He had no idea if the staff was aware of Burt’s plans to sell, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the bearer of bad news. Some of the people who worked here—Gus included—had been with the track since Tommy started riding. The older security guard was probably close to retirement age, but he loved the track, loved to watch the younger guys race, and if Burt weren’t selling, he’d probably stay until he wasn’t physically able to do the job anymore. And then he’d switch to being a fan, camping out each year during the championship race in July.
Yeah, Tommy definitely wasn’t going to be the one to break this guy’s heart.
After a few more minutes of small talk, Gus patted the side of Tommy’s truck and backed up a couple of steps so that he could inch the vehicle forward and drive onto the grounds of the racetrack.
The memories flooded his mind like the foreboding rain that had almost ruined the race.
He knew damn well the sketchy weather had messed with a bunch of the other racers’ heads. But not him. He grew up in this state with its volatile weather. He understood Mother Nature was a fickle woman. But she apparently loved her racing, because she’s opened up the skies and let the sun out, and everybody had breathed a sigh of relief moments before go time.
To be honest, the weather likely helped him secure that win. The young upstart who had been riding his heels since May was from sunny, perfect California. He wasn’t used to excessive rain, and he’d been visibly shaken by the dark, ominous clouds that had hovered for those few precious hours that morning.
They’d been qualifying since Thursday, and it was the last day of the competition, the final run. It could have gone either way.
And Mother Nature had blessed Tommy with a win.
The fact that he’d relied on the weather to give him that extra boost was yet another in a long line of signs telling him it was time to figure out his next phase in life.
Maybe this was another one. Maybe he needed to look at the closing of Rogers Racetrack as a positive indicator instead of a depressing destruction of his childhood dreams.
But what the hell was he supposed to do with his life? Christ, he was only thirty. Whether he had enough money socked away to live comfortably was beside the fact; he couldn’t sit around and do nothing for the next sixty or seventy years. Problem was, he knew nothing but racing. He had no other marketable skills.
A hand slid along the back of his T-shirt, and he glanced at Camila, who was watching him get lost in his own thoughts.
“I keep asking if you’re okay,” she said, “and you aren’t answering me. Which leads me to believe you aren’t.”
He shook off her sympathy and followed the winding dirt road until the track came into view. He didn’t need her feeling sorry for him, no matter how much her touch calmed him, soothed him, and yet at the same time made him think of satin sheets and silky thighs.
Her silky thighs.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled while staring straight ahead. “Just trying to wrap my head around it, that’s all.”
Massive oak trees stood in clusters around the track, their branches stretching out over the grass and dirt, providing much-appreciated shade for fans who came to watch the races in the height of summer. Redbud trees were mixed in with the majestic oaks, drenching the scenery in vibrant purple during the spring.
“Being here is a totally different experience when there isn’t a race going on,” he noted as he killed the engine and climbed out of the truck.
Camila met him in front of the bumper. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yep. It sure is.”
She surprised him by wrapping her arm around his and leaning into him. He could smell jasmine and something else that he was pretty sure was specifically Camila. Like everything else about her, it was both soothing and attractive.
“So this is where it all began, huh?” she asked.
“Technically, it all began at the BMX track near my parents’ home. But I quickly outgrew that, and my dad loved motocross, so the summer after I turned five, he brought me here for my first race.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I won.”
“Wow.” She sounded genuinely impressed.
He shrugged. “Pretty much cemented my future.”
They stepped onto the track, and he led her to the grandstand. He stood in front of it, recalling his most recent victory lap at this track. His parents and his brothers had been up there, cheering and waving frantically, as proud as any one family could be.
“It’s a week-long event, the race that just wrapped up here. The racers get here on Monday. Set up our campers over there.” He pointed at a barren field in the distance. “Fans start arriving on Wednesday. Camp out all weekend. They love it. We love it.”
In his head he saw rows and rows of campers, heard the music and laughter, smelled the campfires. And over it all, the sound of revving engines, the cheers of the crowd, and the announcer, warning them that the next race was about to begin.
Or announcing the winner.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Tommy Bryant does it again!”
Yeah, it had felt damn good, every single time.
“Sounds like fun,” Camila said.
He glanced down at her, standing by his side, shading her eyes and scanning the track. Could she see it? Did she really get it? He wished he could show her.
“Maybe you can come watch me race sometime. Weekend after next, I’ll be in Minnesota.”
Her smile held a tinge of sadness. “I’m sure I’ll have to work.”
“You could ask for the time off.”
“How about we focus on the here and now?”
