200 MPH Tape – This is also known as racers’ tape. It’s really strong duct tape that can hold a banged up race car together long enough to finish a race.

 

“How’s he doing?” I asked Nancy standing outside his hospital room.

We arrived about an hour ago at the Pocono Medical Center when we heard of the accident. We still hadn’t been allowed to see Jameson.

I understood, seeing how it was now around three in the morning. It was hardly visiting hours, but I wouldn’t be anywhere else right now. Not when my boyfriend, and the father of my unborn baby were here.

Nancy’s teary eyes met mine before wrapping her arms around my neck, holding me for a long moment. “The doctor is in there right now doing an exam. One of his broken ribs punctured his lung. That seems to be the worst of it. Also, the capillaries in his eyes ruptured from the G-force of the hit so his face looks pretty bad.”

Nancy broke away from my embrace when a few members of his team approached us. Justin, one of the drivers of Jameson’s sprint car team, and close friend of his, smiled at me. It was a comforting gesture and one I appreciated.

“Will he need surgery?” I asked when Emma returned with three bottles of water handing them to Nancy and me.

“Not for the lung. They put in a chest tube so that seemed to help. He will need pins put in his wrist as the bone splintered up his arm.”

I cringed, thinking about how painful that must have been for him and knowing that out of anyone, Jameson Riley could handle physical pain. A few other drivers for the Cup Series came by to check on Jameson. Bobby, his teammate with Riley Racing, approached us, his dark hair scattered from a night of sleeplessness.

“Is he still unconscious?” Bobby asked, his eyes tired and hard as he leaned into the wall.

Looking over his team, everyone looked exhausted. Though they looked exhausted, no one would leave now. Not until they knew Jameson would be all right.

“He’s in and out. The doctors are giving him medicine to keep him sedated. He’ll heal faster that way.” Nancy looked down at her hands. “He’s got numerous broken bones on his left side, and you know Jameson, he won’t stay still.”

I was starting to get dizzy again so I used the wall for support, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor and pulled my knees to my chest.

Immediately Nancy and Emma were beside me.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asked. 

If only they really knew.

Nancy, though she wasn’t my biological mother, was the closest thing I had to a mother since mine had died when I was six.

The guys walked back toward the waiting room with the rest of his team, leaving us alone outside Jameson’s room.

“Yeah... I just... I’m worried about him.”

“He’s going to be okay, Sway.” Nancy reached for my hand. Her rusty loops of hair that matched Jameson’s fell into her face. “How are you feeling?” she asked, brushing my own hair from my face.

“She puked the entire plane ride here,” Emma answered for me. “Poor Wes was a little grossed out by it all.”

“I was so sick when I was pregnant with Jameson.” Nancy smiled. “The first four months were spent praying to the porcelain gods.”

“See, he was an asshole even back then,” Emma added, casually picking at her nail polish.

“He was a perfect baby though,” Nancy defended flicking Emma’s arm. “I did have a horrible pregnancy, but he was the best baby out of all you.” Emma glared. “Always quiet and observing, Jimi actually pinched him sometimes to make sure he was normal and would cry.” Nancy got this far away look as she remembered her youngest son as a baby. “The first time we took him to a race, it was at Skagit. He was maybe nine months old at the time. His eyes never left the track. He was mesmerized by the cars even then.”

I smiled. That sounded like Jameson. For being the middle child of Nancy and Jimi, he was completely different from Emma and Spencer.

The door cracked open, and all three of us stood.

A round dark-haired man that looked like a stubby version of George Clooney walked out. I assumed this was the doctor by the white coat.

His eyes found Nancy. “We will be taking him for surgery on Tuesday morning. I want to give him some time to rest,” he told her. “Our main concern is the pneumothorax.”

I’m sure he could tell that we all had no idea what that was. It sounded like a fancy name for “pain in the ass” to me.

The doctor chuckled lightly before he went on to explain what that meant. “It’s a hole in his lung.”

Why don’t they say that in the beginning? Who was the one that thought up all these elaborate names for shit? I want to meet this person and slap them upside the head, just because.

