It was not proving to be Colin's day. Dover, Delaware and nothing but rain. When the track was dry enough to even think about running the race, it rained again. A bust, wasted trip, and a race to be made up later in the season.

But that wasn't what was eating at Colin.

Hando had just rung off on a call that made Col want to kick his best mate's arse. Twenty-two minutes on the virtues of not swapping paint on the track. What the fuck did H know? He had no idea what it was like out there…and Colin had never been accused of starting the problem. But problems he had.

Being new as a driver on the circuit and blowing them all away was proving not so much fun. At first, the big names thought it was a fluke. But by the time Colin had passed the checker flag three times in three months, they were crying foul. NASCAR had to get into it all and poke their noses under the hood. Yeah, there was nothing wrong; no unfair advantage and no tweaking unacceptable according to the rules. One thing the Burlington Team was known for…playing by the rules. They had to.

But that wasn't what was eating at Colin.

Playing by the rules was fine. He knew the already approved advantage he'd have next season with the new engine. He also knew that he was proving himself as a driver worth watching. Worth respect. But the good 'ol boys weren't ready to believe that the pleasant bloke from Down Under they'd been chatting with and drinking beer with for years could actually prove a threat.

So, like a bunch of green-eyed sheilas, they grouped together and created shit, calling the Burlington Team down right Down Underhanded and forcing the brow of at least one NASCAR official to rise every stinking time Col climbed into his car. No official could catch them breaking a rule, because they didn't break any rules. Who knew being good would cause so much stink?

But that wasn't what was eating at Colin.

The troubles all started after LJ got his bloody arse out of rehab. Little John Martin was a self admitted drug addict and alcoholic and Colin was sure the bloke would never get near another NASCAR track…but he did. He'd never caused a serious wreck, so the consensus was that he hadn't been driving under the influence. Blessedly, NASCAR wasn't about to take the risk that LJ would fall off the wagon at 180 mph. He was banned from the wheel, but right there, spreading suspicions and poison from the pits.

Colin did what he could to ignore the bloody bullshit and just drive the fucking car…and drive well. But it didn't help that LJ was working the pit right next to Burlington Team's pit. Didn't fucking help at all.

But that wasn't what was eating at Colin.

When he wasn't working with his mechanic or driving, he was spending more and more time with his road manager, Carrie. Too sweet for words, that one. She was a lot like the team, on the up and up and just out to do her job well…and he was acting a lot like everyone else; sure she couldn't be what she appeared to be. He dined with her, drove from town to town with her, drank with her and worked with her. He was almost at the point where it seemed like a good time to sleep with her. He'd put her through enough tests…but what if she wasn't interested in him? Face that dilemma when and if it raised its ugly head, then. He had enough on his mind without reminding himself that he hadn't gotten any in months. He wanted some…bad. Considered taking on a few offers from the fan base he was generating, but it wasn't really what he had in mind. Fuck all, he hated to admit it, but in that department, what he had in mind was Carrie.

But that wasn't what was eating at Colin…or perhaps it had something to do with what was eating at him.

He packed his bags, thumped down on the hotel bed and fingered the envelope. He recognized the handwriting, how could he not? He knew Natalie's handwriting, could almost feel it. He recognized the size and shape of the envelope. Oh yeah, he knew what was inside…did he want to face it?

He tore it open, disrespecting the high quality linen textured, heavy weight paper. Tugged and opened. And groaned. She was getting married. Marrying Jack.

Colin crumbled the invitation into a ball and tossed it into the trash bin across the room. Couldn't even consider marrying him, but Aubrey, she could marry. Could love and marry and…bloody fucking hell!

He lifted his suitcase and grunted. Didn't matter. The wedding was in four weeks and Colin, well Colin had a race…Colin had a race every weekend 'til November. Maybe he'd send a congratulations card. Hallmark has a card for everything. Maybe he'd find one that said 'so glad you found love after dumping me'. Yeah, something like that.

Nah.

Maybe he'd just ignore the whole thing. He had more pressing things to deal with. They were heading out of Dover early, driving with the car in tow to the Pocono Raceway in Pennsylvania where Hando was meeting them at the hotel. It'd be a long ugly drive in the constant rain, but he'd have Carrie beside him. Carrie. Was it time to move on that?