Beyond the Checkered Flagby J.D. Wylde

8/13/2019 Beyond the Checkered Flagby J.D. Wylde

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2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11ANote from the AuthorAlsoAvailable by J.D. Wylde

Chapter 1

It was a hell of a way, Bobby Wayne Forsythe thought, to findout his life was over lying bare-ass naked in a paper gown in the crampedexamination room of Doctor Yusef Sydastick. Doctor Sadistic to theunfortunate racecar drivers who needed his services. You're wrong, you know,Bobby Wayne told the NASCAR-affiliated doctor through clenched teeth.

The doctor stared at Bobby Wayne. I am not wrong. Thewords weren't said, but were broadcast with the sympathetic look in thedoctor's coal black eyes. So was pity. At least that's what Bobby Wayne thoughthe saw when he could open his one good eye for more than a few seconds beforethe blinding glare of the fluorescent lights overhead pierced his skull like aknife slicing through a watermelon.There is life beyond the finish line, the good doctorsagely told him as he stitched Bobby Wayne's forehead back together.I disagree, Bobby Wayne replied. As if the doctor's graveassessment of his future wasn't ripping his heart out. Roiling around in his stomach.Rising up like bile in his constricted throat.Racing was all Bobby Wayne knew. It had defined his life

since he'd been a six-year-old kid racing around dirt tracks in Clowders Point,Virginia. It was his life. The only thing he knew. And at the ripe oldage of thirty-two, after driving his way up through the circuits to the SprintCup, Bobby Wayne was at the top of his game. Owner of Forsythe Racing anddriver of the Number 35 Dunmyer Chevrolet, the winningest team on the circuit.Seven cup championships under his belt. And he was poised to break theIntimidator and the King's records with one more.It couldn't be over!There was no life beyond the finish line if it didn'tinclude driving in NASCAR.


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He tried to breathe. Tried to talk past the emotion clogginghis throat. I hit the wall pretty hard. He swallowed his own uncertainty.It's just takin' a little longer to heal this time.The doctor stopped his suturing. Stared at Bobby Wayne. Likehe was slow to pick up on the obvious. You took a header down the steps in thegarage because you either blacked out, or you were so dizzy you lost yourfooting. Admit it, Bobby Wayne. At least be honest with yourself.He'd admit to nothing. Like I said, I hit the wall prettyhard at Talladega.Hard enough he'd been airlifted from the scene. And revivedtwice while in the air in route to the hospital. The Intimidator had beenthere with me.A result of the seriousness of your head injuries, thedoctor pragmatically replied.It was okay. Nobody believed Bobby Wayne when he told themDale Earnhardt, Senior, the late great driver of the Number 3 GoodwrenchChevrolet had been there, standing in the bright light that Bobby Wayne wasspiritually racing toward when the helicopter was racing the rest of hisbattered body to the nearby trauma hospital. Nobody believed him when he toldthem he'd seen his bloody, pain-ravaged face in the Intimidator's mirroredsunglasses. When racing's best had held up his hand like a stop sign and said,Not today, Bobby Wayne. You got things to put to right before you cross thisfinish line.Bobby Wayne had assumed it was breaking the Intimidator and

the King's record taking his hard-earned, rightful place in NASCAR history atthe top of the pile.Apparently, Doctor Sadistic had other things in mind.Go home, Bobby Wayne. The doctor pulled the stitch extratight.Ow! Will you quit that? Bobby Wayne rubbed the side of hishead.That appears to be the only way I have to get yourattention. The doctor held the needle in front of Bobby Wayne's good eye likea pointer. You don't listen to me when I talk. He gave another tug as if todrive home his point. You've had an alarming amount of concussions over thelast few years of your career. Too many to be healthy. Too many for me notto be concerned.

I'm okay. I'm just takin' a little longer to heal this time.I'm older.And more stubborn. And obviously more stupid than I everthought you to be. The doctor pointed the needle at Bobby Wayne again. Whatabout your fellow drivers?What about 'em?How many of them are you willing to put at risk if you havea spell while driving?I'm not having spells, Bobby Wayne replied, a littletoo defensively, if Doctor Sadistic's look was any indication. I wouldn't dothat, he emphatically added, wishing the room wasn't swimming from the action.I'd never purposely endanger my fellow drivers. He'd never put his team atrisk either with such blatant disregard for safety.

You will. You will be putting them all at risk if youget behind the wheel again. The doctor set the needle aside. I'm veryserious about this, Bobby Wayne. Your career is over.You're wrong. He had to be wrong! It couldn't end likethis.The doctor picked up a pair of surgical scissors and clippedthe long threads. Go home, Bobby Wayne, he quietly added, as he dabbed at thesutures.The thought terrified him.Get reacquainted with your wife.


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Over the years, Doc, I've accumulated them a lot likesponsors.The doctor stopped mid-dab.I've had four, and none are currently in the `active'status, if you know what I mean.The doctor signed off on Bobby's Wayne's chart. Then courtnumber five.How could he do that? There'donly been one woman one wife of the four who he'd ever truly lovedwith all his heart. And that had been number three. Lauren Foster. The only onewho'd ever walked away from him without a backward glance an actionwhich still rankled him.Not the fact she'd walked. But that he'd let her.There was unfinished business between them.Business he was in no mood, or condition, at the moment tofinish.Namely the big house they'd called home. The one he stillowned with her. The house he still had yet to explain to the woman he had yetto forget. Like that was possible. Lauren was inside him, under his skin. Inevery beat of his heart.And she'd never understand.He'd screwed up big time after she'd left him. And not withjust his rebound marriage and his just-as-quick divorce from wife number four.He sighed. It didn't matter. Lauren wouldn't be at the house. She was on tour.

Maybe he should take some time. Get away from the garage. And the rumors he waswashed up.You're a NASCAR driver, Bobby Wayne. Use the sameintelligence and burning desire you use to win a race to win yourself a woman.And this time actually spend time with her. Get to know her. Make some babies.Create a life together, because you will not have one in racing. If you getbehind the wheel again and wreckWillyou quit sayin' that? I'm not gonna wreck!The doctor slowly shook his head side to side. You might notthink you're going to wreck, but that doesn't mean someone won't belaying for you, willing to speed your retirement along with another push intothe wall. Driver grudges and driver envy was the nature of NASCAR a side the

higher-ups and publicists seldom showed the racing fans. Wholesome was thename of the game. Jealousy and envy was its seedy underbelly.If you get behind the wheel and you have another accident,it could kill you. It's that simple.Simple? Bobby Wayne slid off the table. Grabbed for hisjeans. Glared at the two doctors he saw swimming in front of his eyes. Youcall that simple? He gripped the stainless steel counter as he gingerlypushed his aching leg, the one that still hadn't fully healed from theaccident, into his jeans. God! He hated this. All of it. The accident. Beingaway from the one thing he loved. The interminably slow recovery. And nowthis.I will race again! he told the doctor, fiercely grippingthe counter so he didn't fall on his ass.

And I will come to your funeral, the doctor solemnlyreplied.Get a life, Bobby Wayne. Find out what's beyond thecheckered flag.

Chapter 2


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Lauren Foster-Forsythe, country music darling and ex-wife ofBobby Wayne Forsythe, pulled off the main road outside of Harrington, NorthCarolina. The twelve-hour drive from Nashville had given her plenty of time tothink. And reconsider what she was about to do. She'd turned the car around adozen times before determination had finally taken the wheel, driving heracross I-40, through the mountains of East Tennessee and across the great stateof North Carolina to Albemarle Sound. And finally on to Harrington House, thehouse she still jointly owned with Bobby Wayne.The only real home she'd ever known.Lauren's childhood had been a country music song. Her familyhome a double-wide, or sometimes single wide, always on the wrong side of town,always repossessed or left behind as the Foster's moved from town to town, onestep ahead of the law, the landlords and the bill collectors.Home meant everything to Lauren everything she'd never hadas a child, but had found with Bobby Wayne here at Harrington House, a housewhich had withstood the test of time. A house that had nurtured love behind itsbrick walls across generations. Bliss was its original name, and bliss was whatLauren had found here.Until Bobby Wayne's deceit had broken her heart.Her much-publicized marriage to NASCAR's golden boy hadcrashed and burned. The fairytale life they'd created here was over.Time to move on, girl, she told herself as she pulled off

the two-lane onto the sandy back road that led to her past. Jeremy Altmeyer,her manager, friend and confidant was pressing for more than just a businessrelationship. A relationship she promised him once she severed all ties withBobby Wayne.She pulled onto the shell driveway leading to HarringtonHouse. Opened the window and breathed deep. The brackish smell of decay andsaltwater filled her nostrils, while a bittersweet longing for what would neverbe pierced her heart. Sea grass brushed against the sides of her bright redimport like the comfort of a lover's arms welcoming her back home. The hybridhad been a spur-of-the-moment purchase in defiance of the man who staunchlybelieved in God and country, apple pie, and Chevrolet.Bobby Wayne Forsythe, the man who'd made her believein love, and in herself and in an American dream others could only wish for.