“Usually this is caused from a hole in the chest wall, like as a stab wound or gunshot wound that allows air to enter the pleural space. But it can also be caused from both blunt trauma and penetrating injuries to the chest wall, of which Jameson has received both. The track safety officials indicated his belts were fastened but loose—which is why he received injuries of this nature.” Tucking the folder in his hand under his arm, he continued after looking over his notes. “After performing an MRI shortly after he arrived, we observed that this was caused from a cut to the pleura by one of his many fractured ribs. He’s awake for the moment and asking for a Sway?” His questioning eyes glanced toward Emma and I, trying to decipher which one of us was Sway.

I stepped forward when Nancy reached for me, my eyes wide but managing a wobbly smile. Stifling a gasp, tears filled my eyes as I entered his room.

There, in the middle of the room surrounded by various machines was Jameson. The sight was strange and unfamiliar. I’d never seen him in the hospital before.

Among various bruises and scratches over his arms and neck, his left arm was in a bandage. His hospital gown was on backward, open in the front, showing a bandage across his ribs. Bruises covered his stomach and chest, outlining the faint shape of his belts from the car.

My vision blurred from tears as I stared at him.

How could this have happened?

Slowly, Jameson turned his head to look in the direction of the door, wincing in pain as he did so.

When his bloodshot eyes finally met mine, his gaze was dazed, and completely blank for a moment.

I was beside the bed in an instant as a sob broke through me.

When I gained a little control, I gently touched his cheek.

Jameson’s eyes closed and his lips twitched into a small smile as he carefully leaned into my hand. He sighed, blinking, and then those beautiful grass green eyes met mine.

I couldn’t stop another emotional cry from escaping me as I bent my head down to his, pressing a soft kiss into his hair, my body shaking with relief.

“Sway?” he asked, seeming a little disoriented, but I also knew he was aware that I was here with him.

He struggled briefly, trying to reach for me but gave up with a moan.

“Baby, stay still,” I soothed through my tears, touching his cheek softly. “Please don’t move. I don’t want you to hurt yourself by moving.”

Honestly, with his injuries, I was surprised he could move.

“Wow. Shit… no complaints here.” His voice was rough, but he squeezed my hand with his right one attempting to fight through the pain maybe.

“Do you need anything?” I whispered. “More pain medication?”

“No,” he replied in a gravelly voice. He tried to turn his head again and then winced. “Fuck, this hurts. Maybe I do need something.”

 “Here, I’ll call for the nurse,” I said reaching for his call button.

He was clearly still in pain. Jameson had always been adamant that he never needed help from anyone. Now he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

A few minutes later, a tall auburn-haired nurse walked in his room. “Hey, sweetie, you’re awake again. I thought you’d still be asleep for a while.” She smiled at us, checking his IV lines gently and then gave him another smile. “I’m Melanie, your nurse.”

I wasn’t impressed with this particular staff member.

Why does she have to be gorgeous, why?

In my head, that Pussycat Dolls song was on repeat. I could hardly focus on anything but the song at that point.

Leave it to me to be singing a song at a time like this.

I used to think it was a catchy tune... now I hated it. I never wanted to hear that particular song again.

Here I was trying to concentrate on the fact that my baby’s daddy was lying in a hospital bed with tubes around him, and I’m worried about the tall auburn beauty taking care of him and singing “Don’t Cha” because I feel like that was the song she would be singing to me.

Damn you crazy irrational baby hormones, damn you.

“Uh, he’s in pain,” I told her. I then turned toward Melanie. “Can he have more pain medication or something?”

Keep your paws to yourself pussycat doll.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.” Patting down the front of her pockets she found the syringe she was looking for and then scanned his wrist band. “I’ve got the really good stuff.” Melanie smiled and gave him some more medicine. “That should help, sweetie.” Reaching to her right she poured ice water in a cup for him and then angled a bendy straw his direction. “Do you want anything else?”

He shook his head slowly, frowning at the onset of the pain.

“Don’t you be moving around too much,” she said giving him a smile. “You’ve got a number of broken ribs, so you’re going to be very sore for a while.”

He grunted as a response and shut his eyes.

“Thanks,” I said when she got to the door.

Remember, paws off! my mind screamed at her.

“No problem.” She smiled before closing the door. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Just ring the call button.”

