Colin wiped sweat from the back of his neck and groaned then straightened from under the hood. Looked good, real good. So the question was; why wasn't L.J. Martin winning? This was a driver who took chances most drivers would never dream of taking, pushing an engine and other cars anywhere he pleased. A driver they'd paid great money for, and offered incredible incentives to. Some-fucking-thing was wrong. Very wrong.

***

Another day, another woman. L.J. rolled over and looked. Jesus fucking Christ, this one was ugly! He stared at the ceiling. Why the hell was he with her? He'd begun a relationship with Carrie, their road manager, for one reason…to make it look like he was a wholesome good ol' boy driving for the newest team on the circuit. Face it; there was nothing on two pretty long legs more wholesome than Carrie Dexter. Took him a full goddamn month to woo her into his bed. It wasn't that the sex was bad either. At least with Carrie, he was waking to a pretty face. But sometimes he just got fucking sick of the act.

Another look at the raggedy groupie who'd gotten his cock the night before and he grimaced, reached over and pulled opened the drawer beside the bed. Rattling the bottle, he dumped several tiny blue pills into his palm and gulped them dry. Ugly stirred.

"Umm, L.J." she growled and ran her hand along his belly to settle on his wasted cock. "More? I want breakfast, baby," and her lipstick smeared mouth moved to suck him in.

"Get the fuck away from me." He roughly pushed her and sat at the edge of the mattress, waiting for the effect of the chemicals that would give him the strength to stand and go take a piss.

"Aw, baby," she whined. "At least give me a few. Share the wealth."

He shook two tablets and slapped them into her palm. "Now, get the fuck out of here!"

She blinked, gathered her cloths and dressed quickly. "Jesus, didn't say that last night."

"Yeah, well I had to be three sheets to the wind to end up with an ugly bitch like you. Get the fuck out. Now."

She was gone several moments before he was ready to move. He stretched his arms high, rolled his neck and slowly stood. Yeah, he could face another day. Tests on the car, a stupid fucking lecture from goddamn Colin, and on to the bars…or had he made plans with Carrie? Boring as it was, he wanted to keep the image, at least until he could get his act together and win a fucking race again. He hadn't made the poll position in six weeks, hadn't ended in the top three since the third race. The season was dwindling away. Sooner or later they were going to figure out…it wasn't the car. He needed Carrie. She gave him the appearance of stability. No way they were going to blame him for his performance. No way.

A polite knock at the door raised his eyes. Speak of the pure and sweet. He groaned and opened the door.

Her eyes slid directly to his nakedness. L.J. was good. He could blaze a charming grin like the best of them. And it always worked with Carrie, but she wasn't smiling this morning. Again he wondered why he wasn't with her the night before. He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Sorry Carrie Bear. I was so fucking tired last night." Ah well, it was worth a shot and to his repeated amazement, it worked. Her eyes softened and she pushed his hair back.

"It's okay. I understand. We'll do it tonight. Didn't even open the wine. Um…" Again her eyes fell to his limp cock.

"Oh, uh, sorry," he chuckled and reached into the bathroom for a towel, swaging terrycloth over his hips with a loop to hold it. "What's up?"

Carrie sat on the bed and flipped pages on her clipboard. "Tight schedule today. Starts at seven…" Her hand had brushed across the sheet and right into the wet spot sopping from the mattress. She gasped softly.

With the best sheepish look he could muster, L.J. shrugged. "What can I say? Baby, I missed you."

But Carrie wasn't buying it this time. She stood and pushed the blankets to the floor; clearly saw the lipstick and eye shadow smears on the pillow case. "Who was she, L.J.?" Tears glowed in her wide blue eyes.

"Don't be stupid. No one. What the fuck?" Too damn early in the morning for this shit. His anger didn't work; she was still standing there, tears dripping down her cheeks. "Ain't like we're fucking married." he hissed then stomped to the bathroom. "Get over it!" he shouted through the closed door. "I'm taking a shower. If you're here, fine. If you're not, I don't give a fuck." And he rambled on as he slammed the toilet seat up and pissed. "Be fucking damned if you think you're gonna pussy whip me. You don't like it, get the fuck out!" flush

But Carrie had already left. Only before she did, she went to his bedside table and emptied his pills into her pocket. If nothing else, she might save his life when he tested the car that afternoon on the track. It was breaking her heart, but it was all she could think of to do. It wasn't quite revenge…or was it?

***

Colin stared at the phone. Should he do it? Didn't Hando have enough on his mind with Mere so damn close to having the baby? He'd hoped he could handle the problem himself but as time passed, it was becoming obvious he couldn't. They were not winning or even making a good showing and there wasn't a damn thing wrong with the car. Facts were facts. L.J. drank every damn night, but he seemed sober in the morning. His hands were steady before a test or race. Something wasn't right and Col just couldn't figure out what.