Lauren strained her eyes. Stared out the bug-smearedwindshield, past the leafy canopy of oaks and magnolias to the house. Would hebe here? He'd lived here with his fourth wife the woman he'd married beforethe ink had dried on their divorce papers. A point which still had thepower to piss her off. She snorted at her foolish hope. It should have diedwhen all her other hopes and dreams for a happy ever after with the man haddied. When she'd discovered his deceit.Ancient history, she reminded herself. History she neededto bury, once and for all, if she was to move on with Jeremy.She didn't have to worry about running into Bobby Wayne. Itwas the middle of the racing season. And although she had religiously avoidedany news about the sport which had brought her greatest joy and her deepestsorrow she would have to be brainless not to know Memorial Day weekend in

North Carolina was all about NASCAR racing at the Charlotte Motor Speedway andthe Coca-Cola 600. NASCAR's longest race.A wicked anniversary of sorts for her and only fitting thetwisted three-year-old fairy tale that was their life together should end thisweekend, as well. She needed to get her name off the deed. It was the onlything left tying her to Bobby Wayne. Except her heart. He'd always have that.It's time to move on, she staunchly told herself, gripping the steering wheeltighter, shoring up her flagging resolve. She had no life with Bobby Wayne. Andno future with Jeremy as long as she was tied to Bobby Wayne jointly owningthis old house with him.


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It would be hard to say goodbye to the home she'dpainstakingly helped to renovate. Maybe as hard as ending their marriage hadbeen, but it was Jeremy's ultimatum.And necessary for her to move on with her life.She pulled the car to a stop. Pushed the door open andstepped out. Above her, sea gulls squawked, diving for crabs half-buried in thesandy shore nearby. And like the wind snatching her hair, plastering her jeansto her legs and her shirt to her breasts, the memories grabbed her.Good ones. Of Bobby Wayne and her.Pushing them aside, she turned her head toward the brickhouse that had withstood the test of time, but not her marriage. It would beher refuge again, even if it were only for this weekend. And then she looked alittle closer. Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth gaped open.With shock. And disbelief.Oh. My. God! she breathed out unable to quitebelieve what she was seeing. What the hell? she exhaled in horror. Therecould be no other place but hell where the grandeur of history could be defamedand defaced so badly.I am going to kill you, Bobby Wayne, she growled under herbreath as she marched up the front steps to the grand entrance of the home whichhad graced the covers of Home Beautiful and Good Southern Living.I can't believe this! she gasped. It was even more hideous, more gaudy upclose!Black and white checkered victory flags were air brushed over

her antique, hand-finished, carved oak doors. Lauren dropped her suitcase. Itlanded at her feet with a thud. She pushed her hair from her forehead with herhands. The words to scream out her outrage were log-jammed in her throat rightbehind the ones to rip Bobby Wayne a new ass. And then the door opened. Andshe couldn't breathe. Because standing there was the man she both loved. Andhated.And he was here. In her house. When he should behanging around a track qualifying, or testing, or doing whatever it was he didwhen he wasn't racing for the cup.What the hell did you do to my front door?Our front door, sugar, he corrected her and hesaid door like dough-war. His soft southern drawl slid down over herbody to awaken and excite her like his hands used to. And he stood in her

doorway filling it with his broad shoulders. The lights from the entry wayglinted off his golden blond hair like the lights flooding the track at thenight race at Bristol. The thick strands were tousled like he'd just gotten upand ran his hands through it. Beard stubble darkened his jaw and it was sexyas hell. And his lips, those perfectly chiseled lips that could make her dosinfully, foolish, exciting, wild things turned up into an inviting smile thatcurled her toes and set her blood on fire.And then she looked a little higher. To the black stitchesthat knotted the skin together over one bloodshot and swollen blue eye.He looked awful. He looked wonderful.And her traitorous heart fluttered in her chest just becausehe was near.She was an idiot.

You're supposed to be racing, she told him when she shouldbe screaming her outrage at his defecation of her home instead of swooning overhis sexy smile. She should be blowing by him to check for more damage. Like toJane's garden. Instead she was checking him for damage.He was beat up. Black and blue. Cut up. The cocky swaggerhe'd developed after they'd parted ways and he'd trolled for wife number fourhad been replaced with a limp and a grimace. The pain lines bracketing hismouth were deeply etched into his suntanned face. He'd been hurting for awhile.And before she asked what had happened to him she'd made a


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vow to herself after she'd walked away from him to never follow hiscareer before she allowed herself to be foolishly caught up in his worldagain, she repeated herself. You're supposed to be racing. What the hell areyou doing here?

Chapter 3

Well, hello to you, too, sugar. Bobby Wayne couldn'tbelieve she was freakin' here. And bulldozing her way past him. Hey! You justcain't walk into my house! But sure enough, Bobby Wayne, Lauren, andher damnable suitcase, which was banging off his bum knee, were headed into thedoorway three wide. And not only that, she and her suitcase - beat himby a tenth of a second, giving him a lousy third-place finish.She spun around. Our house, Bobby Wayne. If it's ourdough-wahr, she dissed his accent. It's our house. She pushed by himwhen he tried to block her. There was a time when she couldn't get close enoughto him. When their bodies came together like a red-hot, bang-the-fenders, full-outrace to the finish.Oh, my god! Oh my god! She was running around the grandentryway like a hyped-up hamster in a hamster ball. Ohmygod!

It's not that bad. It was awful, but Bobby Wayne wasn't ina mood to be agreeable.Oh my god! Lauren pushed her hand up into her lush mop ofdark brown hair. The hair he loved to have teasing across his bare chest. Shestared at the floor, the one illuminated way too brightly by the overheadchandelier. Of course, even if the light was snuffed and the room cloaked indarkness, the boldly-painted floor could not be missed. Or ignored. That wasthe beauty of fluorescent paint, he supposed. And the bane.Oh my god, oh my god!Is that all you can say?She lifted those golden brown eyes to his. Eyes that used tosoften to the color of warm honey when she looked at him were now flashing likethe sparks of metal scraping metal. What have you done to my house?

Our house, he corrected her. We jointly own ittogether, remember? And that, foolish as it was, was the one thing he clungto. Even more than the constant worry he might not race again.Lauren would never give up this house.You you you She sputtered her outrage like ablown engine spurting oil. I can't believe you did this!I didn't do it. It was a technicality, but he neededall the help he could get. It was unforgivable what he'd allowed.There's a victory circle painted on my parquetfloor!The huge red circle surrounded by a neon yellow circle andflaming black and white checkered racing flags had been painted on theirparquet floor by his ex-wife number four. Our, he corrected her again. It's our

floor.Oh, my god! My god, she went on. Like a damn broken record.As irritating as Doctor Sadistic was when he said over and over again withevery checkup Bobby Wayne went back for, you will not race again, BobbyWayne. Even though everybody knew especially Bobby Wayne that he would race again.Oh, my god, she was still going on. Oh, my god! My god!You said that already, Bobby Wayne snapped. A half-dozentimes. Hell, Bobby Wayne had said it a hundred times since that night he'dwalked in to find Lauren's beautifully renovated home trashed. Barbara Jean,


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ex-wife number four, may have called it interior designing, but it was tacky.Even for him. And he loved NASCAR.And Lauren wasn't supposed to be here seeing it before hecould heal enough to get back to the track so a renovation expert and his crewcould come in and fix the mess.Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Ohmygod! She ran to the steps, theItalian marble ones, which made up the grand staircase. The staircase thatdominated the entryway now painted flat black to look like an asphalt track,complete with a neon yellow warning stripe running down the outside edge of eachstep.Will you quit saying that?They're Italian marble, Bobby Wayne Italian marbleput in this house before the Civil War!I know. He knew. He'd been standing by her side, hisarm draped possessively over her shoulder, her arm wrapped tight around hiswaist when the realtor had walked them through the house explaining itshistory, selling them on it even though it would need renovated. The turn ofthis century had not been kind to Harrington House and it had fallen intodisrepair.But Lauren had looked up at him with those honey-coloredeyes. And when she said, This is a house generations of one family lived in,her voice soft and full of awe. I want that, Bobby Wayne. I wanna home likethis for us. Hell, he'd have bought her five Harrington Houses just to haveher looking up at him like he was everything she ever wanted and needed.

She wasn't looking at him like that anymore.And it was his fault. He should have gone after her. And hesure as hell shouldn't have brought another woman into their house.Her hand went to her chest, fisting right between her perfectbreasts. The ones rapidly rising and falling up and down, up and down withevery frantic gasp of air Like they used to when he made love to her, when heheld them in his hands, his fingers stroking over her pebbled nipples as theyboth rode a wave of ecstasy. When she gasped out his name in pleasure as shecame apart in his arms. Oh, my god! Oh, myJee-suz, will you quit sayin' that? And he needed toquit staring at her breasts. At the ones he knew would fit perfectly into hishands. And he needed to forget all the good times. The woman had walked awayfrom him for crissakes! She'd broken his heart. Give it a rest, will

you? he told her.You know what? She spun around, blasting him with an arcticglare. Why don't you just run up to the top of those stairs, Bobby Wayne, andtake a flying leap off them! That'll give it a rest.He snorted. Been there, done that, sugar. He pointed afinger to the skin still knitting together over his right eye. Have thestitches to prove it.Her eyebrows furrowed as she took a good look at him. She wasthe only woman he'd ever known who could see past the NASCAR god to the mortalman hiding behind the larger-than-life image. And he looked away before she sawhis biggest fear. And the fact that no matter how mad he was at her for walkingaway from him without allowing him to explain, for ruining his racing season,for pushing him into a rebound marriage he hadn't wanted, he freakin' still

loved her.He needed her to leave. He needed her to stay because, damn,he missed her. He was half a man without her. And the half he'd been had been apretty shitty excuse for one. And he needed to fix the mess he'd made of herhome, which was exactly why he needed rid of her.Damn! He'd gone full circle in less than 3.5 seconds.He didn't need the major distraction that she would be. Andhe sure as hell didn't want to face her when he wasn't at the top of his game.And he was about as far from the top as a man could get.Why aren't you out on your A to Z tour? he took a shot of


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his own. And far away from him, he wanted to add. He was supposed to beconcentrating on unscrambling his head, getting back behind the wheel, racingfor the cup and the unprecedented title of winningest driver. Ever. Notbeing blindsided by foolish hope she'd come back to him and he'd be whole again.

