I’m walking past Hicks’ hauler when he comes out, covered in confetti and champagne from victory lane.
“See the standings yet, Dixon?” he snarls. I’ve never had a good feeling about him ever, but since the gala, there has been something about him that really prickles my skin. He’s scheming something.
“I always look at the standings, Hicks. There is nothing to worry about. Still more races to kick your ass at.” I hold his gaze, and he has the fucking nerve to smirk at me. I roll my eyes and turn to leave until what he says next stops me in my tracks.
“Brady got you distracted, Dixon? You two seemed pretty cozy at the gala.”
I’m taken aback by his statement. I know she left after talking to him, he probably said something snarky. How can he tell it’s thrown me off? He can’t know about our arrangement, right?
Right?
“You know nothing about Brady and me,” I roar.
“So, thereissomething there. So, you’re going to tell her why you were late to qualifying?”
My body tenses, and I remember that he was there. He knows that I went home with someone else. He can guess what happened afterward.
“What do you want, Hicks?” I don’t move, but Hicks makes a few long strides toward me. He may be shorter than me, but damn if I don’t feel small at this moment. I can’t tell Regan what happened, and Hicks knows it and is planning on using this to his advantage.
“I want the championship and the Cup spot. If anyone should get it, it’s me.”
“Guess you’ll have to be sure to have your shit together for the next races. Make sure Mommy and Daddy pay for allthe best people and parts to get you there because it’s certainly not your talent.”
His face scrunches up, and I think for a second he might take a swing at me for that low blow. A low blow, but a true one. But he keeps his arm folded in front of his chest.
Instead, he shakes his head with a slimy grin across his face. “You’re going to ensure I get it, Dixon. You are going to hold back and give it to me. Or I’m going to tell Brady everything.”
My eyes widen. He wants me to roll over and just let him gain points and pass me. Just hand him everything I’ve been working my ass for—in return for his silence. Rage boils in my chest, until I think about Regan and what her reaction will be to finding this out. That rage instantly turns to bile in my stomach, threatening to appear.
“I’m not going to just hand you anything. If you can keep up, I may help you. Only if you keep your fucking mouth shut,” I say through gritted teeth. It’s so painful to say, but I need to protect Regan at all costs, and if this is the way to do it—then so be it.
THIRTY-SEVEN
REGAN
In the conferencebuilding in the infield of Charlotte Motor Speedway, I’m in a Brady Racing polo and jeans, sitting behind a table next to Dean and Ian. I’m not sure how I pulled the short straw, but here I am. We are doing an event where local fans get to come in and meet us. We sign some stuff and take a picture. Easy peasy.
These are the types of events that I really like. Meeting the fans, and usually a lot of young girls, reminds me of how important representation is within this sport.
Things with Dean have been a bit off since Martinsville, and he’s glaring at Ian a bit more than usual. Something is going on between them, I just don’t know what. I wonder if it has to do with the picture Ian showed me at the gala, or if he knows about us and is holding it over his head somehow.
I lean over to Dean to my left so that Ian can’t hear. “What is going on with you and Hicks?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he snaps. I recoil at his tone. “It’s nothing you have to worry about,” he adds, making sure his tone is softer.
His smile seems genuine, albeit a bit forced. I furrow my brows together. I don’t fully believe him. There is somethinggoing on here, and I want to find out what. I’m about to pry more, then the fans are ushered into the room by the PR manager.
They line up in front of the person they want to see, and a young girl, about eight, steps up to me. She’s in a shirt with my number on it and my name and a matching Brady Racing hat. She is beaming as she steps forward with whom I assume is her dad. They look very much alike—same smile, same almost everything.
“OhmygodRegan BradyI’m your biggest fan!” the girl shouts, bouncing on her toes.
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. Everything with Dean and Ian temporarily forgotten as all my attention comes to the little girl in front of me.
“It’s so nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
“Alex,” she says excitedly, still bouncing. “I hope you’re the one to get in Cup next year.”
“You and me both,” I say with a wink.
