Free Beyond The Checkered Flag by J.D. Wylde

honor and had only received it after
enduring a half-hour-long interrogation about her intentions.
    It appeared at Forsythe Racing, loyalty and love and devotion
weren’t as easily tossed aside as marriage vows. Either that, or Bobby Wayne
paid his employees well.
    Walking beyond the garage area, she wound her way around to
the back of the track and into the area set aside for one-on-one interviews.
There she found Bobby Wayne dressed in his fire suit, sponsor patches dotting
his chest and his arms, being interviewed by one of the sport’s former greats
now turned announcer.
    Keeping out of the way of the camera crew, she edged closer
to where nine huge screens were bundled together to broadcast Bobby Wayne’s
face over all of them at the same time.
    “You’ve had quite a year,” the announcer/reporter said,
glancing down at the note cards he was holding out of camera range. “A season
for the record books. Until Talladega.” The screens flipped to pre-recorded
footage of Bobby Wayne’s Chevrolet at the infamous racetrack in Alabama. Of a
car that slid into another and another until the track was a churning sea of
wreckage and Bobby Wayne’s car was airborne, end over end, fenders and sheet
metal ripping away as he flew into the wall at a speed that was only slightly
faster than the beat of her thundering heart.
    “You were airlifted from that wreckage,” the reporter went on
as footage of the accident and rescue played on behind him. “Life-flighted,” he
added. “Revived twice in the air.”
    Lauren gasped as pain exploded in her heart and distress
rocked her soul. Tears filled her eyes as she listened to the reporter list
Bobby Wayne’s injuries like it was a checklist. He could have been killed! And
she hadn’t known.
    Her gasp was heard across the set. Bobby Wayne’s brows drew
together as he looked over the reporter’s shoulder. His eyes connected with
hers and none of the love she’d hoped to see was there shining in those bright
blue depths.
    And she held her breath and stared back with all the longing
and love she felt for him shining in hers.
    A frowning producer carrying a clipboard headed toward her.
    Not waiting to be physically removed from the set, Lauren did
what she and generations of Foster’s did best.
    She ran.
     
     
     
    A hastened short end to his interview and an eternity later Bobby
Wayne found Lauren not far from the media room. Arms wrapped around her bent
knees, she was balanced on her haunches, her back pressed into the wall. Her
face buried. “Lauren?” He bent down beside her.
    She lifted her head. Her beautiful gold eyes were swimming in
tears that trailed down her cheeks. Her face was pale. Like she’d been
delivered a shock. He supposed the sensationalized footage the network had
chosen was shocking since that was their forte. “I never knew,” she whispered,
as her head slowly shook from side to side. “You were life-flighted,” the words
fell from her trembling lips. “You almost died.”
    “There was a reason for that.”
    “For what?” She pressed her back against the wall. “For
dying? God! I hate this sport.”
    He touched her cheek. Pushed a curly lock of hair back from
it. “For living , sugar. There was a reason for me to live.”
    Her dark brows drew down.
    “You. You were the reason. You and me.” He wrapped his
arms around her and dragged them both to their feet. Although he was cleared to
drive, his leg still bothered him. “Together,” he added. “Finding out what’s
beyond the checkered flag.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “I retired.”
    “ What? ”
    “I retired. That’s what the interview was for. Not me making
my triumphant return behind the wheel, but me officially retiring from the
sport.”
    “But, Bobby Wayne, you love racing.”
    “Not as much as I love you.”
    “But— But— I don’t understand. Why?” she whispered.
    He lifted one shoulder. “My heart no longer belongs to
NASCAR. It belongs to a beautiful woman