Chapter 24

 

Harry started test-driving for Team Delaney near the end of his final year of correspondence school. The stock cars’ power made up for the kart races he left behind, and he expected to earn a spot racing when a seat opened up.

He and Tracey had been a couple for nearly three years, their future unspoken but understood. While he saved for a diamond, she started a science degree at UCLA. Maybe distance learning had spoiled him, but Harry couldn’t understand leaving what you loved to go to school. She was smart though, and he wanted her to be happy.

At least they’d be together for the holidays. Mrs. Brooks and her children lived with Tracey’s grandfather now. And by the time Tracey graduated Harry would be well enough established at Team Delaney for them to get married.

Four years. They stretched ahead into forever. Here and now, driving the test car while she was gone, he felt like a lost soul. Her emails showed she felt the same.

December came at last. Harry knew Tracey’s exam schedule and her flight arrival time without having to check the calendar. He took the day off work and roamed the apartment, waiting. When Mrs. Brooks insisted on meeting Tracey’s plane, he’d declined the invitation to accompany her. He could wait until after the family reunion for a more intimate one.

Harry watched the blue Monte Carlo pull into visitor parking. Tracey stepped out, her blond hair catching the sunlight. He finger-combed his bangs off his forehead and hurried to open the apartment door. The elevator was slow, but she always took the stairs.

Her smile made his heart flip. Her hair swung loose over her shoulders, and she wore a cherry-coloured jacket. She ran into his arms, and they clung together in a long kiss. Harry turned them slowly around and closed the door with one foot.

“Tracey, I’ve missed you so much.”

His mouth found hers again, his pulse drumming in his ears. He loosened his hold long enough to help her wriggle out of her jacket, then drew her to his chest. One hand worked its way under her sweater and fumbled with the fastener on her bra.

Tracey stiffened in his arms and stepped back, her eyes troubled.

He winked. “Dad’s not home for a few more hours. Let me give you a proper welcome.”

She pulled back her hair and let it fall. “Remember, I said I had news?”

“News can wait.” He grinned and reached for her again.

“Harry... Now isn’t a good time.” She caressed his shoulders, easing her words with a smile.

Typical. He shrugged. “Timing’s everything. Well, if we can’t have it all, we can still have a little.” He took her hand and drew her toward his bedroom. “Come on.”

Her soft mouth tightened. “It’s not that. I think... maybe we should start saving ourselves for marriage.”

He stared at her. “Trace, you know I can’t marry you yet. Test drivers don’t make that much, and what about your degree?” He grinned. “Besides, your mother would have a cow.”

“I’m not proposing, silly. It’s just... can we sit down? I need to tell you something.”

Her eyes sparkled, but her voice only went breathy that way when she was nervous. Harry sat beside her on the couch. Uneasiness slithered in his stomach.

Tracey clasped her hands in her lap and gave him a crooked smile, as if she was starting a rehearsed speech. “I’ve made some great friends on campus this year.”

“You want to break up with me.” His voice cut hers, harsh and flat.

“I love you.” She took his face in her hands. “Being away from you nearly killed me. It’s just—I’ve spent a lot of time talking with some of my friends, and—well—I’ve become a Christian.”

Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out. His tongue, his voice, his very soul froze solid.

“My life has changed, but it doesn’t change us. My friends—they said I should break it off—that I couldn’t marry an unbeliever—but they don’t know you. I couldn’t live without you.” She blinked and her dark lashes sparkled with tears. “Harry, say something. Be happy for me...”

Her words buzzed in Harry’s ears. He heard a smack, saw again his parents’ stricken tableau from his youth. Felt his father’s primal rage. No confusion this time, no sympathy. No shame for the crying woman. He was the wounded one here, the one betrayed.

He leaped to his feet, hands clenching and opening as the living room snapped back into focus. I am not my father. He grabbed a vase of red roses and hurled it against the wall.

“Tracey, I can’t—Get out!”

“I don’t understand.” Her face went white.

She looked so hurt, so lost, but he didn’t dare comfort her. The need to strike back burned stronger. “Go. Now!” The words seared his throat.

She stood, crying as if it was her world blown apart. Ha. The pain and fear on her face were nothing to the black hole where his heart used to be.

He grabbed a candy dish from the table. “Now.”

Tracey bolted, snatching her coat and fumbling with the doorknob. After the apartment door slammed behind her, the candy dish thudded to the carpet at his side, chocolates rolling everywhere.

Harry hunched on the couch, staring at nothing, remembering her last glance. He loved her, and he’d broken her heart.

But she’d broken his first with her choice. Jesus or Harry, it couldn’t be both.

Finally he pushed upright, and with arthritic slowness picked up the shards of glass from the vase. He’d bought the roses to welcome Tracey, and now she was gone.

As he tossed the broken flowers and vase fragments into the kitchen garbage, something stung his palm. A single drop of blood welled when he pulled out a sliver of glass.

His chest ached at the thought of life without her. She’d filled his dreams, given him life. If he hadn’t been spooked—okay, terrified—by his sudden, visceral fury, maybe he could have talked her out of it.

