Smokin' & Spinnin' (31 page)

I look over to my nightstand. My iPod sits quietly in the dock. Normally, my music device is my safe haven, my comfort in times of distress, but now I don’t trust it. My iPhone, my connection to my job, sits just beside the dock. I reach out for it, but in one swift motion, I take the phone and sweep it into the drawer below. I can’t be tempted by work or anyone I might want to call. I cannot second-guess my decision to send Ryan away.

I reach for my crutches and pull myself into a standing position. This is going to be tough. I amble into the bathroom. I look at myself for the first time in a week. I look like I’ve been in a war, but then again, I
guess I have. My face is gaunt and pale. Dark circles line my eyes, and the stitches on my face are hidden by white 4x4 gauze. Gorgeous! I shake my head at my internal sarcasm. I don’t look at the rest of me. It’s just all too much!

I hobble on my crutches into the kitchen. Brooke has the small flat-screen television turned to Fox News, where a middle-aged man is discussing today’s race.

“Ryan Carter will be noticeably absent from the lineup today in Indianapolis. After severely injuring his public relations manager in a bizarre garage accident in Loudon, he has been suspended for six weeks, and his future within NASCAR remains questionable at best. His father, legendary driver, Garrett Carter, will be picking up the slack for his two missing team members.”

The reporter concludes, and I say, “Wow! World news, eh?”

I startle Brooke, who snatches up the remote and quickly turns off the news report. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have helped you!”

I raise one eyebrow at her. “You can’t babysit me forever. Besides, I need to be back to work tomorrow.”

Brooke snorts into her coffee. “Bullshit!”

“Yes!” I exclaim. “I am going back to work tomorrow. If I lay up in this apartment one more day, I may be suicidal.”

Brooke shakes her head at me. “I’m not even going to argue with you. If you can figure out the logistics, be my guest.”

“Oh, I’ve got them figured out, all right.”

Brooke eyes me warily, no doubt scared to ask what I have planned since I cannot drive myself to work—or since I am not “supposed” to drive for six weeks.

I sit down at the table with Brooke, who is browsing through the morning paper and eating a bowl of cereal. “Would you like something to eat?” she asks hesitantly.

I shake my head. I sit quietly watching her. I can tell by her actions that she is chewing on more than the granola in her cereal bowl. She notices my stare and raises an eyebrow at me.

“What?” she asks.

“That is exactly my question to you, Counselor.” I raise my eyebrow back to her.

She lays her spoon down in her bowl. “There is something that I forgot to mention to you,” she says warily. “Actually, I was not sure if I was going to tell you at all, but I don’t want to keep it from you.”

Brooke has my undivided attention now.

She takes a deep breath. “He called.”

“He…who?” I exclaim. “Ryan?”

Brooke shakes her head softly. “No, him…the bastard that we don’t speak of!”

I am shocked. Brooke’s confession makes me want to jump from my seat. I have completely forgotten about him. I guess Ryan’s plan worked after all.

“What did he say?” I question her.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, just some bullshit about how he did still care for you and was concerned. I suppose he was curious, too, if the rumors were true about you being involved with Colton and Ryan. Jealous jerk!”

Brooke is right. He was only curious and wanted to spread that gossip around Georgia. “What did you say to him?” I ask hesitantly, not sure that I want to know.

“Well, frankly, to sum up, I told him that you did not need neither his care nor concern…but fuck you very much for calling, and I hung up on him!”

My mouth falls open, shocked. “Brooke!” I hiss at her audacity, then erupt into a fit of laughter.

“He should have known better than to call you anyway! What a dumb ass!” And Brooke laughs with me.

After a few moments of therapeutic laughter, Brooke sighs deeply. “I have been going over everything you have told me, and I have one more question.”

“Just one? I’m disappointed!”

Brooke shakes her head at me. “Yesterday, you said you had feelings for Ryan. Do you love him?”

Her question catches me off guard and stops me dead in my tracks. I shoot her my best “are you freaking crazy” look.

She raises her hands up to me in defense. “I’m just saying, from what you’ve said about your relationship, both personal and professional, not to mention the fact that you met his parents.”

I laugh in an attempt to throw her off. “I work for one, and the other was just incidental.”

“Oh, come on, Whitney, you agreed to keep working for him so he wouldn’t get fired.”

I snap my head back to her. “Yes!” I exclaim. “So he wouldn’t get fired because of me, remember?” I throw my hands up in frustration. “Did you not get that portion of the story?”

“I know, but Whitney, this is sooo unlike you. I mean, I have literally been up all night trying to figure this whole thing out because this is so out of character for you.”

She’s right. It’s not me. I do what I am told, I abide by the rules, and I don’t blur the lines of right and wrong. But I guess I shot that all to hell and back.

I shake my head at her. I lean over the kitchen table and rest my head in my right hand. “I don’t know either. I feel like I am losing my damn mind. For the first time in my life, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. And that I had found a career that I was passionate about. And those feelings carried over to Ryan. I have never had that intense emotional or physical connection with someone. You know? The electricity or charge between two people that says to hell with everything else. And I couldn’t deny it. So, for once in my life, I was enjoying myself. And I didn’t want to stack up any more regrets in my life. But look where it got me, a broken heart and a broken leg!”

Brooke looks at me warily like she is finally putting everything together. She smiles sympathetically at me. “I’m just so worried about you because of everything that you have been through prior to this and now this. I feel somewhat responsible for it.”

I shake my head at her and reach across the table to clasp her hand. “Please don’t! It’s not your fault. I made my own choices, hasty ones at best. I guess it wasn’t enough that I drove out of Georgia smoking and spinning, because I ran straight into the wall this time.”

Brooke groans loudly, “Did you seriously just make a NASCAR analogy out of your life!”

