“Can you stop?” Tate demanded as Noah tapped out a beat to a song using his hands atop her metal tool chest.
“Sorry. Is there anything I can do?” She could hear the boredom in his voice and that was partly her fault. He had asked to help, but she trusted very few people with her customer’s vehicles. She also didn’t understand why he wanted to spend his free time in her shop. Glancing around the shop, she noted two cars that he figured he could help with.
“How are you with oil changes?” she asked and when he smiled, Tate almost found herself swooning. Almost. She really needed to remind herself that he was the reason she lived in Carson. He was the reason her world had fallen apart. Except when he smiled at her, she forgot that she needed to hate him.
“I’ve done my fair share.”
“Great. The red truck and the black sedan are both scheduled for oil changes. You can use bay four. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a salute. She really shouldn’t have laughed, but he seemed excited to be doing anything besides following her around like a lost puppy.
She went back to work installing a new transmission in a restored Camaro for Everleigh’s mother – a surprise retirement gift for her husband. Despite Noah moving to the other side of the garage, she found herself humming the beat of the popular rock song he had been playing with his hands.
Tate was in the middle of lowering the transmission into place when the clattering of metal against concrete sounded throughout the garage, quickly followed by colorful words from Noah. She quickly locked the lowering chain into place and rushed around the car to find Noah hovering over tools scattered on the floor. The small, handheld toolbox was flipped onto its side, and its contents emptied out.
She could tell Noah seemed embarrassed by the redness in his cheeks, so wordlessly, she bent down and helped him pick up the tools. That was when she noticed his hands were red and he struggled to grip the tools' necks. His movements were jerky and tense, a far cry from the laidback man from earlier.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she said, trying to alleviate his stress.
Instead of calming him down, she seemed to only rile him up more. As Tate grabbed the last wrench and tossed it into the box, she glanced up to find Noah looking everywhere but at her.
“I need to go,” he said. His words were clipped and Tate thought he sounded angry, though she couldn’t be sure what he had to be angry about.
“Okay, but Noah, it’s fine. We knock over tools all the time.”
Ignoring her, Noah stomped away and right through the exit doors, leaving her confused and a bit pissed off. Now she was going to have to stop what she was doing and finish up these oil changes so that they’d be ready for pick up during lunch.
“Everything good?” Beau asked as he passed by.
“Yeah. I’m going to finish these up. Noah had to leave.”
Beau stopped and turned to face her. She could see what he was silently asking, was she okay; did he need to interfere. Tate shook her head. She was smart and could handle this on her own. It had been twelve years since her parent’s death, and though it wasn’t directly Noah’s fault, she had pinned the blame on him anyway.
The rest of the day continued as if Noah hadn’t been there at all. She had lost herself working on the Camaro until she heard a deep voice from behind her.
“Are you sure you’re doing that right?”
“Are you serious right now?” Tate accused as she glanced over her shoulder to find Noah standing with his hands in his pockets, leaning against one of the lift posts. Even though he clearly wanted to annoy her, she couldn’t deny how good he looked standing here. She was starstruck for a moment and almost forgot where she was. Tate felt like the silly thirteen-year-old begging her favorite driver for an autograph. But she needed to remember what happened the last time she gave into her heart’s desire; it was crushed until nothing else remained.
“I was just asking a question.”
“No, you were accusing me of not knowing what I’m doing. This isn’t my first restoration job, Noah. I’ve done my fair share, which is why the people in town bring their cars to me and not to one of the fancy places in Asheville. Now, if you don’t mind, I have actual work to do and I’d prefer to do it without a racecar driver that has no mechanical background looking over my shoulder.”
“What crawled up your ass and died?” he countered as he took a step closer and then another until he was about a foot away.
“You did, Noah Langley. Only you.”
He leaned toward her and Tate reflexively took a step back, except she didn’t have far to go as she was pinned against the Camaro. Her eyes widened in surprise as he brought his face close to hers and she was certain he wasn’t going to kiss her, though Tate secretly hoped that he would. He kept moving until his lips brushed the outside of her ear.
“You’d know if I’d been up your ass, sweetheart. Or any other tight spaces.”
Tate shuttered a breath as he pulled back, the scruff on his chin rubbing against the lobe of her ear. Before she had a chance to respond, he stepped away and moved toward the exit, leaving her confused and wishing that she had reached out and taken what she wanted – to feel him in all her tight spaces.
“Damn him,” she murmured as she tossed the rag looped through her coveralls onto the floor.
