Rager stopped walking and faced me. His eyes were grave and tense as his jaw flexed, the muscles coiling. “Your dad chooses to race.”
“And what do you think you’re going to choose when you’re fifty?”
His breath caught and the furrow of his brow told me this wasn’t necessarily an impulse decision like he made when he bought this motor home over the winter without asking me. Or the time he decided in late December we were remodeling our house. Cupping my cheeks, he forced me to look at him. “Darlin’,” he breathed, his words soft. “Everything I do is with you and our children in mind.”
But was it? Fear raked through me. Did Rager have any idea what running a sprint car team with the Outlaws meant?
“So why didn’t you say anything?”
He kept eye contact and dropped his hands from my face. He blinked quickly, his gaze falling to his hands. When his eyes returned, they were confused. “I wasn’t sure how to.”
“Rager.” I sighed, leaning into him. “What if this is too much for you?”
“It’s for us, and I don’t think it’s going to be too much. I’m not taking over. I’m just helping him out.”
I nodded, knowing he never intentionally wanted to hurt me. Hurting me was the last thing he wanted to do. I understood completely why he had reservations for not telling me. Here was a man who looked up to my father, and to have a chance to work side by side with him, well, that I could understand. But I also wasn’t sure what to say to him. He’d obviously made his mind up already. For the first time in our marriage, I felt alone. I didn’t mean physically, but emotionally.
STOCKTON DIRT TRACK
STOCKTON, CALIFORNIA
IT SEEMED WE went from Chico to Stockton in a blink of an eye. In fact, I didn’t remember the drive. I was probably contemplating what Rager had done, and what this would mean for the smidge of time we had between trying to raise our family, and him running such a grueling schedule already. We also didn’t say much on the drive, or this morning.
In a haze of clouded emotions, we showed up in Stockton around two that afternoon. At the track, Rager went straight to the pits to help the guys with the car. He junked another one last night and needed to get the kit car together. The haulers they used to get the car from one track to the next were basically shops on wheels. They had everything from tires to spare engines and complete rear ends ready to go in case a car broke. We started the season with three complete cars and when we left for the West Coast, we had what they called a kit car. Basically a roll cage with brake lines already attached and from there they built it from the ground up with everything they kept in the hauler. But that took about four to six hours, which meant the crew had their work to do.
I left the kids with my mom in the camping area and wandered to the line of merchandise trailers near the admission gates. That was when I ran into Ricky Hagen for the first time this season. He was standing near the Outlaw trailer talking to Jerry and noticed me right away.
“Hey, Arie. How have you been?” Ricky asked, placing his hand on my lower back as I rounded the corner and handed Jerry the entry list.
Snorting, I subtly avoided his touch by spinning around in a circle. I didn’t understand the need for men in the racing world to constantly touch me. Or any other woman they saw. It seemed they were constantly grabby whenever they saw tits and ass.
“Hey, babe, is my helmet in the trailer?” Rager asked, coming around the corner behind me and immediately noticing Ricky’s touch on my back. “I think Bristol left it in there….” His words faded, his eyes dropping to the hand on me.
Ricky’s posture stiffened and turned courteous, stepping back away from me.
When he walked away, Rager’s eyes locked on mine. “What was that?”
I blinked, knowing where this was going and curious to see if my hot-head husband would react differently as a team owner, than just a driver. “What was what?”
“That. His hands on you.”
“I don’t know. Why do any of these fools think they can touch anything with tits and ass?”
Rager looped his arms around my waist and pressed me up against the hauler, in the middle of a crowd of people. His mouth dropped to my neck and his voice filled my ear. “Do I need to remind you who owns this pussy?”
I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Maybe.”
He laughed, the tension easing from his voice. “Actually, I can’t. But later?”
“Uh-huh.” I tried to walk away, but he grasped my wrist tightly.
“Tonight?”
“We’ve been saying that for a week.”
Shifting his stance, his hand met my hip and held me securely in place against the hauler. The warm metal radiated through me, much like his possessive touch. “You know it’s not because I haven’t wanted to.”
“I know,” I admitted, and then gave him a bit of truth I never thought I would. Or at least, hadn’t planned on. “But sometimes it feels like our intimacy gets pushed aside for all this.”
And it’s only going to get worse now.
He stared at me, as if he either couldn’t believe I said that, or he wasn’t happy. I couldn’t tell.
“Arie?” Hayden yelled from Casten’s trailer. “Where’d you put the JAR Racing hats?”
When I glanced over at her hanging out the side of the trailer, Rager’s fingers danced across my collarbone and then cheek. He forced me to look at him. “You think that?”
“Think what?” Relaxing my expression, I sighed, knowing I had
