*
Chapter 6
Remy
“You park the last truck?”
I nodded and tossed the keys to Roc. “Parked and locked.”
We arrived to the track seven hours ago, and we had finally unloaded everything and set up the area for Cummings Racing. “Head over to Brooks and make sure he doesn’t need anything.”
“Don’t you think I should be helping make sure the car is ready?” Last I checked, I wasn’t hired to take care of Brooks.
“And don’t you think you should just do whatever I tell you to do?” Roc’s eyes flared, and I knew I was skating on thin ice. “Last I checked, I was the damn crew chief.”
Yup, I had totally pissed him off. Maybe checking in on Brooks wasn’t a half-bad idea. “I think I saw him head into his trailer earlier. I’ll go see if he needs anything.” I took off to the far side of the field that was filling up with other race team’s trailers and trucks and knocked on the door of Brooks’ trailer.
He opened the door, his phone pressed to his ear, and motioned for me to come in. My interaction with Brooks had been very limited before this. Roc had been the one to hire me, and I didn’t even meet Brooks until my second week working at the garage.
Brooks Cummings was on his second year on the circuit, so he was still considered a bit of a rookie, but the name Cummings was a legend in most peoples’ eyes. Brooks’ dad had won five consecutive titles from 1997 to 2001. He was the most winningest driver ever. Brooks had been driving dirt track for seven years and had finally bitten the bullet to see if he could live up to his dad’s legacy on the strip. His rookie season, he had managed to win four of the twenty-three races and came in fourth in the points standings. Pretty damn good for a rookie. Word was, this year he planned to double his wins and take the overall title.
A car didn’t win unless it had a good team behind it. That was where I came in. I wanted to be a part of the team that helped Brooks win. Winning this season was going to be the only thing to help me keep my job.
I stepped up into his trailer and stood by the door.
“Why can’t she go there?” Brooks looked up at me and motioned to the long couch stretched along half of the wall. “Sit,” he ordered.
He turned his back to me and moved further back into the trailer. I figured he didn’t want me to hear him, but it was hard not to. “She needs something more.” He paused and slammed his hand against the wall. “If I knew what the hell it was she needed, I would fucking give it to her.”
I put my arm along the back of the couch and turned my body away from Brooks. This wasn’t anything I needed to hear or know. Not that I knew what he was talking about. It was personal.
“Just find something else, then. I’ll be back Monday after the race, but then I’ll be gone again Thursday. I can’t be there all the time.” He paced further back into the trailer where I could only make out muffled mumbling.
I looked around the extravagant trailer and whistled low. Being the son of the most winningest driver in NHRA definitely paid well. Full kitchen, sitting area with a huge TV on the wall opposite me, four bunks past the kitchen, and what I assumed was the master bedroom Brooks disappeared into. Brooks was not wanting for anything. Although from the bit of the conversation I had heard, having a nice trailer didn’t mean everything else was so nice in his life.
“You guys need me for something out there?” Brooks walked past the bunks and pulled open the fridge. He looked over at me, waiting.
“Uh, Roc told me to come check on you. See if there was anything you needed.”
Brooks laughed and turned back to the fridge. “I’d love to have a fucking beer right now, but I’m pretty sure my dad would have a coronary if he knew the bottle even touched my hand.”
No fucking idea what to say to that. This was the most Brooks had ever said to me, and it was pretty damn personal. I had hoped he would say he was good, and then I could be on my merry way back to the makeshift garage to help get the car ready for qualifying tomorrow. “Uh, there’s always after the races Sunday.”
Brooks shook his head and grabbed the gallon of milk from the door of the fridge. “By the time I get done Sunday, my mind will already be back in Leeds Square taking care of shit.” He took a long swig from the gallon of milk, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stuck the milk back in the fridge. “There’s never enough time in the day anymore.”
I cleared my throat, unsure of what to say. I agreed there was never enough time in the day, but I had a feeling that there was more to it than what he was saying. “This is a pretty nice trailer.”
Brooks chuckled and slammed the fridge shut. “Yeah, it’s nice. Does exactly what my dad wanted her to do. Shows the Cummings legacy is alive and well by flaunting our money in everyone's faces. God forbid I would sleep in one of the car haulers with the rest of the crew.”
I felt like I was on the set of Dr. Phil. Brooks was venting to me about things I shouldn’t know about, and all I could do was sit here acting like I cared. I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t care, but I hardly knew Brooks. The things I knew about him, I had learned from the tabloids or had heard from the other members of the crew. “This is going to be my first night in the car hauler, and I will gladly trade places with you, if you want.”
A chuckle rumbled from his lips. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day.”
Bull shit. No one was that crazy. “Uh, was there anything you needed? Otherwise, I’ll just head back to the haulers and help the crew get the car ready for tomorrow.”
Brooks grabbed a Maverick Tools baseball hat from off the counter and settled it on top of his head. “Don’t need anything, but I will tag along with you over to the haulers. I need to talk to Roc about some of the numbers he had coming back after the last test run. I don’t think the computers are running right.”
Oh hell. Roc wasn’t going to know anything about the computers. He was going to send Brooks right over to Frankie.
We trekked across the field that was rapidly filling up and ducked under the ropes surrounding the Cummings Racing trailers, tents, and makeshift garage area. Frankie and Roc were standing by the back end of the car. Frankie was holding a clipboard and angrily stabbing her pen at the paper on it.
“Roc,” Brooks called. He completely ignored Frankie, not even glancing in her direction. “Something isn’t right with the car. It almost felt like it was misfiring off the line on the last run.”
Roc glanced at Frankie. “We know, Brooks. Frankie was just running over a few options we can try tomorrow.”
Brooks crossed his arms over his chest. “The only option we have is to get it fixed before qualifying tomorrow.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “I’ll have it figured out by the end of the day.”
“Don’t worry about it, Brooks,” Roc reassured him.
Brooks clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you would get it taken care of, thanks, Roc.”
Frankie clutched the clipboard to her chest, her knuckles turning white from grasping it so tight. Brooks nodded to Roc and me, then ducked into the hospitality trailer for VIPs.
“Run through everything, Frank. Get the engine dialed in before tomorrow, or we’re all going to have our asses in a sling.” Roc grimaced and followed Brooks into the trailer.