King of Spades

Home : Stories by Mick : King of Spades

Summary: Help comes in the least likely of places sometimes.

AUTHOR: Mick
EMAIL: mick@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER: Jeff Gordon/Dave Navarro, Jeff POV
COMPLETED: August 14, 2008
WORD COUNT: 1,684
DISCLAIMER: If I owned them I’d be too busy to write this stuff. Just fiction, folks! I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
DEDICATION: This one is for Cat. Without her lovely DVR and willingness to send me the Bravo Celeb Poker Showdown DVD, this Fic never would have happened. Happy Belated Birthday, Future Mommy-in-Law!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: It’s official, folks. We have a series! Sequel to Joker's Wild.
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Preseason Thunder - Fontana, California

Stinging.

Pounding.

Throbbing.

I can actually feel the imprint of her hand on my face. I can feel the exact point where her hand made contact with my cheek, nearly snapping my head all the way around. It’s been two days but I can still feel it, fresh as anything. She wouldn’t even say a word to me. She packed and stormed out and didn’t look back once. Her phone’s been turned off since she left. There’s no answer on the house phone. My mom claims she hasn’t seen her. No one knows where she is. God, I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I did this. I can’t believe I fucked up the best thing going in my life for a night with…

…with him. With fucking Navarro. AGAIN. I still can’t believe it happened. The first time was surreal enough, but to bump into him again after so many years and have the attraction still be so strong…to let him lure me into his bed so willingly again, even with my entire life on the line…I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.

Fuck I should have at least showered before I went back to my room. Gotten the smell of sex and rock and roll off of me somehow. I never would have been able to wipe the freshly-fucked look off my face, but at least I wouldn’t have smelled like him. Smelled like the mind-blowing sex I’d had for hour after hour, well into the morning. No, I ran up to my room like an idiot, my clothes rumpled, my hair askew, stinking like Dave Navarro. It’d taken her all of five seconds to know why I’d been gone all night.

She’d taken it with more grace than I’d ever imagined she could. She didn’t cry or scream or call me names. She stared me in the eye and asked the only thing that mattered, “Who?”

I couldn’t have lied to her even if I’d wanted to. His name rolled off my tongue before my brain could even process what she’d asked. There’d been a moment of stunned silence between us. For a moment she looked like she thought I was making it up. Like maybe she thought I was trying to get her to laugh or somehow change the subject. In that instant, I’d wished with all my might that she could read my mind and understand. I mentally kicked myself for not coming clean about my past. I should have told her about Jimmie, about Dave, about the whole sordid tale behind the tattoo on my hip. It was too late for any of that now, though. The damage had been done and there was no going back.

I’d watched on helplessly as she stormed through the suite, angrily packing up all of her belongings. There were a million things I’d wanted to say to her, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. My mind screamed at her, pleaded with her not to go, but my mouth never moved. My jaw was glued shut and no matter how hard I pulled, I couldn’t get it open. I’d watched on mutely as she gathered everything up and walked to the door, turning to face me before she left. Her eyes blazed with the hurt and betrayal, but she hesitated a moment before reaching for the doorknob. I forced all the emotion I could into my eyes, pleading with her not to go, but instead of saying a word in response, her hand came up and clapped hard against the side of my face, the smack ringing out through the room.

She was gone before I could even make a sound.