The room fell silent and Jameson remained staring at the ceiling. I really wanted to give him some time to sleep, or just relax without having to say anything so I went to get up.

“Stay in here with me,” he said quietly, so quietly I had to strain to hear the words. “Is my mom still out there?”

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” I assured him, taking his hand in mine. “And, yes, she’s outside your room with Emma.”

And then he surprised me.

His mouth twitched, the corner raising slightly. “Kiss me.”

“Huh?” I asked, confused, looking to him for an answer.

“Kiss me,” he repeated, puckering his lips in an adorable way. His eyes drifted open, lazy and tired. “You wouldn’t deny a man in my condition, would you?”

“You sure?”

He nodded and then realized that was a bad idea and then glared. “I’m sure.”

I didn’t need much of an invitation so I kissed him. Full on the lips. He tasted kind of like medicine.

Sighing, contently I assume and his tongue swept along his lower lip when I pulled back. “Thanks.”

“Glad I could help you out.” I let out an emotional giggle.

Moving his hand from under the blankets, our touch found one another, my fingers explore the roughness of his.

“Are you... okay?” he whispered eventually, frowning. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yes,” I assured him. “I’m fine. It certainly wasn’t easy to watch them replay that, but I’ve seen some wrecks before.” Nervously, I bit my lip looking at his face. “Do you remember anything?”

His frown deepened. “I remember the race... I think. I won, right?”

“Yeah, you won.” I wanted to smile, or laugh that he was still thinking of the race and his win but I couldn’t. Instead my emotions, my pregnant controlled emotions, took over. I was just so happy to see him, well, alive, that I lost it.

Trying to comfort me his hand found the back of my head, stroking my head but he didn’t say anything at first, as if he knew I would react this way. What girlfriend wouldn’t when they saw something like this happen to the one they loved?

I couldn’t lose him and now that it almost happened, I was having a hard time dealing with it.

“What’s wrong?” he struggled to sit up, and it drew me out of my emotional shit show.

“Oh no you don’t, Jameson,” I sniffed, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my JAR Racing sweatshirt. Don’t start moving around. You’ll hurt yourself. I’m just so happy you’re okay.” Drawing in a deep breath, I attempted to keep my emotions in check, if not for me, for him. “I was so worried about you.”

I could see then by his droopy eyes the pain medication was kicking in.

“You should sleep,” I told him pressing my hand to his cheek.

His eyes held mine. Oh shit, what’s that look for? “Will you... tell me, please?”

“Tell you?” I frowned, completely thrown off by his question. “Tell you what?”

What would I have to tell him? Well, I have something to tell him, but was now really the time?

“Are you pregnant?” His voice was soft, just like before but I was stunned stupid that he would even ask.

Shocked, I bit my lip.

Searching his gaze, I answered, “Yes,” and waited for his reaction.

His lips twitched into a half smile, nodding carefully.

“Jameson?” I asked, hesitantly. I had to know what he thought.

Will he still want me? Was he mad? Will this ruin everything?

This was hardly planned and not exactly what he needed right now, but it happened, and we couldn’t take it back.

“Hmm?” He was fading.

“Are you…” my voice faded, and his eyes found mine. “Are you… okay with that?”

On the verge of tears, I waited for his answer that could either send me over the edge, or make me feel better about all this.

Closing his eyes, he sighed as a smile formed. It was my smile.

“I am,” he murmured.

And then I started crying again. Good tears.

“Everything’s... gonna be all right,” he murmured, reaching for my hand again. “I promise.”

I waited until he’d fallen asleep and then I threw up again.

 

When I walked out of Jameson’s room to let him sleep, I immediately walked up to Emma, who was now talking with Jimi.

“Did you tell him?” I demanded, interrupting their conversation. I should have felt bad, but I didn’t, not when I specifically asked her not to tell anyone.

“Tell him what?” Emma looked at me confused as Aiden slung his arm around her.

“Jameson,” I sighed harshly. “Did you tell him I’m pregnant?”

“No,” she gasped, and I then realized exactly how loud my voice was. Jameson’s entire family, including many members of his crew, gawked at me.

Can you say awkward?