Air. She needed fresh air. And since the apartment upstairs was occupied, she didn’t have very many other places to go.
“I’m taking a break!” she shouted, earning grunts as responses from Hugh and Beau.
Kicking off her coveralls, Tate walked out of the garage, not sparing the apartment above a backward glance. She walked right over to her truck, hopped inside, and rolled down the windows before setting off down the street. If there was one place to cool off on a summer’s day, it was the lake, and Tate always kept a bathing suit nearby for occasions just like this one.
Tate drove to the secluded area of the lake that only locals knew about. A small bathhouse for changing that Austin Connelly, Brooks’ brother-in-law, built for the town. Tate quickly swapped out her clothes for her simple one-piece bathing suit and made her way out to the lake. There were a few people out enjoying the weather and a couple of people around her age playing a rough game of chicken. Tate just wanted to lay back in the water and soak up the sun.
She dipped her toes in the water, surprised at how chilled the water remained, then heard the rumble of a car in the distance. The crowd on the small beach and Tate all turned their heads as a bright blue muscle car parked in the lot. She wanted to pound her fist in the air as a familiar frame extracted himself from the car, quickly followed by a girlish giggle. Tate didn’t even want to think about Chad knowing about this secret haven for the townspeople, but she had to guess Tiffany was more than willing to give away the secret to impress whoever caught her fancy.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Miss Tate Mitchell. Good to see that you don’t spend all your time with your head under the hood. Hate to see that pretty face all mussed up with grease.”
“What are you doing here, Chad?” she said, crossing her arms against her chest. She wasn’t ashamed of her body; she just didn’t like the way Chad ogled her.
“Pretty sure the lake is public property.”
“Yeah, for Carson residents.”
“Maybe I’m looking to move here.”
“And why would you do that? Carson is a small quiet town. We don’t need your kind here.”
“Oh yeah? And what kind is that?”
Defiantly Tate answered, “Asshole. We don’t need any assholes.”
Standing to the side, Tiffany gasped and Tate rolled her eyes, causing her to miss Chad taking a menacing step forward.
“Look here you, bi-” he started, but from behind him, another voice called out, “Tate!”
“Great, now we have two assholes in our town.”
Chad looked pissed as he turned to look at the new arrival, but when he recognized Noah, his expression did a one-eighty.
“Hey, wow. I’m a big fan.”
Noah held out his hand in greeting and Tate zoomed in on the redness around his knuckles. Strange.
“Noah Langley.”
“Chad Bishop. I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve been following your career forever, man.”
“How do you know Tate?” he asked as if she wasn’t standing right there. She noticed that Tiffany had moved off and was already laying out to sunbathe.
“Oh, Tate and I go way back. She’s been trying to get into the racing scene, but, man, you know how it is. Girls just can’t compete.”
“I could compete if you would stop sabotaging me!” she yelled.
“Oh, Tate. Is that what you think?” Chad said condescendingly and Tate wanted nothing more than to cock her arm back launch her fist into Chad’s cleft chin.
“I know that you’re doing it. It’s because I’m better than all of you.”
“Don’t fool yourself, girl.”
Tate was seething and her skin itched as the anger boiled in her veins. Chad started to laugh as she stood there stuttering because the words jumbled in her mouth.
“Do your sponsors know that you treat your competitors like this?”
“What?” Chad asked in dismay at Noah’s question.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t be too pleased to know how you just acted and sabotaging another driver can suspend you from the sport. I’m sure that you don’t want to be a part of that investigation.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Well, it’s your word against hers. And by the threats that I overheard, I’d most likely have to side with Tate on this one.”
“Just go, Chad,” Tate said, finally able to speak up, embarrassed that Noah was fighting her fight.
“You better watch yourself,” he said, storming away, leaving Tiffany to jump up from her beach towel and scurry after him.
Turning to face Noah, Tate exclaimed, “Why did you do that? Now he’s just going to make it worse.”
“Woah! I was trying to help.” Noah replied with his hands up in surrender.
“Just. . .don’t.”
She turned to gaze longingly at the lake but knew her chance for relaxation had fizzled out.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“Would you believe me if I said that I got lost?”
“No.” Tate bent down to gather her few belongings before trudging back to the changing room, slamming the door in Noah’s face.
Unfortunately, he was still waiting outside when she exited in her customary tank and cutoffs.