When L.J. hooked up with Carrie, it looked like things would settle but they didn't. Twice last week he'd run to get the fucking bloke out before the cops descended upon the bar he was drinking and fighting in. Without a few good mates on the team watching over L.J., the bloody prick would have been in the papers in every city they'd raced…and not in a good way…not as a winner. Colin wanted the fucker off the team, pure and simple.

But what then? No driver? And no hard proof as to why he booted the bloke? He rubbed his eyes and hoped for a miracle. She walked in the door five minutes later.

She went directly to the little hotel room table and sat. Ah fuck, the poor sheila was crying. Wasn't like he didn't expect L.J. to break the girl's heart, but it still caught in his gut that she was hurting. And he wondered; could he get rid of the bloke based on his mistreatment of Carrie? Probably not. He sat across and slouched in the chair, watching her wipe tears with a soggy Kleenex.

"Aw, love. What did he do?"

She was silent, looking down and sniffling.

"Come on, darlin'. We're a team here. You can talk about it if ya need to."

"It doesn't matter. It's over. And it's about way more than him just…being who he is."

"Yeah, and what's that? A bloody prick?"

"Something like that," she grinned sadly. "Listen, Mr. O'Brien. He really hurt me this time but I think I seriously need to focus on where my loyalties lie. They have to be with this team, and I really did think I was doing the right thing, but now…"

Colin sat up, tilted his head. "What's different now?"

She blinked, sighed then reached into her pocket, setting the handful of blue pills in the center of the table.

"Bloody hell," Colin gasped. "What are they?"

"Pain pills. Percs. He takes them for his back…at least that's what he told me. But he takes too many of them. I think it's out of control," and she squelched a little sob.

"Pain pills. His back? What the fuck's wrong with his back?" Colin was rifling through his files. L.J. had never divulged any back problems or previous injury. In fact, the fucker boasted of never once being injured, even though one could usually find him connected to a yellow flag in a big way.

"He didn't tell you? He said you and Hando knew."

Colin was on his feet, pacing but it wasn't out of frustration. "He had a physical when we signed him, Carrie. Clean bloody bill of health. How long's he been takin' these pills?"

She shrugged. "I've always seen him take them." She was beginning to shake. What the hell had she started? But then again, why hadn't she mentioned the pills before? Why was she trusting L.J.? "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, no. No worries. Thank fuckin' God he didn't die on the track, or worse yet, kill some other bloke! But it's okay. You…stay right where you are."

He took three deep long breaths and dialed Burlington. Hando answered, not too happy and still groggy.

"What?"

"Sorry mate, I know it's early, but we got a problem."

"Yeah, gimme a fuckin' minute."

Colin listened as Hando shuffled out of bed, grunted to Mere to go back to sleep. Then he heard water running. Hando had gone addicted to coffee, was probably starting a pot. Sure enough, the sound of dripping brew drifted through the receiver before he groaned. "S'up?"

"L.J. Mate it's bad. Looks like he's hooked on pain pills."

"Fuckin' cunt!" Hando hissed. "Bloody motherfuckin' cunt!"

"Got the proof, simple test will confirm. We gotta get him off the team before we're ruined, mate."

"No fuckin' shit. Get hold of Carrie and get him off the payroll."

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, do we got some responsibility to get him into rehab or something?"

Hando's laugh was vicious. "Fuck no. He can get his own sorry arse into rehab, or fuckin' drug himself to death. Just get rid of him. Mere'll put together a press release, say somethin' about personal and professional differences or some bloody shit."

"So," Colin groaned. "That's it. That's our season." His heart sank.

"Oh, our season isn't over, mate."

"Can't race without a driver."

"We got a fuckin' driver. Get your arse fitted for a uniform and get behind the goddamn wheel."

"What?" Colin stood. "Are ya bloody bonkers? I haven't raced in years, Hando."

"Bloody hell, Col. Just drive. Go round in the circles and make a showin' mate. We can't afford to lose the season; we'll lose too much money and way too much credibility. Gotta get through this year anyway we can or we'll never get the new engine under the hood. Never get a shot at next season."

"But - "

"You can do this, mate. You know that fuckin' track. Know the car like the back of your hand. You drive half the fuckin' tests, fuck's sake. Do it. Be careful and just fuckin' do it."

H was right. There was way too much riding on the season to blow it. All their money, all the personal investments from friends and family…poor Natalie sold her Cessna to help make this happen. If they gave up, they'd lose any opportunity to come back next year and show off the experimental engine Hando was perfecting back in Vermont. There was no turning back now.

"Col, mate. Ya gotta do this. I'll start lookin' for another driver; you might just have to race a week or two."

Colin sat, sighed.

"You can do it. I'm countin' on you. You don't gotta win, just keep us on the fuckin' circuit."

Colin finally conceded. What other options did they have? "I can do that. I can do that."