Her face drained of any color, and just as quickly, flushedwith the heat of anger. Oh, you had to go for the jugular, didn't you? Hurtmade her voice waver and Bobby Wayne had no idea what the hell that was about.Or even what she was talking about. She was country music's biggeststar, touring all over the country, living the Nashville dream.Why aren't you racing?Talk about going for the jugular. What, you don't follow meon Twitter, or Facebook?She didn't say a word. Just grabbed her suitcase. And he hadhis answer. Hell, he had his answer a year ago when she'd walked away from himwithout a backward glance.Hey! Bobby Wayne yelled as she marched up the stairs likeSherman marching into Atlanta. Where are you goin'?I drove non-stop for twelve hours. I'm goin' to bed.Oh, hell no, you're not!She arched an eyebrow like she was still lady of the manor.Her eyes skimmed over his beat-up body. And you think you're gonna stop me?

Chapter 4

Sugar, I am just gettin' started. And damn! if BobbyWayne's dick didn't twitch at the thought of starting things up again withLauren. Of getting down and dirty with her. Of laying her out over thosegod-awfully painted steps. Of ignoring every warning sign she was hurling hisway and licking and tasting every delectable inch of her until she screamed outhis name. And then plunging deep into her, over and over and over again, untilhe forgot all the hurt she'd inflicted on his heart and on his soul.

She was long and leggy with a pile of wavy dark brown hair,small breasts and a lean body he'd never been able to get enough of. Three daysmax, even when she'd been touring. They were only separated three days beforeshe was chasing him down between shows to whatever track he was at. And thesame went for him. When he should have been at some track testing, or at thegarage, he was on a plane to wherever she was. And somehow they'd made it work.For a year and a half. And they'd been happy blissfully happy untilshe'd walked away from him.Where are you goin'? he yelled, as he made his way up thelong staircase behind her.I'm goin' to my room.It was our room, he corrected her. And if shethought the downstairs remodeling was bad, she'd have a coronary when she got a

look at the master bedroom. And it's not your room anymore, he yelled,hoping to spare her the agony of the rest of Barbara Jean's interior decoratingdisaster. By sucker punching her? His conscience reprimanded him. Wayto go, Forsythe, it added.She stopped. Spun around. Her lips were pressed tightlytogether.And before she could rip into him, he said, Hey! You leftme, remember? Christ! He never forgot. He'd never been able to forget nomatter how many women he'd banged. Didn't matter he'd married another one andsupposedly moved on. It had always been Lauren.


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She turned back around, nearly running down the hall.Dammit! He ran up the remaining stairs. She was stillrunning from him. And he was still running after her.This is the first time you ran after her, the irritating voice ofreason mouthed off inside his head. To which Bobby Wayne mentally mouthed back,shut the fuck up! Even though it was true; he hadn't gone after her.He'd been too mad, too hurt.Oh my ga-awd! she wailed.One step from the top, Bobby Wayne stopped. Wearily leanedagainst the mahogany bannister. Dropped his head to his chest and cussed. She'dobviously found the master bedroom renovations.Oh my god! Ohmygod!Will you stop sayin' that! he yelled, as he limped down thehall to the bedroom he'd shared with her. And with Barbara Jean. Well, it hadbeen shared with Barbara Jean until he'd called out Lauren's name while buriedseven inches deep inside the other.Piston lamps, Bobby Wayne? Embroidered silk sheets with yourcar's number?Hey, those sheets are pretty cool.Her eyes got all squinty. Like she was sighting him down thebarrel of Olivia Harrington's antique hog leg pistol, the one he hoped to hellwas still displayed on the wall in the study.And I see why you like them. She flung an arm wide. They goso nicely with your little racecar-shaped bed!

He frowned as he stared at the custom-built metal bed BarbaraJean had made for them. It didn't look like a racecar. Did it?Oh my god! Diamond-plated chest of drawers and dressers?She stepped from the dressing room that was part of the bedroom. What happenedto the antique walnut dresser with the marble top?The rare, one-of-a-kind original piece from the Civil War erahad cost Bobby Wayne fifteen-thousand dollars. The look on Lauren's face when he'dhad it delivered to the house had been priceless. Her way of thanking him hadbeen a hot, steamy night of lovin' he'd never forgotten. Or experienced withanyone else since.You know what? She put a hand up, palm out. Hurt brimmingin her eyes. Don't tell me. I don't wanna know.Lauren.

She ignored him. Grabbed her suitcase and stiffly crossed theroom to the door.Lauren. He grabbed her arm, stopping her. I'm sorry. Itseemed inadequate. He was sorry for letting her go. And especially sorry forbringing Barbie into their home and then not being around enough, interestedenough, or caring enough to stop the woman before she'd destroyed what Laurenhad so painstakingly created.Lauren wouldn't look at him. She lifted one delicateshoulder. You said it, she softly told him. It's not my home. And the painin her voice, the hurt trembling from each word hit Bobby Wayne harder thanthat damn wall at Talladega. She pulled her arm free. Head down, she slowlywalked toward the door.Don't Don't go, he begged her. He uncurled her fingers

from the suitcase handle. Sat it back down on the floor. Gently turned hertoward him. This is your house. He pulled her closer, his breath caught inhis throat, waiting for her to give him something. Anything. She steppedcloser, albeit reluctantly or maybe guardedly and his heart beat fast justthe same. And then he pulled her a little closer still, always pushing thelimit, until his groin brushed against the soft juncture of her thighs. And hegot hard like he always did anytime she was near. He pressed into her wet heatonce, then twice, and she sighed, melting over him. He dipped his head untilhis mouth was just a kiss away from hers. You drove all the way fromNashville, sugar. Stay.


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She lifted her head and the air surrounding them grew thickwith anticipation and want. And Bobby Wayne's breath caught in his chest as hewatched a battle playing out in her eyes. One he didn't understand. One thatdidn't make sense.She should be pushing him away. She'd walked away from him.Yet she breathed out the breath of surrender. And her hand tentatively slid uphis arm. The simple touch of her fingers brushing against his skin and his dickgot harder. And he wanted so badly to lay her down on that bed and rewind thepast year. To remind her of everything they'd had, of everything they'd beento each other. Of everything they could still be.Bobby Wayne, she whispered his name and he loved the wayshe said it, all bunched up and fast. And then her eyes caught fire like theyused to when she surrendered to the passion and hope ignited in his chest. Andher hand slid up over his shoulder, up his neck and into his hair. I nevercould resist you, she whispered, right before she touched her lips to his.His mouth closed over hers and he kissed her back. She openedher mouth wider. Their tongues tangling together, sliding over, wrapping aroundeach other, picking up where they'd left off a year ago. Her hands slid downhis back to his ass and she was hauling him closer and he was pulling hercloser, grinding into her.And too damn quick, she pulled away from him. Her chestheaving, the look in her eyes tortured. I I can't I can't do this, shewhispered, and her voice broke.What the hell was going on? How could one mind-blowing kiss

cause so much pleasure for one and so much pain for the other? She looked readyto cry.Lauren, he reached for her arm. What'sI can't. She pulled away. I just I I can't do this.Do what, sugar? There was a time when it was all they did.A single tear escaped to slide down her cheek. She wrapped anarm around her middle as if she were in pain. She pressed a trembling finger toher swollen lips.Real concern and dread built inside him. Tell me what'swrong. If she was sick, he had a fortune. He'd give it all to her. Pay someoneto invent a cure for whatever ailed her. He reached for her arm.She pulled away again. Looked up at him with the saddest eyeshe'd ever seen. Her lips trembled.

I want out, Bobby Wayne. I need out.

Chapter 5

Lauren paced the upstairs bedroom, a room she knew to beBobby Wayne's, even though the other had been decorated solely for him. Shecould smell him on the plain white cotton sheets. Could still taste him in hermouth. She sank down onto the edge of the bed. The one she'd laid in all night,

thinking of him, wondering imagining. She lifted her head heavenward and shuther eyes. God, she breathed out. She was thirty years old. What had she beenthinking? Kissing him last night? He'd lied to her! She needed to cut all tieswith him; not entertain the possibility of a future with the man.But it had always been like that between them. Intense andimmediate. Combustible and all consuming. Zero to orgasmic bliss intwo-point-five kisses. And nothing had changed. Nothing at all. Except she wassmarter now.Or she was supposed to be.She picked up her cell phone from the nightstand. Glanced at


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the dozen text messages Jeremy had left her. She was in no mood to deal withhim this morning. He'd been furious when she'd made the decision to cancel therest of her tour, less than understanding when she'd said she had to go backhome. And while she knew she'd left him holding the bag, smoothing out the messshe'd walked away from, he wasn't going to change her mind, no matter how hardhe tried.She didn't want the gypsy lifestyle she'd lived all her life.She wanted a home, one in the same place for more than six months. And shewanted a man who loved her, one who'd come home to her every night.And the thought she was even considering it again with BobbyWayne after one kiss terrified her. He was a NASCAR driver! Gone thirty-sixweeks a year, and much of the remaining time was spent preparing for the nextseason.He wasn't the right man for her, no matter how much she lovedhim, no matter how much she foolishly still wanted him.She shut off her phone. Tossed it aside. She'd deal withJeremy when he cooled down. And she'd tell him it was over. All of it: hercareer; his job as her business manager. And she'd end their fledgling romance,especially after one toe-curling kiss with Bobby Wayne. It was wrong to leadJeremy on.She turned toward the door. Caught her reflection in themirror over the dresser and paused. She looked at the face which was such ablending of her mother and her father's features that she couldn't say forcertain whose nose, or whose eyes she'd inherited. But one thing she did know.