A dry sob shook him. He’d never been so angry.

Swearing, he flung himself face down on the couch. If he had hit her, she’d never stay the way his mom had. Tracey was her mother’s daughter, independent and full of fire. He pushed his face into the upholstery and screamed himself hoarse. How could she do this to him?

He’d never told her about his mother’s faith—or the abuse that came with it. He tried not to think about it. Besides, Tracey liked his father. He didn’t want to change that.

They’d talked, dreamed, planned, made out... faith wasn’t a topic that came up. He should have said something in the beginning—should have warned her Christianity wasn’t an option around him. But he hadn’t known he’d react this way. How could he live without her?

A key scraped in the lock. Harry scrambled to a sitting position, scrubbed the damp from his cheeks. How long had he lain here? He should have gone to his room. He wasn’t ready to face his father, or anyone.

The door opened and Matt walked in, whistling. He flicked on the lights, hung his jacket in the closet and tossed his cap onto a peg by the door. His eyes met Harry’s and the whistle died on his lips.

“Why are you sitting here in the dark?” He dropped into the chair beside the couch and studied his grease-stained fingernails. “Tracey get in all right?”

Harry nodded, blinking in the light.

“You two have a fight?”

“Don’t ask.” Harry shuffled his feet against the carpet. The man could go days without saying ten words. Why’d he pick tonight to be chatty? Harry’s pain was too new, his grief too raw to share.

Matt stood. “Give it time, son.”

Harry channel surfed while his father ate supper. Matt brought his coffee into the living room and settled in his chair. Harry tensed, but his father disappeared behind the daily paper.

The telephone rang. Harry didn’t move.

On the third ring Matt grunted, laid down his paper, and moved to answer. “Hello?” He covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Tracey. Says she needs to talk to you.”

“No.”

Matt studied his son for a moment. “She’s a nice girl. The sort that’s worth a second chance.”

“She’s a Christian now.” The words came out low and defeated.

Matt’s eyes locked with his son’s and his face twisted. He hung up the phone, and squeezed Harry’s shoulder before turning away. “It’s better now than later.”

The door shut quietly but firmly behind him as he went out.

Despite his tossing and turning, Harry was asleep long before his father returned. Neither mentioned Tracey in the morning.

For the first time, Harry dreaded climbing into the test car. His eyes felt swollen and scratchy, and a dull pain throbbed at the base of his skull. He’d slept, but his dreams had given him no rest. Tracey had shattered part of his future. Would their break-up cost him this dream too?

He put in a mediocre round of pit drills. The car didn’t feel right, he overshot his stop marks, the brakes were soft. He was the problem. The magic had gone, as if he’d already detached from this love as well.

As he pulled off his helmet and shook his hair free, his thoughts probed the hole in his heart where Tracey had been. At least concentrating on driving had given him a few hours respite from the pain. His steps dragged as he headed for the locker room.

“Yo, Harry.”

The race engineer waved a piece of paper at him. “Been staring at computer readouts too long. I almost forgot. The boss called earlier. He wants to see you before you go.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

So this was how it felt to lose it all. He was empty. Dead inside. Resigning himself to the inevitable, Harry changed into his street clothes and headed for the office.

Aaron Delaney looked up from the racing reviews he was studying. “Ah, Harry. Come in. I wondered if you got my message. Pull up a chair.” His eyes were watchful behind his smile.

Harry’s lungs strained against a sudden, icy band around his chest. He shook his head.

“I’ve been sitting all day.” He stood behind the nearest chair, his hands gripping the smooth wood of its back.

“It looked like you were having a hard time out there this morning. Any improvement yet?”

“No.” His voice creaked. He had to get this over with. “If you want me to leave, sir, I—”

“Harry.”

His gaze faltered under his employer’s appraising stare.

“Everyone has a bad day now and then. I’m not concerned about it. Especially as I suspect it has something to do with what happened between you and my granddaughter.”

Harry stiffened. How much did the old man know?

Delaney got up from his chair and circled the desk. “Your personal life is none of my business. Racing is my business.” He grasped Harry’s shoulder. “You are a professional, and we have an agreement. I’m not prepared to release you from the team over this.”

Harry searched the older man’s eyes. His knees unlocked and he almost collapsed. He swallowed a few times before he could trust his voice. “Thank you, sir.”

If he’d laid a hand on his boss’s granddaughter though... Harry’s stomach dropped. Time to cut his losses. Forget his nebulous hope of making Tracey see it his way. If he snapped... He could live with a broken heart. He couldn’t live without racing.

Delaney’s grip tightened on Harry’s shoulder. “The pain will ease. I’m sorry—for both of you.” He stepped back. “I expect to see a much better performance tomorrow.”

Harry nodded and turned toward the door.

Delaney coughed. “Wayne was in to see me today.”

One of Team Delaney’s stock car drivers. Harry stopped and looked back.

“He hasn’t been on pace since his accident. I was giving him time, but he wants out.” Delaney locked Harry’s gaze. “Get your focus back, log as much practice time as you can, and the seat is yours.”