“And I don’t expect you to park your ass out there and watch me every second.
You have a job and it’s crunch time. You should be at the convention center. You should pack up and go.”
She shook her head. “I need to be here with you. You’re my job right now.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ve already agreed to come to the convention.
Your job here is done. Go work for my dad. I think I can race without you.”
“You can. But I’m not going to let you. There will be plenty of time for me at the convention after you race this weekend.”
He slid his arms around her. “You’re a stubborn woman, Evelyn.”
“I prefer determined.”
*
QUALIFYING HAD BEEN TOUGH, HOT AS HELL, AND JUST as frustrating as a race. And it hadn’t yielded the results Gray had been looking for.
A sixth-place spot wasn’t going to put him where he wanted to be. He thought his time had been great. Obviously not great enough. Even worse, Donny had crashed during qualifying, so he’d have to start the race in the back.
After he answered what seemed like a thousand questions about Preston Racing team’s backslide over the past few weeks, which to Gray hadn’t seemed like a backslide at all, he was hot and tired and in need of Evelyn’s sweet face. He looked around the pits for her, shocked as hell to see his father there.
What the hell was Mitchell Preston doing here? As far as Gray knew, his father had never once attended one of his races. How utterly timely for him to show up at qualifying, a week before the convention. Of course he was all smiles as the cameras were in his face. Gray could well imagine what his father was talking about.
Himself. His campaign. Stumping for votes. Telling the American people how important it was that they vote for him. Maybe something tying Gray into his campaign.
All bullshit.
It was the last insult to an already miserable fucking day. He headed over to where his father was surrounded by cameras. Evelyn caught his gaze and smiled, meeting him halfway, looping her arm around his and stopping his forward progress.
“Are you surprised?”
He dragged his gaze away from his dad. “What?”
“That your father’s here.”
He dragged his head from the fog of confusion. “What are you talking about? Did you arrange this?”
Now it was her turn to look confused. “Me? Of course not. I had no idea he was going to show up. He shocked the hell out of me when he called and said he was here.
I scrambled to get him in. Thank God for Ian, who helped us out. He hung out here watching everyone qualify, Gray.”
Sure. He had the whole time to work the crowd. “I’m sure he did.”
She frowned. “Aren’t you happy? He’s talking to reporters right now.”
“Of course he is. That’s what he does. That’s why he’s here.”
It was just like school again, his father only showing up to stump for votes. He was only here for self-serving reasons. Not for Gray.
Not ever for Gray.
He waded into the crowd of photographers and reporters and pulled his father close.
“Gray,” his father said, his smile wide. “You did so well today. I had no idea you were so talented. I’m so proud of you.”
Of course he had no idea, because he’d never shown up. But he wouldn’t do this here. Not in front of all these reporters.
He smiled for the cameras, but turned so only his father could hear.
“I won’t let you manipulate me, old man. Get the fuck out of my sport.”
He turned and walked away, not bothering to look back to see the expression on his father’s face.
Because he didn’t care how Mitchell Preston felt.
He should never have agreed to this media circus. He knew from the outset it would be a mistake, a clusterfuck.
Seeing his father at home in the middle of that media storm of reporters and photographers set Gray off. This should have been about racing, not politics, and he knew then he’d been right all along.
He should have said no. No matter what kind of emotional blackmail his mother had tried to use on him, he should have said no.
Because he was suddenly eight years old again, with that gut-punch feeling of hurt because his dad had just let him down.
And no matter how old he got, that feeling was never going to go away.
TWENTY-FIVE
EVELYN LEFT THE SENATOR IN THE HANDS OF HIS AIDES, instructing them to wind down the interviews and get the senator out of there, that there’d be no joint interviews with Gray and Mitchell Preston today. She made up the excuse that Gray had other commitments today, and they’d try for another day.
She knew where to find him—in his trailer, the only place he could be assured of privacy.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t locked her out. She shut the door, found him nursing a beer, his fire suit hanging around his hips.
“What was that about?”
He shrugged and ignored her, taking another long swallow of beer.