You're just like 'em, she told the haunted reflection staring back at her.You're a running, one-step-ahead-of-disaster Foster, just like them.She sucked in a deep breath of courage. Today that changes,you hear?Today she'd cut the ties with Bobby Wayne. She'd give up herhome. And she'd find a new one. She wiped a tear from her cheek. She'd plantroots some place where they didn't know Lauren Foster-Forsythe, country musicstarlet. She'd build a life. And eventually she'd find a man who loved her. Onewho'd come home to her every night, who'd be happy sinking deep roots in onespot for the rest of their lives.Now, if she could just get rid of the image of that man inher head.The one who looked exactly like Bobby Wayne.

* * *There were only two things that kept Bobby Wayne up at night.A bad race and a hot woman.And this particularly smokin' hot woman had kept him up allnight.And without benefit of mind blowing, life altering sex. Oreven bangin', just-to-get-laid sex. There'd been no sex of any kind andshe'd still kept him up all night.She said she wanted out.He knew Lauren, and he knew her well. This wasn't like her.And why the sudden drop off the country music scene? Yeah, he followed hercareer even though she'd walked away from him. He knew the buzz. It was at a feeding-frenzy

level. Her sudden, indefinite cancellation of future shows. The uncertainty ofwhere she was. Or what she was doing.And then she shows up here, out of the blue, after no contactfor a year to tell him she wants out. Her asshole of a business manager couldhave handled that. She didn't have to come in person.Something wasn't right.He pushed his coffee cup aside. Scraped his hands down overhis beard-stubbled cheeks. She might have said she wanted out, but that kiss,that hotter-than-hell kiss they'd shared, the way her body melted into his, theway she sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, and the stark yearning in her


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eyes said different.Hell, he knew different.She still wanted him. As much as he still wanted her.And Bobby Wayne wasn't above using this old house she lovedto get what he wanted.She walked into the kitchen.The only clue she wasn't as cool and detached as she wantedhim to think was the stutter step when she'd spotted him at the table. And thenervous gnawing of her bottom lip. The lip he wanted to suck into his mouth andsoothe with his tongue. And the air around them crackled with awareness. Itpierced his skin. Flowed through him like a good shot of bourbon, heating everycell.I want out, Bobby Wayne, she quietly told him, picking upright where they'd left off last night.You're in the South, sugar. Have some coffee first. BobbyWayne lifted his own now-cold cup. Only you Yankees save the world, or destroyit, before breakfast.Home-basing it out of Nashville didn't make her a Southerner.He knew where she came from. He knew everything about her.Except why she left him.She made no move toward him. Or the coffee. We need totalk.Oh, they needed to talk all right. He jerked his head towardthe high-tech coffeemaker sitting on the granite counter top. We make nice

first, and then we talk business. It's the way of the South.She moved with Yankee briskness toward the counter, thefringe on her shirt doing a little two-step over her breasts as she marched byhim. Her scent, the one he could conjure up in his restless dreams teased hisnostrils, taunting him. She reached up to open the old oak plank cupboard doorand the swiftness stopped. Her palm hovered over the ancient wood before slowlysliding over it with a loving caress. She'd restored those cupboards. Themaster bedroom, bath, the media room, his office and study, and a few otherrooms were a beautiful blending of old with new, an endeavor she'd spearheadedand for the most part, oversaw when they'd restored the old mansion.And while he entertained fantasies about her sliding herhands all over him, she opened the door. Reached inside for a cup. Her shirtrode up from her hip-hugging jeans and Bobby Wayne's eyes honed in on the patch

of skin exposed. Skin he'd licked and tasted and wished with all his heart hecould taste again. She sloshed little more than a shot glass's worth of coffeeinto the cup. Up-ended the sugar bowl over it and stirred the mountain of whiteuntil it all dissolved. She sat the spoon aside. Turned. Stiffly leaned againstthe counter. She was a terrible example of being at ease. Her eyes connectedwith his and so did the arc of awareness that always sizzled between them. Shelifted her cup in mock salute. Arched one elegant dark eyebrow. You happynow?As happy as I've been since hittin' the wall, he honestlytold her. He hadn't felt this hopeful since Doctor Sadistic told him his lifewas over. And didn't that just about make him pathetic? Him, actually happybecause his ex-wife, and not even his current ex-wife, was shootingdagger eyes at him across the room. He really was a freakin' loser.

Her brows knit together as she studied him way too close.He shifted in his chair.What happened? she softly asked.The usual. He shrugged a shoulder like it was no big deal.He didn't want to talk about the accident that might have ended his career.It doesn't look like the usual. Her eyes did a slow slide downover him. You lookSit down, sugar, he told her before she made her ownassessment and concurred with Sadistic's diagnosis. It was bad enough the rumormill had already concurred with him. He hooked the chair beside him with his


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bare foot. Pulled it away from the table and closer to him. If she was going tobe in the same room with him, it might as well be close since on top of himdidn't appear to be on the breakfast menu.She pursed her lips. She obviously didn't like his abruptclose of subject.Too bad. He didn't like thinking about a life without racing. Or a life withouther.She pushed off the counter. Marched toward him and took theseat directly across from him. At the far end of the table, only about a half-a-mileaway.He scowled. You know, it's times like this that I reallyhate the enormity of this house.If they had a small one, instead of this mansion, with aneven smaller kitchen, he could have her corralled, wedged up against therefrigerator, or better yet, up on top the counter. And she would have her legsspread wide, wrapped around his waist, her warm wet heat sliding down over hisdick as he filled his hands with her breasts and her mouth with his tongue. Hegrew hard at the image.Buy me out, Bobby Wayne.So much for taking advantage of morning wood. No, he told her, getting down tobusiness whether he wanted to, or not. And not the business he had in mind. Nobuyouts.He could be as tough as she was.

Her shoulders slumped and the fight he'd witnessed last nightwas gone. As aggravating as it was, he missed it. Damn, he'd missed her.I need out. Her voice was so quiet, so full of sadness, it tore at his heart.I can't own this with you anymore.Why not? He could only think of two reasons. And he didn'tlike either one of them.He should have gone after her.Here's your chance now, the voice inside his head told him.Listening to it for once, he got up. Walked the length of thetable and knelt down in front of her. He took her hand. Rubbed his thumb overher trembling fingers, and with his other hand, he gently pushed back the darkbrown waves of hair that shadowed her face. Why, sugar? He looked deep intoher eyes. Why after a year-and-a-half do you wanna give up your home? You love

this place. Almost as much as she'd loved him at one time.She tugged her hand free. Covered her eyes with her hands andshe struggled to breathe. Struggled not to cry. And he wanted to hold her. Topull her close and never let her go. But he no longer had the right. And she'dprobably knock him on his sorry ass if he tried.She dropped her hands to her lap. Slowly lifted her head.Shook it side to side. Grief filled her eyes. I can't own this with youanymore, Bobby Wayne. I can't. I just can't.Sugar, he gently reached for her hands. Squeezed them inhis. If its money if you're in trouble and need to sell, I'll give youwhatever you need, but don't give up this house. Don't give up on me,he wanted to say, but swallowed the words. This is your home, he said instead.A home that meant everything to her. A home that meant more to her than he did,

considering she'd kept it when she'd let him go.We've both moved on, she whispered.You're the one who moved on, he growled as the age-oldanger surged through him.You're the one who got married before the ink was dry on ourdivorce papers!Because you walked away without giving us a chance! heyelled. And he'd been too stubborn, too focused on burying his hurt with hard racingthat he'd let her go. And when he'd cooled down, when he'd finally come to his


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senses, it had been too late.You lied to me, Bobby Wayne! She banged her palm off theoak table top.I never lied to you. He hadn't. How could she even thinksuch a thing?Then what do you call my singing career?

Chapter 6

Amazing talent and extraordinary good luck, Bobby Waynetold her with absolute honesty. She was amazing. And the opportunity that hadunfolded for her was what dreams were made of.That's not what Jeremy said.Fuck Jeremy! The cocky, way-too-sure-of-himselfbusiness manager who'd insinuated himself in Lauren's life would say anythingto get her away from Bobby Wayne. Ironic that Bobby Wayne had played right intothe bastard's hands. Or maybe moronic was the better word.You won an open-mike contest, fair and square, sugar, hereminded her. And the prize had been a chance to sing the National Anthem at

the Coca-Cola 600 race at the Charlotte Motor Speedway.Bobby Wayne had been captivated by the leggy brunettestanding in front of the crowd that day. And he'd fallen in love with her bythe time the rockets had red glared and the bombs were bursting in air. She hadthe voice of an angel that had captured a hundred-and-sixty-thousand race fans.And one record producer who'd just happened to be mixed into that crowd.You bought my career! You made me feel like thebiggest fraud.So that's how the bastard had spun it. I didn't buy yourcareer.Her brows drew together. She opened her mouth, probably torip him a new ass.Did Jeremy tell you that, too? Jee-zus, Lauren. I'm a

NASCAR driver, not a pimp. I went after you because I wanted you. Andhe'd gone after her like he'd been racing for the cup, his pursuit of her thatintense, that public, that all out, petal-to-the-metal driven. All the recordproducer had to do was follow my news feed and he had your name linked withmine.ButI didn't buy a career for you. But his notoriety had surelyhelped. You did that all on your own talent. And no amount of Bobby Waynestar-power would have added to that. She'd have been a star with or withouthim.He stared at her, flummoxed by the damn uncertainty stillbrimming in her eyes. Hasn't the asshole ever told you yet that you're good?That's uncalled for.