I laugh again. “It’s bad, I know. Sadly, I would do it all over, broken leg and all, just to feel those emotions with Ryan.”

Brooke raises her eyebrows. “He loves you. You know that, right?”

Her statement turns my gut. No!

“As an outsider looking in, I’m just saying, is all.” She shrugs. “Especially when I look back now, watching him with you in the hospital, the fact that he called me…you didn’t see what I saw. I mean, he was really distraught, Whitney. I was so confused by it all. But now that I have put everything together, I can see it all clearly.”

Her statement makes my stomach roll again.
Could
it be true? No. Hell no. If he did, he wouldn’t have walked out so easily from the hospital.
But you made him leave, Whitney,
I chastise myself. The thought of him walking out shakes me to my core again and reopens the floodgates.

I shakily stand up from the table in a desperate attempt to flee this conversation. I am nauseous from Brooke’s latest inquisition. This is too deep and way too early in the morning.

“If that were true,” I snap with raw emotion, “where the hell is he? And why am I going through this alone?” I grab my crutches and hobble back to my bedroom as Brooke calls after me.

“Whitney…!”

I collapse onto my bed and begin to sob. Do I love him? Yes. Does he love me? All signs point to no. If he did, he wouldn’t have walked away so easy. The anguish in my chest is too much, and no comparison to the pain in my broken leg. Is this what heartbreak feels like? Even with the Georgia bastard, I never experienced a pain of separation like this. With him, it was over in a second, and I moved on just like that. But this is different. I hurt more over Ryan than I did my own former fiancé of six years. Something is clearly wrong with this picture. My thoughts make me cry harder.

I hear Brooke make her way into my room, but she doesn’t say anything else. She knows she has already said too much. She simply lies down beside me and holds me as I cry, like any best friend would do.

Chapter 34

E
ven though Garrett offered me the entire length of Ryan’s suspension to recuperate, I get up early Monday morning, only a week after the accident, to get ready for work against Brooke’s wishes, crutches and all. I had to cajole, threaten, and eventually blackmail her to get her to agree to drive me to the office. She was not happy, to say least.

I make a haphazard attempt to fix my makeup despite the new scar on my face. I take extra time with my long brown locks. I use my curling iron to create some waves around my face in hopes that it will help camouflage the cut on my cheek.

I hobble to my closet. As I stand trying to decide what to wear, the first thing I spy is Ryan’s shirt hanging front and center. My stomach drops to the floor. I snatch it from the hanger and pull it up to my face. I take a deep breath through my nose, but his smell is gone.
How poignant and incredibly ironic is that?
The shirt that once represented the start of a new relationship, new career, and a promise of something more now hangs as a reminder of my bad decision. I take the shirt and fling into the bottom of the closet. I kick it into the back with my good foot. I don’t need anything else to remind me of Ryan.

After strict instructions and threats of her own, Brooke drops me off at the office very early so I can avoid any chitchat from the other office employees. I went with my long cobalt-blue maxi dress that covers my leg. I don’t want to draw any further attention to my injuries. I can’t handle the sympathetic looks, probing questions, and overall small talk. It is just too much right now. I just want to work. I sneak to my desk in hopes that no one will realize that I am here.

I sit and stare blankly at my computer, not even knowing where to start on damage control. This morning, I have cast away all my feelings for Ryan so I can get back to the business at hand.
Yeah, I don’t believe that either
. But I am in full business mode now, which is the way it started and the way it should have remained. Ryan’s career hangs in the balance. With his suspension and almost termination from GCR, my number one goal is to get him back on track, literally, in good physical and mental condition. NASCAR has demanded that he attend a six-week anger management program that coincides with his suspension. I sincerely hope it is beneficial for him, but I know better.

I am broken from my new internal mission statement by a slight knock on my office door.
Here we go…

I turn around slowly, almost afraid of who it might be. It’s Josh. I let out a long breath and smile. He casually takes a seat at my desk.

“How’s it going, kid?”

I just nod, afraid to speak, afraid the dam will break again. Josh must sense my reluctance.

“I have been thinking…” He pauses. “I know I have given you a wealth of information to process in an attempt to educate you on the great sport of NASCAR, but I guess I forgot one major point.”
I eye him warily because I know this is leading up to something.

“You see, a stock car is much like a horse…You don’t want to stand directly behind or in front of one.” He sighs at his own joke. I laugh out loud.

“Yes, that little bit of information is say, oh…” I look at my watch. “About a week too late!” We both laugh, and I immediately feel better about coming into the office today.

“Seriously, though…” Josh trails off, concerned. “Are you OK?”

Ahhh!
The question of the day. I simply shake my head from side to side, then nod from top to bottom in succession.

Josh smiles. “I understand. But I am here if you need me!” he offers as he leaves me to my work.

I smile and say quietly, “Thank you!”

Jerri calls me in for a meeting shortly after lunch. I have been dreading my first conversation with her. She knows about my relationship with Ryan. She witnessed our exchange at the hospital. And she has had to work damage control on the rumors swirling about our involvement. But we haven’t spoken about it. A pool of anxiety is like lead in my stomach as I enter her office. She regards me with cool concern.

“Whitney, I really wish you would have taken off longer. You went through a very traumatic event,” she says, sounding motherly.

I nod. “I need to work. I need the distraction,” I am barely able to mutter due to the gigantic lump in my throat.

Jerri knowingly nods her head in return.

I know she is disappointed in me, so I feel the need to explain. “Jerri, I’m so sorry!” I exclaim.

She holds her hand up to stop me. “Don’t apologize. For the life of me, I cannot figure out the power he has over women!” Jerri shakes her head. We both laugh, and my anxiety immediately eases.