Crash Into Me

Chapter 1

Mia Rubie's father once said that her smile could raise the dead. For the second time in her life, she wished it were true.

'How's my girl holding up?' Her dad's best friend opened his arms, and Mia collapsed into one of her godfather's famous bear hugs. His tweed sport coat was like sandpaper against her cheek, but she buried her face in all the same. It was the most comfort she'd felt all day.

'Hanging in there, I guess,' she lied, then took a deep breath in hopes of holding back another cascade of tears and turning into a blubbering mess for the thousandth time in four days. 'I still can't believe he's gone, Cliff. It doesn't seem possible.'

Not even a hundred hours had passed since her father exited this world. As each one of those three-hundred-thousand-and-some-odd seconds had ticked by, Mia's brain had been working overtime, trying somehow to process the inconceivable, how a man who'd always been larger than life could now be lying in the casket behind her.

'When my phone rang, I thought he was calling to say good morning. Poor Barb, having to-'

As if she'd been summoned from a lamp, her dad's longtime live-in house manager and unofficial wrangler of the Rubie family - a selfless job if there ever was one - appeared beside her. 'Oh, no, don't you feel sorry for me,' Barb said, her voice far calmer and several octaves lower than when she'd literally screamed into Mia's ear as her father was being loaded into an ambulance. 'I only wish I'd forced the paramedics to let him talk to you. If I'd known - well, damn. Here I go.'

Cliff pulled the now weeping Barb into their hug.

Even though the Chicago skyline had been in Mia's rearview mirror within a half an hour of hanging up the phone with Barb, her dad had died before she crossed the border into her home state of Michigan. When she'd rushed into the hospital lobby, ready to pounce on the first person she encountered with a stethoscope, she'd instead found herself looking into the eyes of a somber-faced Barb.

And she'd known.

'I wish I'd been able to say goodbye.' Mia sniffed. 'I wish I'd been able to say a lot of things.'

Not that she hadn't had ample opportunity to say all of the things when her dad was alive. They both had. But instead of sitting down and talking about why Mia had walked away from the sport she'd once loved like two rational adults, they'd chosen to dance around the central conflict in the drama they'd both played a part in creating, each of them waiting for the other to make the first move. Apparently, she'd won by default.

It was the hollowest of victories.

Now, it was too late. She couldn't apologize to a dead man. And although her dad had always accomplished whatever he set his mind to, admitting to his own wrongdoings or granting forgiveness from the hereafter was out of reach, even for him.

'Don't I know it, kiddo. But trust me when I say, he knew. The man knew everything.' Cliff gave them both a final squeeze before leading Barb away, leaving Mia to return to the task of greeting those gathered to say their final farewell to the great Robert Rubie, auto racing legend.

Five hours into the viewing, a line of people still wound through the funeral home, their feet shuffling along an invisible dotted line on the paisley carpeting. A line so long that she couldn't see where it ended, only where it began - with her twin brother and her. It was hard to believe that she and Jordan were here again, standing in front of a casket holding another parent taken too soon.

I wish I were anywhere but here. Mia closed her eyes and lightly knocked the heels of her boots together three times, only to open them to find a portly middle-aged man approaching her with open arms. She'd lost count of how many hugs she'd accepted from strangers.

'Mia, I'm so sorry to meet you under these circumstances, but. my gosh, do you look like your dad.'

Her teenage-self had always bristled at the comparison. Not that there was anything wrong with her dad's looks or, for that matter, hers. Blue eyes. Sandy blonde hair tousled in perfect just-stepped-off-the-beach waves. A permagrin that could best be described as 'resting happy face.' But when your mother had been a supermodel with a pout so famous that it had landed her on the cover of every fashion magazine in existence, it was hard not to resent not getting that gene. By luck of the draw, and genetics, the pout had gone to Jordan - although he mostly wore it as a scowl.

Her looks would forever be filed in the perpetually cute category. Just like her father's had been.

The man released her from his hug, only to grab her hands warmly in his. 'I own an Italian deli on the west side. Your dad couldn't resist my sub sandwiches. Was in a few times a week during the off-season.'

Between this guy, the Detroit-style pizza lady she'd met earlier, and Barb, a 'feeder' if there ever was one (even if it wasn't part of her official job description), her dad's heart attack was becoming less and less shocking.

'Of course.' Another fib.

Mr Sub beamed. 'Rob was so proud of his little girl in Chicago. Tell me, how's the job? That promotion working out? It sounded really great.'

They chatted for a few more minutes, during which Mia realized that there were few details her father hadn't felt comfortable trading for a little salami, capicola, and provolone. Her last boyfriend. Their disastrous vacation to Greece. The subsequent breakup. Apparently, her dad had thought she could 'do better.' No secret there.

After promising to stop in and try the newly named 'Rob Rubie,' which she learned was the old number four but with her father's favorite modifications, Mia managed to slide her hands from Mr Sub's vise-like grip and send him on his way. She scanned the line once again and spotted relatives mixed in with employees from Rubie Racing - her dad's second family - along with plenty of fans in team garb. At least twenty race car drivers were also waiting to pay their respects to one of their own. Ten she knew well from her childhood; men her father had raced against who were more like brothers than his own flesh and blood. The others were younger, from the current generation lapping the world's tracks alongside her brother. Like Jordan, they possessed an air of subtle arrogance that set her teeth on edge, even though she knew it was key to them confidently maneuvering cars hurtling a couple hundred miles per hour.

Without a doubt, Jordan would deal with each of the drivers himself, as he had all day. And that was just fine by her.

The only race car driver she'd allowed herself to give a damn about in the last fifteen years was lying behind them. She turned toward the casket and straightened his favorite Rubie Racing jacket. The team uniform had been a spur-of-the-moment decision when the funeral home director called for clothes to dress him in, but she'd known instantly it was the perfect choice. Rob Rubie had lived and breathed auto racing. If the Angel of Death had owed him any favors, and he likely had, her dad was already driving the afterlife's longest and most winding road course.

A strong whiff of 'funeral home scent' from the wall of floral arrangements surrounding the casket brought Mia back to reality with a sudden tickle in her nose. She sneezed again and again.

'You OK, sis?' Jordan asked, the concern in his voice a mismatch to the annoyed look in his eyes.

'You bet, bro,' she said, rubbing her nose with a tissue she'd tucked up her sleeve like a ninety-year-old woman, then gently dabbing her puffy eyes before searching the line again.

Jordan followed her gaze. 'Looking for someone in particular? A certain Italian driver, perhaps?'

'Luca?' she bristled. 'As if.'

Only to her chagrin, she sounded more like a sixteen-year-old girl denying a crush than the sensible thirty-three-year-old woman she'd become. Who, today of all days, was steeling herself for the moment when she came face-to-face with the man who once upon a time had broken her heart.

Like she needed one more piece of kindling to toss on the emotional bonfire blazing inside her. She gave the line another glance, knowing it was a matter of when, not if, her ex-boyfriend would appear to extend his condolences. Just like every other member of the Rubie Racing team.

Without another word, Jordan turned to greet the current world champion. A snippet of their talk about the upcoming season drifted into earshot, and it took all of the restraint she could muster to not shove her fingers in her ears to block it out. Racing was the last thing she wanted to think about right now, regardless of the fact that she and her brother were the sole heirs to the only American team in the world's most prestigious auto racing series, and the life she'd long ago sped away from was now crashing back into her.

Just a few more days, and then you can go home and back to your regularly scheduled life.

Mia's feet cramped in her new boots, and she curled and uncurled her toes...