A part of me thinks it’s a bad idea, that I could use a little alone time, away from Mack. But a bigger part of me feels excitement. I’m thrilled at the possibility of heading to a racetrack, in the garage area, and seeing what all has changed since my time there when I was a girl. I also remember how important the team is, the comradery and downtime spent together. That’s probably why I end up saying, “Sounds good.”
Good idea?
Probably not.
But there’s no going back now.
Chapter Six
Mack
“There he is!” Chief hollers as he mans the grill, flipping whatever meat he’s cooking.
“Is that little Cruz?” Jones asks, setting his beer down on the table and heading our way.
“Yeah, this is him, but keep your dirty hands back,” I tease my friend.
“Yeah, get back, Jones,” Fish yells as he gets up from his chair. “The best friend gets to see him first.”
“No fair, you’ve already met him,” Jones fake-whines, sticking out his bottom lip for good measure.
Fish is already shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I got pissed on that first night. That makes me important.”
“That’s complete bull—” Jones retorts, but stops mid-sentence. I realize instantly what made him stop. No, not what made him stop, but who. “Well, hello, pretty lady,” he says, his voice all sugary sweet.
Before I can even reply, Fish smacks him on the back of the head. “Ain’t gonna happen.” Then, he takes the carrier to the table, unbuckles the harness, and removes my son from his restraints. “Everyone, this is baby Cruz. We’re going to teach him everything we know about racing.”
My team all crowds around the infant, and part of me wants to balk at how close they all are, but the guys are all pretty cool. They each take a turn checking him out and saying something to the little man before stepping aside and letting the next one get a better look. When Coop is the last one, he takes Oliver from my best friend’s arms and cradles him to his chest as if it were the most natural thing on earth. I guess, for him, a proud father of two, it is. I have a lot I could learn from my crew chief, and this time, I’m not talking about racing.
I place my hand on Lena’s lower back and escort her to the thick of the group. “Everyone, this is Lena, my friend from Brenton. Lena, this is…everyone.”
“Hey,” they all holler in some form or another as Fish jumps up and motions for her to take his seat. “Here, darlin’, take this one.”
“Oh, I’m okay to stand,” she tries to say, but I already know Fish won’t allow it. He has more manners than any man I’ve ever known.
“I insist.”
Lena glances my way but slowly starts to head toward Fish. “If you’re sure.”
“Oh, I’m definitely sure,” he replies with a wink. “Can I get ya a beer?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Budweiser?” The moment the request is out of her mouth, a round of whistles erupts from the crew.
“Damn, Cruz, seriously? Budweiser?” Chief asks, obviously impressed with Lena’s preferred beer of choice.
“Will you marry me?” Cookie asks, dropping down to one knee in the dirt in front of her.
“No, she won’t marry you. Who wants to marry a guy named Cookie?” Pete asks from his chair directly across from Lena.
“I’m the Cookie Monster,” he roars before turning to Lena and adding, “If you know what I mean.”
“Dumbass, everyone knows what you mean,” I finally say, taking both offered Budweisers from Fish and heading over to where she sits.
“Stop being crude in the presence of a lady,” Fish adds, smacking Cookie on the back of the head.
“Dammit, man, stop that!” he hollers, rubbing where his skull hurts and drinking several gulps of brew.
“If you’ll all stop acting like children for five minutes, we can go over tomorrow’s schedule before dinner’s ready,” Coop says, coming to stand in the middle of the circle, my son still nestled against his chest.
“Want me to take him?”
“I’m good,” he replies before turning his attention to Lena. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Lena. Do you mind if we discuss a few things?”
She takes a big swig of her beer. “Mind? Are you kidding? I grew up listening to this shit, so don’t let my presence stop you from conducting business.”
“What do you mean?” Pete asks.
Lena shrugs as she replies, “My dad was a crew chief.”
Now she has everyone’s attention. “Who’s your dad?” Chief asks.
“Jim Stanley.”
The entire area is quiet as the group just gawks back at her. “Jim Stanley’s your pop? You’re shitting me, right?” Jones asks.
She shakes her head in reply.
“Holy shit, he’s a legend.” This from Pete, his eyes wide with shock and, like everyone else, eager for more information.
Lena lifts a shoulder. “He was okay.” She knows she’s playing off the footprint her dad left on the industry. She knows it, and they know it.
“Okay? He was one of the greatest in the business. I mean… Damn! Fuck it. I don’t care if you’re Mack’s girl or not. You drink Budweiser and your pop’s Jim Stanley. You have to marry me now.”
A few balls of napkins and even an empty beer can fly toward Cookie, who takes cover behind his arm. “All right, goofballs, let’s get this done. Grub’s almost ready,” Coop chimes in, pulling our attention back to where he stands in the center of our makeshift circle.
Our crew chief goes over tomorrow’s lineup of events, including when we need to be ready to go. Qualifying starts mid-morning, so we want to make sure we’re set long before I slide behind the wheel. No doubt my team will do