Oh hell yeah, it is. You can choose to believe me, or continueto believe Jeremy's bullshit. The man would do anything to get Lauren fromBobby Wayne. Even undermine her shaky confidence. Bastard. I gotnothing to lose by tellin' the truth, Lauren. Can he say the same?Bobby Wayne had seen the manager's name linked with hers.He'd seen their pictures together. He didn't like them. And he sure as helldidn't trust the man. He'd hitched his sorry-assed self to her rising star whenhe didn't deserve to be even orbiting in the same universe as she did. What happened?He scowled at the abrupt switch of subject.


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She lifted a finger to his forehead. A jolt of awareness shotdown through him. Gently, she pushed back his hair to reveal his stitches Whyaren't you racing? she softly asked, as her eyes slid down over his face andbody and the heat of awareness rolled though him. Why aren't you doin' whatyou love?I would be doin' what I loved with who I lovedPlease. She held up her hand, palm out, stopping him.And while they stood nose to nose, his eyes did their ownperusal, slowly sliding down over her. And the thoughts of sex evaporated. Shelooked more than tired. She looked worn out. Non-stop travel was hard on abody, but her weariness seemed to go soul deep. And he didn't know why. Andwished he still had the right to know. Or to ask. He wished he had the right tomake her happy, to take her in his arms, and make all the hurt and bad go away.

I need out, Bobby Wayne.So we're back to that? he snapped. He pushed away from her.Stood, glaring at her, hating she was walking away from him again.You need to buy me out.What the hell would he want this place without her? She wasthe reason he bought it. She was the reason he called it home. She was thereason he still lived here when she'd moved on because his foolish heart hadnever given up the hope she'd come back to him. ThatHe flung an arm out wide in aggravation. Who's gonna buythis place like it is now, huh?

Her darks brows drew down over her golden eyes now sparkingwith anger. Her chin jutted up. And whose fault is that?His. They both knew it. He'd been the ass to let this placebe destroyed. The ass who should restore it, too who would restore it in hisown way and with his own greedy plan. He was that desperate, that still inlove with her.If you wanna unload this place, sugar, it'll need fixed up.Her brows drew down further. Her mouth dropped open. I'vealready done that once!She had. And she'd done an amazing job.Then it looks like you'll hafta do it again, sugar, he toldher. If you want me to agree to sellin'. And after he threw that demand down,he quickly turned. Walked through the door and nearly sprinted through the

grand foyer toward the safety of his study.What? What? Her voice rose until it ricocheted offthe twelve-foot-high ceilings, bouncing off him. Wait! Where are you goin'? BobbyWayne. Get back here right now! Her heels clicked on the stone floor as sheran after him. I want you back here, standing in front of me when I talk toyou!He looked over his shoulder. She'd cleared the kitchendoorway, her temper gaining momentum as she shifted gears, hell-bent on takinghim out, and every cell in his body revved at the thought of the contact. Iwant this whole damn mess to disappear, you hear me, Bobby Wayne? I want mylife back!Bobby Wayne's heart pounded hard in his chest. Maybe therewas hope. She cared about the house. Maybe there was a kernel of hope she still

cared about him. She was here, wasn't she? Arguing with him. Twisted as it was,he took that as a good sign.I want racing-striped flags off my front doors. And I wantsomebody to stand up and take the blame for all this mess, you hear me?Somebody? He spun around his own temper pushing into thered. Just any ol' body'll do? He'd seen the lovey-dovey pictures of her withthat asshole manager. Maybe the wanting was all on his side, which just plain pissedhim off.Do not twist my words.


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How could I twist them? There's so freakin' many of thembein' rained down on me, I'm lucky I'm not drownin' in 'em!Hey! She grabbed his arm, hauling him to a stop. She spunhim around, and they stood toe to toe in that hideous victory circle in theentry way. I didn't make this mess, she succinctly told him, her eyesflashing with golden fire.But you're gonna hafta fix it if you want me to agree towhat you want. Those are my terms, sugar.I do not want to hear about your terms. And aboutwhat you want.Oh, yeah? Bobby Wayne took a step closer. I listened toyou tellin' me everything you want. You wanna sell the house. You wantthe house restored. You want your life back, yet you came here instead of stayin'in your life and movin' on. Well, you know what? I don't think you havea clue what you want. Not really.Her chest heaved. Her body bristled. And still he tookanother step closer, invading her space, forcing her to back off, or take theleap of faith with him. And the air crackled around them, an unfinished fierypast battling with a dark, uncertain future. And mixed in was the thrumming,revving heat which always burned scalding hot between them. No matter whatdamage they seemed to inflict on each other, it was always there, white hot,cauterizing any hurts and wounds. Except the last one.Do you, Lauren? He took another step closer. Giving intohis desire, he snaked an arm around her waist, hauling her body to his. Do you

know what you really want? 'Cause I sure as hell know what I want. Her. Andshe was in his arms. Where she should never have left.Her eyes darkened. Her mouth, the one he wanted to devour,trembled. Her tongue nervously darted out as she wet her bottom lip. She wasscared. Like he'd never seen her. But she didn't back off. She didn't push himaway.I know what I want, she hesitantly replied, surprising him.She lifted her chin, her mouth nearly touching his, her breath, a barely-therebrush against his chin. I've always known that. And it's never changed. Shedrew in an unsteady breath. No matter how hard I try to change it.And Bobby Wayne waited with his heart in his throat and everythinghe ever wanted in his arms. This was it. She'd either tell him to go to hellor

Her trembling hand curled into a ball between her breasts andhe saw the battle rage in her eyes. And still he held his breath. The not knowingif he would ever drive again, not knowing what his future would hold withoutracing in it paled in comparison to not knowing what she was going to say rightnow.She held his heart in her hands.I tried to forget, she breathed out. I tried to convincemyself, and I almost did. But Her lips trembled. Her chest heaved. But itnever changed. I never changed. And, her eyes grew moist as they darkened withdesire. I know what I want. Her arm slid from her chest to his.I want you.

Chapter 7

This was crazy. She was crazy. It had to be the house. Ormaybe Fate. No, she was definitely crazy. And then it no longer mattered whatshe was. She was where she wanted to be. Surrendering to the moment. To the


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rush. To Bobby Wayne's mouth as he kissed her. To his lips as they devouredhers, making her forget everything but his strength, his arms wrapped aroundher, his rock hard body pressing into hers.And then she was taking control. Kissing him. Pushing himback as they half walked, half stumbled toward the marble staircase. She pulledon his shoulders until he sat down on the bottom stair. And then his hands weresliding up under her shirt, cupping her breasts, stroking her nipples, histouch exquisite.I need you, sugar. His plea was raspy, guttural. And he waspulling down on her shoulders until she was on her knees between hiswide-spread legs. And his fingers were in her hair as her fingers feverishlyfumbled with the button fly of his jeans. And then he was free of his boxersand she was holding him, cupping his balls in her hand, stroking his long, hardlength with the other.For the first time in her life a Foster wasn't running awayfrom something. No, she was running full-out, throw-caution-to-the-wind,jump-off-the-edge-of-the-cliff-without-a-safety-net, right to him. And then shewas going down on him, sucking him deep into her mouth, licking and tasting himlike she couldn't get enough.And she couldn't.Nothing had ever felt like this except when she was with him.Oh, yeah, baby, just like that. His hands were tangled inher hair, guiding her head up and down. And his groans, his guttural hisses ofpleasure were an aphrodisiac to her wounded spirit. God! She'd never felt so

empowered. So alive. So wanted. So sure she was exactly where she wassupposed to be.Her heart kicked hard in her chest at the revelation.And while she still reeled from that, Bobby Wayne gentlypulled her off him. He stood, kicked his jeans aside. And before her worldcould tilt back on its axis, before she could question or second guess what shewas doing, before she could run away, he was kissing her, inhaling her and shedidn't care if her world ever righted itself.She was where she wanted to be.And it terrified her.Bobby Wayne, she breathed out his name.His hands slid up over her stomach, pushing her shirt up overher breasts and over her head. Then they were sliding around her back,

unhooking her bra. It fell to the floor, and they were naked.Bobby Wayne. She placed her palm against his muscled chest.We need to talk. There's too much betweenThere's nothing between us, he stated the obvious, hisfinger teasing the undersides of her breasts.Bobby Wayne, we need to talk.No talk, sugar. There's only room here to feel. And then hewas picking her up, his palms cupping her butt and she was feeling him. All ofhim. Every thick, long, hard inch of him. Her legs wrapped around his waist andshe cocked her hips so she could rub against his engorged flesh. And she nearlywhimpered at how good he felt. How needy she was for only him.And how right he felt. How perfect.That's it, baby, just feel. And then his mouth was on hers

again, his tongue eagerly mating with hers as he walked them across the grandfoyer to his study. They stumbled through the doorway. Bobby Wayne made his wayto the couch as Lauren reached a blind hand out for a light switch.She found one. The room illuminated with soft golden lightand her breath caught in her throat.Oh my god, she whispered as she looked all around her. Ohmy god.Pictures she'd hung in here of Bobby Wayne's NASCARachievements his first win at Daytona, his first championship and everychampionship after had been replaced. With pictures of her.