“You’re pregnant?” Jimi asked with a look of pure shock. Jimi wasn’t the type of man you could shock, but now, apparently he was.

“I... uh... shit.”

What do I say now? Do I admit it? Do I say just kidding?

Ah, crap, I think I’m gonna be sick again.

My hand instinctively fell to my stomach as the rush of nausea hit me. I swayed, trying to gain focus and something to say that didn’t sound stupid.

Nancy wrapped her arms around me in a motherly way that only she could. “Yes, she’s pregnant, but we don’t need the whole goddamn hospital finding out, Spencer... Emma.” She gave them both warning glares.

“I didn’t say anything,” Spencer defended, holding his arms up but immediately grinned in response. “I didn’t even know, until now.”

“I know,” Nancy agreed. “But you will.”

Spencer’s smile widened as he jerked me into a bear hug. “Spencer,” Alley chided, smacking his shoulder. “Don’t squish her.”

“I’m not,” he argued, setting me down. “I’m excited to have another little Riley running around.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s all we need around here,” Jimi chuckled with a sarcastic edge. “Especially one with Jameson’s DNA involved.” He then reached his strong arm around me, cradling me to his side to tuck me under his shoulder and then kissed my forehead. “Though I’m concerned about that,” he gestured toward Jameson’s room, “... reproducing... I’m happy for you guys.”

I thought I heard him mutter something about the kid being conceived on his kitchen floor, but I couldn’t be sure.

“What did Jameson say?” Emma asked when Jimi let me go.

“He smiled and said everything would be okay... I think it was the drugs talking,” I muttered, picking at a hangnail on my index finger only to avoid looking at anyone.

Being around five in the morning, my stomach was beginning to growl having not eaten all night.

Emma and Alley looked down at my stomach, obviously hearing the thunderous noise. “Definitely Jameson’s kid in there,” Alley laughed. “We should probably get you some food.”

With the help of Spencer, the boy could smell food being cooked a mile away, everyone went down to the cafeteria to find breakfast.

Now that I knew he was alive and conscious, I felt the need to eat again.

Nancy and Jimi stayed with Jameson until Jimi had to leave for Fulton, New York, that afternoon. Jimi, being a World of Outlaw sprint car driver, was in the battle for the championship and couldn’t blow off a race. Though everyone would have understood had he, it wasn’t in his nature to do so.

That was the thing about racing... it didn’t stop on the account of lapped traffic. The race continued while your 200 MPH taped car continued to get lapped—lap after lap—by faster cars.

A lifestyle never slept. A lifestyle this family knew well.

“Jesus Christ, you eat like a pro wrestler trying to make weight.” Spencer’s eyes took at my heaping plate as we sat at a large table in the corner of the cafeteria. “Where do you put all that?”

“Asshole,” I grumbled devouring my pancakes and bacon.

Most of the team joined us for breakfast. Tate, another driver in the series, and Bobby, who’d stayed until they knew Jameson was all right, left to prepare for Indianapolis this weekend where the series was heading next.

When I glanced around at the team, I noticed their faces for the first time. Sure, they looked exhausted, but that wasn’t what was alarming.

Justin, Tommy, and Tyler, all guys on Jameson’s sprint car team, appeared unscathed, but the rest all looked like they were stunt doubles in a Rocky movie.

“What the fuck happened to you guys?”

Spencer looked at Gentry, a tire changer for Jameson, but no one said anything.

Alley piped up. “These lunatics decided to make matters worse.” Her lips pursed, glaring at her husband. “Much worse.”

“We had a fucking right to,” Spencer barked eating his Lucky Charms. I’d never heard him so angry. “No one tries to kill my little brother and gets away with it.”

His tone, rough and defensive, contradicted the fact that he was eating cereal with marshmallows.

Around that time, Emma finally noticed Aiden, Jameson’s spotter, was sporting a fat lip and black eye. She had her make-up bag out trying to apply foundation to her boyfriend’s face while he glared at her.

“You’re lucky you guys weren’t arrested,” Alley added.

Spencer glanced at his wife menacingly. A look I’m sure she didn’t appreciate. “I would take jail any day for what I did to those assholes.”

“What did you do?” I asked apprehensively, sucking on a piece of pineapple.