“Well, if you’d like to know. I came down to the garage to apologize. Your friend Hugh told me where you were and dropped me off on his way to lunch. And now here I am.”
“Yes, here you are. My knight in cargo shorts,” she added sarcastically as she stepped past him to head to the parking area.
“So, you never mentioned you were a racer,” Noah said as he jogged up to her.
“A racer is someone that gets to actually race their vehicle. Every time I enter, something mysteriously goes wrong with my car.”
“Ah, yes, the sabotage. But I’ll have you know that driving a car fast doesn’t make you a racer. It’s in your blood.”
“Says the man with multiple championships under your belt.”
“Do you have any sponsors?”
“Right,” she laughed sardonically. “Like anyone would sponsor a female driver that never seems to be able to finish a race. I pay for everything, Noah.”
“Wow, I’m. . .”
“Not surprised?” she added as she opened the squeaky door to the truck.
“No, impressed.” The comment took Tate by surprise and she found herself staring at Noah, waiting for him to add an insult or something to take her down a peg, but he simply returned her gaze.
“I. . .ugh. . .suppose you want a ride?”
“That would be nice, but I can walk if you’d rather be alone.”
“It’s fine.” Reaching across the seat, Tate unlocked the old manual bolt as Noah reached for the door handle.
“So, Noah. Want to tell me what’s going on with your hands?”
***
Noah thought that he had been in the clear without Brooks around. He should have known that she’d be the first to pick up on the redness and swelling of his joints. Of course, dropping the tool box earlier and being unable to grab the tools to place them back inside had probably been what tipped her off.
Noah knew that he had two choices. He could either lie his way out of it and blame the redness on an injury from the wreck. Or he could tell her the truth. Both seemed equally as scary.
“I kind of got some bad news. It’s why I’m here to begin with.”
“Oh. I heard about the bad accident. Did your hand get injured?”
He laughed irreverently. “No. I wish that was what had happened.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Taking a deep breath, he weighed his options but figured, at worst, he’d never see Tate again after these couple of weeks and then that would be that. At best, she would offer some sympathy. It was the pity that he was afraid of.
“I wrecked the car, not because of an issue, but because I lost the grip of the wheel, which caused me to lose control of the car.”
“Oh my gosh, what caused it?”
“I learned that I have rheumatoid arthritis.”
“Doesn’t that affect. . .”
“The joints? Yep. A great diagnosis for a race car driver, huh?”
“I mean. I’m sure there are things that you can do to manage it, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m not at that stage yet. We’re trying to figure out the triggers and symptoms.”
“Wow. What did your family say?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Noah turned his face toward the window, staring at the landscape. “They. . .ugh. . .don’t know.”
“Then how come-”
“I suffered a third concussion in the wreck, so I’m on medical leave until the race in two weeks.”
“Noah,” she said and he cringed as he waited for her to feel sorry for him. The silence grew until he turned to look over at her as she drove back to the garage.
“You don’t want to tell me that you’re sorry and that things will get better and that I’ll figure it out?”
“No offense, but I figured that you don’t want to hear any of those things. And truthfully, I assumed that since you were hiding your diagnosis that you haven’t quite figured out what you plan to do.”
“Huh,” he huffed, wondering how she knew exactly what he had difficulty expressing.
“Am I right?”
“Yeah. I just don’t know what to do,” he explained as he ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his hand lessened with each second. “I have no talents, no hobbies, no skills. I’ve been racing since I was three and could reach the pedals on the battery-powered plastic car.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. What do you do when you have free time?”
“Free time? What the hell is that? The racing schedule and the team dictate my life. The last time I did anything for myself was when I was ten and collected Hot Wheels.”
Tate turned the truck into the garage parking lot and she cut the engine before turning to face him. “That’s sad, Noah. What are you passionate about?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been given a chance to figure that out.”
“That makes me sad for you.”
“I don’t want your sympathy, Tate. I can manage.”
“Well, what if I want to give you my sympathy anyway? What if I feel sorry that you’ve been forced into a life that you apparently have zero passion about?”
“Wow. For someone that was forced to work in a garage because that was the only option you had, you seem all high and mighty about choosing something to do with my life.”
Noah instantly felt awful about what he said, but he had seen red. She was accusing him of falling in line because it was easy and handed to him. But she had done the same thing. They were no different other than he had a bunk hand.
“Get out,” she seethed as she yanked the keys from the ignition and shoved the door open.
“Tate. . .I. . .”
“Just go, Noah.”