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Pictures of her on tour. Pictures of her lifting high herHorizon Award. Of her holding her first album cover. Then another picture ofher holding the disc when the album had gone platinum. And other pictures ofher accepting awards at the CMAs and the ACMs and the AMAs. Her heart pounded. Sheturned back to him. I- I don't understand, she stuttered.And Bobby Wayne stood stiff and silent as she slowly sliddown off his body. I decorated this room for you, she softly stated theobvious. So how did she end up on the walls? How did her careerachievements end up here? She looked back at him waiting for an explanation.And still he stood silent, exactly where she'd slid off him.Barbara Jean would never, never have hung thesepictures. Not when she'd destroyed all the other rooms Lauren had personally restoredand decorated. This wasn't exactly a shrine to her, but it did make astatement. A huge statement. One Lauren didn't quite know how to interpret. Shelooked back at Bobby Wayne. You followed my career?I should have followed you. And she heard real regret inhis voice. Saw it in his eyes and in the downward set of his mouth.His confession went a long way to soothing the hurt that hadnever quite healed in her heart.I knew the mistake I made as soon as I said, I do. BarbaraJean knew it, too.But I Her heart pounded in her chest.

She looked around. Really looked. Beyond the pictures. To hisclothes, his jeans, his tee shirts, and boxers that were neatly folded andstacked on his desk instead of upstairs in the dresser in his bedroom. To hisboots and shoes stashed in a corner. To his books and magazines stacked by thecouch and his files that littered the coffee table.He'd been living in here for a quite a while. Longer than hisrecent accident; maybe as long as his marriage to Barbara Jean. But why? Whylive in here surrounded with pictures of her?He stepped closer to her. I love you, Lauren. I don't thinkI ever stopped. Hell, I know I never stopped.And he stood there, naked in front of her, with no barriersto his body, or his soul. And only a man who was telling the truth would dothat.

Which mean that Jeremy had lied to her.Bobby Wayne, she softly breathed out his name.I love you, Lauren.They were the words she'd longed to hear. Words she'd neverthought she'd hear again. And they were words she didn't know what to do with,or how to react. The urge to run like the born-and-bred Foster she was boredown on her hard. I Her heart pounded. She'd made such a mess of things. Idon't I don't know what what to do. Jeremy thought she was ending thingshere. She'd thought she be ending things, too. Yet nowAnd Bobby Wayne knew her better than anyone better thanshe knew herself because he reached for her hand. Laced his fingers with hersand held her right where she stood. And he kept talking to her in that sweetslow drawl he had, talking to her like she wasn't having a panic attack. Like

her world wasn't being completely altered by just his presence.I still love you, Lauren. He squeezed her fingers. Tuggedher closer into the welcoming heat and strength of his body. I still want youAnd then there was no talking. Just Lauren in his arms. Hermouth on his, surrendering to him, kissing him. Her hands sliding into hishair, holding his head close, part of her half afraid he'd come to his senses.Or maybe she'd come to hers.And then there were his hands. Sliding down over her body,making short work of her jeans, and she no longer cared about what made sense,just what felt right.


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And being here with Bobby Wayne Forsythe felt more thanright. It felt perfect.His fingers slipped between her legs to stroke her teaseher. And she was panting. Begging. And he obliged her every demand, driving hercloser and closer to completion as his finger slid into her wetness, back andforth, his thumb circling her clit.

And then she was tumbling over a precipice, gasping as ablinding orgasm rocked through her, tumbling her back onto the couch when herlegs gave out. And he was holding onto her, like he'd always done, and she'dwondered how she could have been so dumb to have let him go. To have walkedaway from him when he was her everything.He was between her legs, pushing her higher as he wasthrusting into her, driving her toward a second orgasm.Oh god, oh god, oh god, she panted as she wrapped her armsaround his big shoulders, holding on tight.And he was gasping for breath, whispering of the wildlyerotic things he wanted to do to her, driving her no, driving them bothover the edge. And she was crying out his name as another orgasm rocked throughher body and he was growling out his as he followed her over the same edge.Together they slowly tumbled back to earth, weak and sated ineach other's arms.And Lauren knew. She would never be the same again.And what did she do about that?* * *

She hadn't moved a muscle, yet Bobby Wayne knew her mind wasreeling. He could practically smell the brain cells burning. And once she gotinto clean air and she cleared her senses, she'd pull away. And then it wasonly a hasty exit out the front door and he'd lose her again.I know this isn't what you planned when you came back here.He gently brushed a dark wavy lock of hair from her flushed cheek. Give meanother chance, sugar, please? he begged. Give us another chance.She breathed in a shaky breath. Her fingers gently pushinghis hair from his forehead and he could see the battle waging in her beautifuleyes. Her lips trembled as she opened her mouthDon't say anything sugar, unless it's what I wanna hear.Bobby Wayne, she whispered his name out on a breathy sighand he prayed it wasn't regret.

Just feel, baby. Just feel. And Bobby Wayne settled hisbody between her legs, the erection he always seemed to have every time she wasnear pressed against her moist, hot center. Forget about everything outside ofhere, he whispered, desperate enough to play the house and home card.Remember what Olivia and Adam found here. And Jane and Brennan had here. Andmost of all, remember what we had here what we can have again if wejust give ourselves a chance.I'm scared, her voice was barely more than a whisper.I know you are. He brushed a finger over her thunderingpulse. Believe me, I know about being afraid.Her brow furrowed.I do. His body was healed enough he could physically getbehind the wheel, but his head well, he didn't want to think about his head.

Or Toby O'Brian, the young upstart filling in for him. The one getting all themedia attention now that he was yesterday's news. Bobby Wayne owned his ownteam. It wasn't like he was going to replace himself. But what would he do ifhe couldn't race again? What would heWe were happy here. Her softly uttered words pulled himback from the dark abyss of his uncertain future.We were. The happiest he'd ever been. He shifted until hesettled in behind her on the couch. He pulled her close. Even without the heatof sex, her body melted into his, the fit perfect. Like two puzzle piecesjoined. And he knew their joining was more than just a sexual attraction, or a w


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inningchemical combination. It was the joining of two souls, two hearts beating asone, and he wanted that for the rest of his life.Her arm wrapped over his stomach as she settled her headagainst his shoulder. Her tumble of hair fell over his arm. Her nose pressedinto his neck, her perfect tea-cup breasts lightly grazed his chest as herbreath feathered against his chin. And his dick laid happy and hard rightbetween his legs.He made no move to slip into her. Instead, he marveled at thecontentment which settled around him just holding her close, having her in hisarms. Having his heart beating steadily against hers.Give us a chance, he whispered against her temple. Give mea chance. And he waited with his heart in his throat the anxious seconds forher to stay or walk away. Again.She looked up at him with the softest, most beautiful golden eyeshe'd ever seen. Shining as brightly as the flickering flame of a candle. A gentlesmile turning up the corners of her mouth filled him with hope. AndWhy can't I tell you no? she breathed out against his jaw.Because you're where you belong? he told her, but it wasmore a question, one he was anxiously waiting for her to reply. His life, his futurehappiness depended on what she decided.I am, she whispered against his neck before shesurrendered, slipping her hand down between his legs, giving him that second

chance.And a whole lot more.

Chapter 8

One week turned into two. They talked. They hashed out oldgrievances. Made new memories, too. Hand in hand they walked the grounds of theestate, enraptured by the everlasting beauty of Jane's garden and thesolemnness of the Harrington family plots. They'd slogged through the mundanechores of everyday life, passionately soared to new heights of ecstasy at night

in the makeshift bedroom he'd created in the study, and Lauren was happier thanshe'd ever been in her life. Neither talked of what their future would bringand that was okay with Lauren. Now was what mattered.And now was pretty damn near perfect.The Foster-Forsythe name carried a lot of weight in gettingthe house quickly renovated and restored back to its pre-Bimbo Barbie state.Bobby Wayne's checkbook and the promise of a big, fat bonus had the crewsworking long shifts; and in the two weeks' time, the front doors wererefinished and the front entry floor restored. The master bedroom had been put nearto rights, as well as most of the main staircase, which was almost finished.Although Bobby Wayne had visited the doctor, he'd made notrips to the garage. As a result, there had been a steady stream of Forsythe

Racing Team employees who'd traipsed across the entryway to the library, whichhad somehow become his off-track racing office. Lauren avoided the inquisitivelooks from his pit crew, the appreciative looks from his substitute driver, andthe narrow-eyed glares from his ex-wives who were still a major part of hisracing organization.Ex-wife number one and ex-wife number two, that is.Barbara Jean had defected, resigning whatever position she'dheld after the divorce what with her now dating a rival racecar driver, whichwas a good thing in Lauren's opinion. She didn't know what she'd do if she'drun into the woman. She still fostered a lot of anger and yes, jealousy.