It’s been two days and I’ve gone completely numb, aside from the stinging patch of skin on my face. That second day of testing in Vegas was miserable. I couldn’t concentrate and with the winds gusting like they were I could barely keep the car on the track. I’d somehow managed to make it through the day without incident and before I knew it I was in California, sitting alone in my coach. This whole place screams her name. It smells like her and looks like her, and all of Ella’s things aren’t helping with my grief. What if she runs away from me and takes our daughter with her? Losing Ingrid would be painful enough but if I lost my daughter too, I’d definitely lose my mind. Reach for one of her teddy bears and hug it to my chest, breathing in her scent. I really wish she were here right now.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve called everyone I could possibly call but no one knows a thing. We’ve tested all damn day and I was barely able to keep my mind off of it. I can’t help thinking how close I am to L.A., how close to Hollywood and the nightclub that Dave owns. I’m so angry with myself right now that I want to go down there and kick his ass to make myself feel better. This is partially his fault, after all. Not that beating the crap out of him is going to make up for what happened. It’s already over and done with and there’s no way to go into the past and change things. God, I wish I had a time machine. I wish I knew where the hell my wife is. I think that’s bothering me more than anything else right now. I can handle her being mad at me. I can’t handle not knowing if she’s okay, if she’s lost somewhere or something. I really wish she’d call just to hang up on me as soon as I pick up. At least I’d know she’s alive.

Out of pure exasperation, I snatch my phone off the arm of the couch and dial her number for at least the hundredth time. Sigh softly as I count the rings, not at all surprised when I get her voicemail after the fifth one. The sound of her voice still gives me butterflies. I take a breath to calm myself and wait for the tone before rushing into a panicked babble begging her to call me and at least tell me she’s alive, if nothing else. Not once do I apologize or try to make excuses for what I’ve done. I did that enough on the other seventeen messages I left her that she probably hasn’t even listened to yet. Or she deleted them all without even bothering to listen. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Were it me in her shoes, I probably wouldn’t want to listen to them either.

Before I can toss the phone back on the coffee table, it starts to ring and I nearly jump out of my skin. I can’t believe it! She’s calling me back! Flip it open without checking the ID, a smile breaking out on my face, “Ingrid? Baby, I’m so--”

“Wishful thinking, Gordo. It’s Dave.”

Instantly, the cloud over my head returns, darkening my mood ten times more than it was to begin with. I can’t believe he even has the nerve to think of calling me! After all that he’s put me through, who the hell makes him think he has the right to talk to me? I grip my phone so tightly I can hear it protesting under the pressure and have to force myself not to break it. Through clenched teeth I manage to spit out a reply, “What. Do you. Want. Navarro?”

“Is that any way to treat the man who gave you the best sex of your life? C’mon now, Gordo, stop pretending like you’re not happy to hear from me!” He chuckles softly and it occurs to me that he has no idea what happened after I left his room that night. I never bothered to inform him that our night of debauchery led to my wife walking out on me. My grip loosens on the phone and I take a breath to calm myself.

“I’m not happy to hear from you, Dave. At all. In fact, you’re the last person I want to hear from. Ingrid found out what happened and she left me, Dave. She’s gone. She won’t answer her phone, she won’t return my calls, I don’t even know where the hell she is. For all I know she’s left the country and taken our daughter with her. So, no, I’m not happy in the least to hear from you right now,” My voice is surprisingly calm and even as I explain to him what happened. Rub my forehead as I squeeze my eyes shut, praying the impending headache goes away quickly.

There’s a long silence on the other line and for a moment I wonder if maybe the call dropped. Before I can check my screen I hear him clear his throat and then, so softly I can barely hear him, he starts to talk again, “Shit, Jeff. I’m…I’m so sorry. I never should have forced you to come back to the room with me. Is there anything I can do? Any way I can try to get in touch with her or something?”

The fact that he actually wants to help me is enough to knock me off my feet. I can’t believe how quickly his mood’s changed. He went from wanting to seduce me over the phone to wanting to help me put my marriage back together in less than a minute. If he’s honest, though, it probably wouldn’t hurt to have someone around to help me get through this. After all, no one but him truly knows exactly what happened that night. Maybe if I can somehow get him to talk to Ingrid, she’ll come around and give me a chance to explain myself. No more lies, I have to come clean about everything, even if it kills me.

“Dave…would you mind coming to the track for a couple days? I think…I think I could use the company.”

I really hope I don’t regret this.

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Mick - mick@cryptoffic.com