurses. Chloe tugged the curtains closed and walked up to the bed. “The two of you need to calm down. We’re all aware of what’s at stake here. Brant’s helmet is tinted, right? I can drive this race as Brant, no one needs to know.”