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You ready, sugar? Bobby Wayne walked into the study.Lauren nearly stumbled over her tongue. Oh my god, shewhispered.What?The man had to ask? Was he serious? Have you not looked in the mirror? Hewas eye candy at its very best. The snap-button shirt he wore hugged broadshoulders and was tucked into a well-worn pair of faded Levi's that molded tohis thighs and cupped his crotch. The black cowboy hat she'd gifted him todisguise them in their outing was pulled down low. She'd seen her share ofracecar drivers who'd won in Texas. And she'd seen her fair share of countrymusic singers who'd donned the hat, too, in their acts.None of them wore one quite like Bobby Wayne did, or lookedas good in it as he did.What? he asked again, his brows pinching together.You look hot.His responding smile told her he liked her comment. And theair shifted as his hot blue gaze slid slowly down over her. The tiny linesradiating out from his eyes crinkled. You're the one who looks hot,sugar.I'm naked.I know.He slowly walked toward her. It was just one booted foot infront of the other, soft, faded denim-covered legs moving toward her with thatslow, easy gait he had, but he was right. She was hot. For him. The

rough tip of his finger sensuously slid down her neck, down her chest, and overher breast to circle her nipple. He leaned in, kissed her neck, his mouthsensuously teasing that little spot near her ear thatShe dropped her head to one side giving his tongue moreaccess to her sensitized skin as the rest of her body melted against his.And might I add, he nuzzled that sweet spot right below herear. It's a good look on you.Tingles of awareness radiated out from the spot of contact.And reluctantly she pulled away from him. Enticing as that might beand it would be, he cockily added, as he dipped his headfor another lick.She squeezed up her shoulder to block his sensual assault.We'll be late if we don't get goin', she needlessly reminded him of the

private appointment he'd made with the antiquities dealer.We could be comin' hard and fast instead of goin'.And damn, if that wasn't the most tempting offer she'd had inabout eight hours. She resisted barely. You're the one who wanted a bed, shereminded him as she reached for her shirt.He heaved out a heavy sigh before plucking the shirt from herhands and tossing it over his shoulder.Bobby Wayne! She made a futile attempt to grab what wasalready out of her reach. We're gonna be late. We can'tI don't know about you, sugar, but I can do it just abouton-demand.And didn't that thought just make her insides cinch up niceand tight?

Don't worry. I'm not gonna jump you.Damn, she grumbled.Ha-ha, he teased back. But if I have to wear a disguise, sugar,so do you. He pulled a bright red piece of cotton from his back pocket,handing it to her.It was an official Bobby Wayne Forsythe racing shirt. Shehadn't had one of them since she'd walked away. She looked up into his handsomeface. Does this mean I'm part of your team?It means you're the most important part of me, hesolemnly told her.


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Her heart melted. Thank you.My pleasure. Or it would have been my pleasure, heplayfully teased as he tugged the shirt over her head. And she was quite surehe was making up for not getting laid by taking his sweet ol' time smoothingthe soft cotton down over her chest.You done? she teased, swatting at his hands.I guess as done as I'm gonna get.She turned to catch her reflection in the mirror. The brightred tee shirt hugged her small curves. His car's number thirty-five was embroideredacross her breasts like false advertising of her bra size. Her hand restedbetween her small breasts. Her self-consciousness at their petite size had her onceagain wishing for things she didn't have. Just like when she'd been a kid.He wrapped his arms around her as he stood behind her. Ithink your breasts are perfect, he softly told hear, reading her mind. Justlike you, he added, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. You are perfect,you know.She dipped her head, suddenly shy. Only Bobby Wayne had everthought her perfect.And you make me very happy.Well, in that case, Mister Forsythe, Lauren turned in hisarms and slowly unsnapped his shirt. She tugged it from his jeans, pushing itoff his broad shoulders and down his arms, before letting it drop to the floor.

I do believe you're going to get that pleasure you've been wanting so badly,she added, reaching for his belt buckle.* * *We need to do that more often, Bobby Wayne told her a whilelater as he tucked his shirt back into his jeans.She totally agreed, pulling her own tee shirt over her head.He ran his hands through his hair while she scrambled to dragher disheveled curls into a pony tail. Sex with you does a number on my makeupand my hair, she whined. I lookLike a woman who just had a hell of a good time rockin' herman's world.A mess that's what I was thinking. She fussed withanother attempt at a pony tail. I look

Beautiful? Happy? He paused in buttoning the fly on hisjeans. The lightness of his teasing words belied the uncertainty shadowing hiseyes.And Lauren stopped her whining; somehow knowing she wasstanding at the edge of something wonderful. Something she'd wanted all herlife. Something this man was ready to give her, if she'd just stick it out. Sheinhaled a long, slow, steadying breath as she waited for the doubt to push hertoward the front door. But there was nothing but happiness. Andcontentment. She was where she was supposed to be. She was with who she wassupposed to be with.She stepped closer. Tenderly touched the side of his handsomeface. I am happy, she softly told him before pressing a gentle kiss to hismouth. I'm very happy.

Good. He breathed deep. Hauled her close. Hugged her hardand kissed her thoroughly. He dropped a Forsythe racing baseball cap on herhead and tugged her haphazard pony tail through the opening in the back. Sowhat do you say we go buy us a bed to celebrate?* * *The beautiful antique bed was delivered three days ago. Setup and christened in the newly remodeled master bedroom upstairs. The missingCivil-War-era dresser Bobby had bought her when they'd been married had been miraculouslyresurrected and returned to its rightful place.


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In a way Lauren had been returned to her rightful place, too.She was happy here, in this house, with Bobby Wayne. The kind of happy thatwent beyond good sex, to that of two hearts that knew love and now beat as one.She hadn't turned on a radio, or a television, and except for the clandestineouting when they'd gone out to buy the bed, she had no contact with the outsideworld.Reality would eventually intrude on their happiness, but fornowYou're thinking too hard again, Bobby Wayne whispered in arough-edged voice still laced with sleep. Dawn was slowly rising over the Atlantic.Weak fingers of pale pre-dawn light were slipping through the sheer drapes thatcovered the long French windows.Actually, She wiggled closer to him, sliding her hand downover his flat stomach to slip around his morning erection. I'm thinking howvery happy I am.He rolled her onto her back. Looked down at her. His hair wasrumpled. His jaw dark with beard stubble. I'm happy, too. And when sheexpected him to slip into her, he held back.Uncertainty gnawed on the edges of her happiness. What'swrong? she whispered.His eyes lost their lazy sleepiness, replaced instead with aburning intensity. The same look she saw when he was behind the wheel of theNumber 35 Dunmyer Chevrolet. I want my future more than vague.

She swallowed. That's the one thing we haven't talked about. I know.I don't know what you want me to say. What they had herewas everything she'd longed for all her life, dreamed of when she'd beena kid moving in the dead of night, leaving behind all the things she couldn'tcarry in a duct-taped, hand-me-down backpack. When she'd been a teenager hopingto live in one spot long enough to have a boyfriend who'd screw up enoughcourage to ask her to a school dance.And Bobby Wayne was offering her all of that. And more.I want you in my life, Lauren. He lifted a lock of herhair. Curled it around his finger. I want you with me, by my side. I know mylife is hectic and I'm not around all the time, he rushed on, and I know it's

real important to you havin' someone around who's always here for you. I knowmy schedule makes that impossible, but when I can be here, I will be. And whenI'm not, I'll still be right here. His finger brushed over her heart.Bobby WayneWill you at least think about bein' here with me? I needthat. I need you. Lauren's heart started a wild gallop inside her chest. Shetried to push herself up toward the headboard, but Bobby Wayne wasn't lettingher go. And there was a part of her, buried under her insecurities that reveledin that insight. That he never let her go. Even when she'd cut him free. Exactlywhat are you saying? she whispered.That I love you.I love you, too. And she did. He gave her a small smile.

Which meant he had more to say. Her breath caught in herchest.Don't look so scared, he softly told her.I'm not. But she was. More scared than when she'd stood up allalone at the Charlotte Motor Speedway and sang the National Anthem a cappellain front of a hundred-and sixty-thousand racing fans.You don't have to marry me.But She'd marry him in a minute if he'd ask her again.You can live with me. I just don't wanna live my lifewithout you in it.


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I don't wanna live a life like that either. Not anymore.So, his smile grew. You'll stick around a while?She nodded her head, unable to speak. She'd stay forever.He made no move to kiss her. Or make love to her. What'swrong? she whispered.I don't know if I'll ever race again.He'd just spoken his deepest, darkest fear. She didn't knowwhat to say, what to do. She touched his hair. Her fingers slowly slid down hischeek, her gesture inadequate compared to the graveness of what he'd just toldher of what he was facing.I'm sorry, she whispered. A part of her didn't want him torace, didn't want him to put himself at risk or in danger week after week. Yeta bigger part of her knew the pain of losing something you loved. She knew thehelplessness, the anger, the pain.I don't know what my future holds. He swallowed hard. ButI do know I wanna hold you, sugar. In my heart. In my soul. And in my arms. Canyou give me that much? he quietly asked, his love for her shining in thebright blue depths of his eyes.The lonely only-child who'd tumbled all over West Virginia,Pennsylvania, and Ohio with parents who tolerated each other at best hadfinally found her place. Had finally found where she belonged. I think I cando that.Well, okay then. A lazy smile spread across his face,lighting his beautiful eyes. Eyes she wanted to look into every day for the

rest of her life. I think we should celebrate.Oh, do you now? Lauren playfully replied, cocking her hipsto tease against his morning erection.Oh yeah, Bobby Wayne told her, tempting her mouth with asweetly, sexy kiss. Definitely celebrate, he added, before sinking deeplyinto her. Maybe until dinner time.

Chapter 9

Lauren woke to incessant pounding on their front door. Sheslid out of the bed. Slipped into his shirt and after buttoning it, quickly headeddown the stairs. She opened the front door. Her breath backed up in her throat.Jeremy?She couldn't believe her business manager was standing here!And looking none too happy for his effort. What are you doin' here? Shetugged the collar of Bobby Wayne's shirt closer, mindful of the fact she wasnaked underneath it.Yeah, yeah, big surprise, babe. What the hell are youdoin' here? he demanded. I left you a hundred messages on your phone. And youdidn't call me back once.

