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to Jack telling him to fire you.” She looked at Stuart quickly before delivering the final blow. “I’d say ‘who cares?’ except I checked with Jack, and he’s already gotten three hundred and seventy-eight e-mails.”
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Chapter Nine
    I’d lied to Lieutenant Young when I told him I couldn’t be shocked again that day. Holly assured me Jack laughed the whole thing off, declaring he had zero intention of firing me. But the story shook me.
    Stuart raised a glass. “Here’s to a better week ahead.”
    â€œTo Petit,” said Holly.
    I touched my glass to theirs. “To fewer people hating me tomorrow than today and yesterday.”
    We finished the meal talking about plans for the next week and a half—life would roll on, as much as I wanted to run away from it for a few days. Afterward, Holly and Stuart walked me back to my room, Holly loitering down the hall while Stuart kissed me goodnight. They headed back to their rooms at the Osthoff, and I went inside and sat down on the bed. I’d held bewilderment and distress at bay throughout dinner, but now I felt adrift, unfocused. Disheartened.
    I was mystified at how my life—personal and professional—had gone from business-as-usual to a minefield in the space of two days. I might despise myself for the weakness, but I was emotionally overwhelmed. I caught myself repeatedly trying to crack the knuckles on both hands and sat on my fingers to keep them still.
    On the positive side, I knew I wanted to be racing and I was good at it. As far as I knew, I still had a job and sponsors—including the new contract I’d inked.
    But every other area of my life was out of control. I didn’t know what to do with my father and his family or how to reconcile that relationship with my grandparents’ feelings. I didn’t know how I felt about Stuart. Didn’t know how to deal with public doubts about my racing ability and widespread questions about my character. I was angry at myself for not handling crazy-fan Nash Rawlings well.
    I ignored the voice in my head telling me to toughen up, because I needed to be honest with myself. I was also devastated that legions of racing fans hated me—hundreds of them feeling so strongly they’d send an e-mail saying I should be fired. I wanted to pretend I didn’t care what anyone else thought—hell, I wanted to not care. Aside from my personal reaction to being hated, being likable and salable were important components of a driver’s skillset. I feared for my career.
    Gramps usually kept me from drowning in self-doubt, and I heard him in my head, “Remember what is important to you, Kate, and pursue that with every bit of your energy, because we never know how much time we have.” My mother hadn’t known. Neither had Ellie Prescott.
    That was the problem. My emotional upheaval had its roots in grief about Ellie. I got up to open the casement window for the night breeze. Then take control. Don’t sit here feeling helpless. Make a decision, just one.
    Fine. I’d think about Stuart.
    He’d become important to me. But I held back, only responding to his invitations, not taking initiative. I didn’t ask myself what I wanted or how I felt about him. Through the window I saw his hotel rising above the trees.
    I knew the reason for my detachment. I didn’t trust him or myself. I’d had two serious relationships, and both had ended when the man wanted me to change my life and goals to suit his. The first was my high school sweetheart, who supported my racing until he understood I planned to make a career of it—wherever in the world that took me—instead of settling down in Albuquerque with him. He never understood how hard I was willing to work to achieve my dreams and the miles I would travel to fulfill them.
    The other was Sam Remington, a former open-wheel driver currently having a breakthrough year in