He dove out of the truck and rushed over to her side. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew he didn’t want her to push him away. Something he was confident she did with everyone. He knew that he kept going back and forth with her, but something in him loved to rile her up. Usually, he was so even-keeled with women. Most loved him for that. But with Tate, she lit something inside him that he just couldn’t seem to temper.
He wanted to apologize, but he could see in the stern expression on her face that his apology was the last thing she wanted to hear. Why did he have to be so stubborn and difficult? It was like he wanted everyone to feel as depressed over their life situations as he was. And it was all because he didn’t know how to deal with the cards he had been handed.
“Tate. . .”
“Can you move back, please? I have to do this thing called work. At a job that I actually enjoy. Maybe if you took the time to realize it, you’d notice that I like working with my hands and getting dirty.”
“I know that. I was just angry.”
“Well, you seem to be like that a lot. And frankly, I’m tired of it. You’ve really worn out your welcome. So, please, just go kill time annoying someone else. I’ll let you know when I have a parts estimate for you and tentative finish date. Oh, and you can be certain that I will be putting your car at the top of my list from now on.”
Tate jerked the door open, knocking Noah out of the way and slammed the door shut before making her way to the garage. He knew better than to follow her, especially when Beau glanced over at him with an irate expression.
He was really talented at messing things up with Tate. If only he could make that his career choice. At this point, he still hadn’t figured out how to tell his father about the arthritis. Noah figured it wouldn’t be too long after that conversation that the press would get a hold of that information.
What was he doing? Noah thought as he ran his fingers through his hair and climbed the stairs up to the apartment.
He had no friends to help him figure things out. The ones on the racing circuit usually just wanted something from him and Noah had lost contact with the guys he grew up with. Even though he was certain that the outcome would be the same. The problem for him was that he did it all to himself. He was the reason people expected things from him or that he had alienated himself. Pretty much, it boiled down to the fact that he was a selfish bastard.
In the apartment, Noah threw together a cheap can of tuna fish and mayonnaise for a sandwich. It wasn’t nearly as delectable as the one from the store he had shared with Tate the night before, but it would do. Was it barely a day since he and Tate had called a truce over sandwiches at the very tiny table he found himself sitting at? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Something about Tate felt like he had known her for years, not merely days.
“Come on, Noah. How can you fix this?” He knew there was no reason to have her mad at him. With his luck, she’d fix his car then charge him an arm and a leg in labor costs. Just thinking about her finishing up his car had Noah realizing that he may actually miss her and this town. He knew he’d miss Brooks. They never saw each other enough.
The phone in his pocket rang and Noah answered it blindly, something he never did.
“Hello?”
“Noah Langley. It’s been too long.”
He immediately knew the voice on the other end. The nasal pitch reminded him of nails scratching down a chalkboard, and it had the same effect on him.
Cringing, Noah asked angrily, “How the hell did you get this number?” He had changed it when she continued to call and text after their hookup.
“Oh, don’t be silly. All I had to do was import Caleb’s contact list into my phone. It was very simple.”
Stalker much?
“How does your husband feel about that?”
“Soon to be ex-husband,” she made sure to point out.
“Jessica, I don’t have time for your games. Please don’t call this number again.”
“Oh, but I think you do. You see, I have word that you’re suffering from a medical injury that is requiring your break. And it would be a shame if it got out to the press.”
Thoughts spiraled through Noah’s head. Was it the concussion or the arthritis? And how the hell did she find out about either one? Privacy laws should have kept that information from being shared.
“Jessica, I don’t know what kind of information you think you’ve got but. . .”
“I’m assuming dear-old daddy won’t be too thrilled to learn that his prodigal son may not be able to continue racing.”
Seething, Noah clenched his teeth as he asked, “What is it you want?”
“Throw your races the rest of the year. You see, I can’t outright ask you for money. There would be a paper trail. But see, if you lose all the races for the rest of the season, Caleb, the best racer next to you, wins those. Which means more money in the bank.”
Then it all clicked into place. She was extorting him for Caleb to win the race money so that she could benefit during the divorce proceeding.
What he needed to do, though was to figure out what information she had.
“I will take your silence as acceptance, Noah. And if you so much as win a single race, I’m sharing your secret with everyone.”
Jessica didn’t wait for a second longer to end the call, probably to make sure that Noah couldn’t persuade her to change her mind.
As if he wasn’t already stressed out over the arthritis or the concussion, adding blackmail onto the list was just what he needed.