I told you. I had to go home.Some humble home, babe, he sneered, as he looked over hershoulder into the grand entry and beyond. He snorted. So much for your humbleroots. Your rambling childhood going from one double-wide to another.She lifted her chin. You knew Bobby Wayne and I owned thishouse.Oh, yeah. You and the infamous Bobby Wayne Forsythe. You had no right to come here. He wanted to be pissy? Well,she could be pissy, too. And you have no right to talk about my


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Bobby Wayne when they'd been out on their shopping day. Pictures of themlaughing kissing holding onto each other like two people in love. Someone hadrecognized them even behind sunglasses and hats. And she'd foolishly thoughttheir disguises ingenious.God! She was such a fool.Who the hell took these pictures? Bobby Wayne demanded.I'll sue 'em for invasion of privacy.I don't understand. Someone had breached their privacy.They're pretty self-explanatory, babe.Lauren's head snapped up.All the guys who'd come onto you while we were on the roadand you never jumped on one of their invites. He shook his head slowly side toside. All the time you led me onI never led you on, Jeremy.What the hell's he talkin' about? Bobby Wayne demanded.Oh, hell, yeah, you did, babe. And I was actually crazyenough about you to be worried sick. And here you are, he sneered as his armswung wide, his finger sliding across the notepad's screen to show more pictures.Putting out for him, the asshole who broke your heart.Hey! Bobby Wayne shouldered by her, but Lauren pushed himback. She grabbed the notepad from Jeremy's hand. She stared at the slideshowof pictures of her and Bobby Wayne when they'd gone to purchase his bed.Pictures of him on top of her. Her slipping off his cowboy hat like a woman slowly

unwrapping a treasured gift. Pictures of her lying underneath him with herfingers sliding into his hair, looking up into his face with all her love forhim pooling in her eyes. And him looking down at her with the same love in hiseyes. And his, sexy possessive smile as his fingers slipped into her hair. Thewhole world reduced to just him and her and the love they felt for eachother.Oh my god, she whispered, as she stared at the photo andreality sunk in. They were pictures taken from all angles, each one an eroticwork of art from a gifted photographer, not just a fluke fan picture takenfrom a phone and posted on one of their rabid fan websites. But more than thetalent and quality of the camera and the photographer who took them was thelook in Bobby Wayne's eyes. And hers.Looks filled with love and desire and genuine caring.

Do you know how many fuckin' phone calls I fielded in thelast three days? Jeremy snarled. How many newspapers and reporters called mewanting to know about your big reconciliation here?That's none of your fuckin' business. Bobby Wayne pushed againstLauren's shoulder.Bobby Wayne! She could handle this herself.And still he pushed against her. Get the hell outta here.Jeremy, please, just go, she begged, as her heart poundedin her chest.But he didn't. He stood toe to toe with her. You weresupposed to be tellin' this asshole goodbye, remember?Bobby Wayne stopped pushing against her and Lauren washelpless to stop the train wreck about to happen.

You said you were over him.I never said that!Bobby Wayne stood stiff behind her.Yes, you did.No, I didn't! And Lauren's heart was thundering around inher chest, pinging off her rib cage, plummeting through her stomach. Thiswasn't supposed to be happening! She wanted more time with Bobby Wayne. And privatetime with Jeremy to tell him things were over. Just go, please!We're supposed to be out on the road. You and me, babe.


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Together.Is that true, Lauren? Bobby Wayne tersely demanded.No! She told Bobby Wayne. I never said that, Jeremy. Itold you I wanted out. I left the tour. How much more did she have to do tomake her point any clearer?You and me, babe. We were goin' places.Is that true? Bobby Wayne demanded. His voice was a gruffgrowl near her ear.Lauren turned to Bobby Wayne. Please, she begged as tearsfilled her eyes. I can explain.What's to explain? I'm the asshole you wanted rid of. Andshe saw the hurt in his eyes.That's not true, Bobby Wayne. Lauren's heart was twistedinto a pain-filled knot in her chest.Is that why you came back? Gone was the soft glow of lovein his eyes, replaced with fury. Is that why you came back here? To be rid ofme?Why else? Jeremy taunted. It isn't like you cared abouther. It isn't like you came after her. You didn't want her and I do. And she'swith me now. In every way.Jeremy! Lauren spun around. Go! Now! She pushed at hischest.Is that true? Bobby Wayne grabbed her arm. Spun her around.He glared down at her. Were you fuckin' him and then fuckin' me?

Her head snapped back at his crude description of their love.Bobby Wayne, please.All that talk upstairs, that was just bullshit?No. No! Tears sprang into her eyes. I loveThat's right, asshole, Jeremy talked over her. She's backon the road as soon as she unloads you and this little humble abodeJeremy! Go! she pointed a finger toward the door.Hey! I'm just sayin' what he needs to hear. What youshould have been tellin' him instead of fuGo! she yelled, giving him one hard push. Thetinniest bit of weight lifted from her chest when he marched out the frontdoor.It was short lived.

Bobby Wayne spun her around. You're goin' back out on theroad? he demanded as soon as the door slammed shut.No.You're with him? His questions were rapid fire. He's yourman?No. No!You were though, weren't you? And she heard the accusationhis voice.Lauren fought the tears. Yes, she fired back, needing tohurt him like he was hurting her. Yes, I slept with Jeremy, but I didn'tmarry him. Not like you did with Barbara Jean. And I surely didn't bring him toour house and sleep with him in our bedroom! God! That stillhurt.

But you did sleep with him.The air crackled with accusation. And hurt. And dreams beingcrushed, being ground to dust at their feet.Well? his voice rose. Did you? Did you? he yelled.Yes! And she was never more embarrassed and ashamed in herlife. And hurt. Devastated.His face turned to stone.We were divorced, she rushed on. You were remarried and II The words jammed up into her throat. She had been lonely. Broken-hearted,hurt beyond anything she could have ever imagined. The man she loved had moved


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on without a thought or care about her and she'd tried to do the same.His lips pressed into a thin, hard line and Lauren fought thefear she'd pushed beyond what she should have. Said more than she should have.And was going to lose more than she could bear.Bobby Wayne, please.I'm outta here. He pushed by her.Bobby Wayne! She grabbed his arm, but he shrugged her off.With quick strides he walked through the house to gather his keys. The click ofhis boot heels on the stone floor sounded a death knell for their future.Bobby Wayne, she cried out, running after him as he quicklygathered what he needed and headed toward the front door. Let me explain. It'snot like Jeremy said. II don't care, he shouted. He spun around. His face was amask of fury. I refuse to accept second-place anywhere. Especially here.You want out? You got it.I don't want out! she cried. She wanted Bobby Wayne andwhat they had here. This second chance at love.Don't do this! Please. Her heart was breaking.Tears were flooding her eyes. The darkness of despair was encroaching on hervision, threatening to smother her.Do whatever you want with the place. I no longer care, hetold her before walking out the front door, slamming it in his wake.Bobby Wayne, please! Lauren cried out as she opened thedoor, running after him. Please! she cried out.

But he was in his car. The engine revving. Crushed seashellsspewing out from the back tires as he spun around and down the drive out ofsight.He was gone.And this time she was the one left behind with a heart brokenbeyond repair.

Chapter 10

Jeremy Altmeyer was an arrogant asshole. A pompous prickwho'd hijacked a ride on Lauren's rising star. Who the hell did he think hewas? Coming into Bobby Wayne's house, pissing all over Bobby Wayne's hopes and dreams?Lauren was his, dammit! His.But she wasn't. Not really.And certainly not after the way he'd stupidly walked away fromher.It appeared Jeremy Altmeyer wasn't the only pompousprick.

Bobby Wayne paced the confines of his motor coach. Stabbedhis fingers into his hair. He had no claim on Lauren, not after their divorce.If she wanted to have a relationship with the asshole prick, there was no ring,no vows to stop her. And it wasn't like Bobby Wayne had holed up, hopelesslypining away for her after their divorce.She'd passed on all the offers from the roadies and groupies,and she was a beautiful, sexy superstar; there would have been a lot of men.But Jeremy the asshole Altmeyer was the one she'd chosen.Well, that just bit. Hard.Her sleeping with every man who'd come onto her in every town


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she stopped in would have been easier to take. Bobby Wayne could understandthat. After all, it was what he'd done.Shit. That bit, too. Right in his conscience.He had no right to judge her. And certainly no damn right tohave walked away from her without letting her explain. Even more, he had noright to even think she owed him any explanation. She didn't.He'd blown it. He'd taken what they'd had and just drove it intothe wall. Shit. You're a fuckin' asshole, he muttered for only about thehundredth time.There was a knock on the motor coach's door.What? he growled.Steve LeClaire, Bobby Wayne's crew chief pushed his way inside.Looked at Bobby Wayne and frowned. Why aren't you in the garage?I've got some things on my mind.There shouldn't be anything on your mind, but gettin'back in the car and winnin'. And while Steve lectured him, Bobby Wayne's mindwandered right back to the problem at hand.Sadistic had begrudgingly okayed him to drive yesterday. Ithad been more like, your tests say you're okay, but in my opinion, you're anidiot. And if you don't care if you live or die, why should I?Bobby Wayne's greatest fear was gone. He could race again.And when he should be submerging himself into the sport,burying himself in everything going on around the garage, immersing himselfwith the media and his sponsors, he was sitting in his coach. Thinking about

Lauren and the mess he'd made of things. He hadn't even called Toby, hissubstitute driver, to inform him he wouldn't be driving in next week's race.Maybe he really was the dumb jock who could only makeleft-hand turns like Asshole Altmeyer thought he was. But Bobby Wayne knewbetter.His mind, which had lived and breathed racing since he'd beensix-years old, was no longer in it.And his heart, well it was with a headstrong,

Beyond the Checkered Flagby J.D. Wylde

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Transcript of Beyond the Checkered Flagby J.D. Wylde