“I can’t come talk to my son?”
He never came to talk to me before unless it was to bitch at me for something, so I knew that he was full of shit. “I don’t think we really have anything to talk about, but go for it.”
“How is your mother?”
As if he cared. “She’s fine.”
She was actually doing better than fine. Ever since Susan had been staying with her, she had only had the one episode when I was at the Sundown Nationals. I didn’t want to get too optimistic, but I had a hunch that the way to prevent her episodes from happening was to have her in a set routine with the same people day in and day out. When Dad had been taking care of her, he constantly had new nurses in everyday and was taking her to every doctor who made an empty promise that they could fix her.
“She must be cramping your style a little bit, though.”
“I’m thirty-one years old, Dad. Not fifteen. Having style isn’t really a priority for me. Mom is my priority.”
He hitched his thumb toward the shop. “And Legs.”
“She has a name,” I growled.
A sly smile spread across his lips. “A name that I think you know rather well.”
I stood up and looked down at him. “I’m really not sure why you’re here other than to stick your nose into business that has nothing to do with you. You left Mom, you aren’t a part of Cummings Racing anymore, and you only give a fuck about yourself.”
“You were right about two of those things, Son. I don’t want your mother anymore, and if you don’t take care of yourself first, then who will? So yeah, I only give a fuck about myself. It’s something I tried to teach you, but obviously, it didn’t sink in.” He stood up and rested his hands on my desk. “But I have a little newsflash for you. I’m still a part of Cummings Racing. You may have founded this pinky dinky ass team, but you did it off of the name I made for you. I’m not giving up my name to you. Cummings Racing is mine.”
I should have known he wasn’t going to make any of this easy. “I didn’t get anything from your name other than years of having to prove myself. We may have the same last name, but that’s about the only similarities you and I share.”
“Right. Like I’m going to believe that you don’t get any notoriety from my name. That just because you’re a good racer that your name is on the lips of every race fan in America. You have what you have because of me. You may think you can kick me out of the race team, but you can’t. Cummings Racing and anything else you use my fucking name on is mine.”
“So you’re worried about your fucking name, huh?”
“Yes,” he growled. “I did all the work to make it the name it is, and you’re not going to make money off it.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “The money I make is from sponsorships and fucking investments. You’re dumb if you think this team is making me money. Any money that comes through that door funds the car and barely pays everyone's paychecks. You want that?”
“You’re not using my name anymore.”
He was dead set on me not using his name anymore? Well, he was going to see how much his last name meant to me. “I’ll have my lawyer be in touch with you.”
“That’s it?” He spat. “You’re back to being a sissy and talking through your God damn lawyer?”
“There’s no point in you and me talking. I already said the only thing we have in common is our last name. There isn’t anything you and I need to discuss.”
“You’re not taking Cummings Racing from me.”
I nodded. “You’re right, I’m not. My lawyer will be in touch with you by the end of the day.”
“What bullshit do you have up your sleeve, Brooks? There isn’t some loophole you can find that is going to get rid of me. Cummings Racing is mine,” he thundered.
The office door opened. “Everything okay in here?” Roc nonchalantly looked between Dad and me.
“Dad was just leaving.” I crossed my arms over my chest and nodded toward the door.
“This is far from over, Brooks.” He stormed out the door, ramming his shoulder into Roc’s chest. “I’m gonna make you my bitch,” he growled to him.
Roc doubled over with laughter and slapped his hand on his leg. “Did he really just say I was going to be his bitch?”
“Have a lovely day, Mr. Cummings,” Harlyn called. She would try to be the calming effect to my dad. Nothing was going to calm him, though. Even what I had planned was going to piss him off even more.
Roc stood up straight and ran his hand down his face. “Your dad is the biggest asshole I have ever met.”
That was an understatement. “You busy right now, Roc?”
“I should probably be preparing to be your dad’s bitch, but I think I got some time I can spare.”
“Shut the door and have a seat. I have a possible business proposition I want to run by you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Frankie
“Hi, darlin’.”
“Hey, Susan. I brought dinner.” I held up the bag and smiled.
“Did you bring Brooks with you too?” She leaned to the left and right to see if Brooks was with me.
“Uh, no. I figured he would be home. He told me I should come over tonight.”
She stood to the side and opened the door wide. “Well, I’m sure he’s on the way home if he told you to come over. Come on in.”
I stepped through the door and kicked off my shoes. “I guess I should have called before I came over, but I just figured he would be here.”
Susan led the way to the kitchen and flipped on the lights. “I wouldn’t worry about it. You need any help making dinner? Christy is busy binge watching some show on the TV, but I can help.”
“It’s Dexter,” she called from the living room. “I can’t stop watching because I need to know if he ever gets caught. I hope he doesn’t because he’s a good guy, just with killer tendencies.”
Susan cackled and grabbed the bag from my hand. “Sounds like my second husband.” She unloaded the bag and surveyed what I had brought. “Tacos?”
“That okay?” I hadn’t known what to bring, but I figured ninety-nine percent of the world liked tacos. At least, in my head they did.
“What are we having?” Christy called.
“Tacos, but only if you can rip yourself away from that damn TV to come eat when they are ready.” Susan opened a cabinet and pulled out a fry pan. “And no, we are not eating in front of the TV.”
Christy grumbled, but she agreed that she could come eat when everything was done.
Susan and I chatted while I cooked the meat, and she chopped up the tomatoes and onions. I kept an eye on the clock thinking Brooks would be home any minute, but he didn’t show up by the time dinner was ready.
“I changed my mind,” Christy called. “I’m not turning this off. I have about a thirty second window when the opening credits play to come get a plate.”
Susan rolled her eyes but grabbed a plate and set two shells on it. “That’s all I’m doing for her.” She held the plate out and waited.