“Spencer beat the living shit out of Darrin’s crew chief, Frank.” Gentry perked up with excitement as he described the garage-clearing brawl. “And I got some good licks in on their tire changer!”

He went on to say that Bobby, Tate, and Jameson’s entire teams got into a gladiator-style fight, in the garage at Pocono International Raceway.

It made me feel somewhat better they defended Jameson, but it didn’t change the fact that Jameson had been injured because of Darrin Torres.

“I can’t believe this,” I voiced, leaning my elbows on the table dropping my head. I was almost afraid to lift my eyes at that point. 

I broke out in tears when Spencer narrated how he found Jameson. Spencer apparently saw Darrin pull out of the pits after an argument with Frank.

Kyle, Jameson’s crew chief, and Spencer were the first ones to Jameson after the safety officials. His car was pinned against the outside wall, while he was a mangled mess inside. It appeared that he must not have seen Darrin coming because his left arm took a hard hit. It would have been easy if the bones had made a clean break, but instead they splintered in a way that now required surgery. Being left-handed, this would be a difficult recovery for him.

Jameson was unconscious when they arrived and never regained consciousness until hours after he arrived at the hospital. The worst of his injuries appeared to be the punctured lung as the doctor said.

“What’s going to happen to Darrin?” Emma asked, putting her make-up bag away when she realized Aiden was about ready to cunt punch her if she didn’t stop trying to apply foundation.

Tommy, a childhood friend and mechanic for his sprint car teams, found this particularly amusing. Milk was now coming out his nose. Spencer snapped a picture with his phone for future blackmailing.

“I’m sure NASCAR will fine him, but that’s the least of his worries,” Kyle added. “He was police escorted away from the track and booked in the county jail for reckless endangerment. Phillip won’t let him get away with this. Not after the conversation Alley heard in the bathroom.”

“What conversation?” Emma, Spencer, and I asked in sync.

Alley sighed. “I heard Mariah on the phone in the bathroom. She said Darrin had enough of Jameson’s haughty disregard for his warnings. Mariah told the person he was going to take care of it during the race, whatever that meant... apparently now we know what that meant.”

For months now, everyone had been warning Jameson that Darrin would come after him. No one thought he’d do it on the track, though. I had a strong feeling Darrin’s girlfriend, Mariah, still had something to do with it. 

“Did you warn Jameson?” Emma asked, dubiously, her features distorted.

“Of course, I tried... he didn’t want to hear it, and then I let it slip about Axle.”

“You told him before the race?” Emma was now shaking her head in disbelief. “Why would you do that?”

“I wasn’t going to, but I started crying. I never cry.” Alley looked ashamed. “He knew something was up.”

I was confused as hell.

“Wait,” I interrupted them, throwing my arms up. “What happened to Axle?”

Alley and Emma both looked at me with poignant expressions. “He passed away... Saturday morning,” Alley whispered, looking down at her coffee cup, tracing the outline of the handle delicately.

Then I started crying... hysterically. I was a mess. My only option at that point was to blame the hormones.

Later that afternoon, I was back in Jameson’s room with tissues surrounding my emotional state of mind and staring at the paper.

I read and re-read and then read again the article... it wasn’t nearly enough punishment for what he had done to Jameson. I glanced over at his motionless sleeping figure again and then read the paper once more. It was nowhere near enough.

 

Torres suspended for post-race incident

LONG POND, PA.

Darrin Torres, along with five Gibson Racing crewmembers from the No. 14 team, and Frank Rudd, crew chief for Torres, received a range of penalties for his involvement in an altercation following Sunday’s NASCAR Winston Cup Series race at Pocono International Raceway, NASCAR officials announced Monday.

Winston Cup drivers Jameson Riley, driver of the No. 9 Simplex Ford, and Darrin Torres, driver of the No. 14 Wyle Products Chevrolet, battled throughout the Sunoco Red Cross Pennsylvania 500. Around lap two hundred, Riley pulled away to a two-and-a-half second lead when Bobby Cole, Riley’s teammate, clipped the left rear of the No. 14. The remainder of the race was quiet until the last lap. Riley took the checkered flag and was currently making his victory lap when Torres left pit road and made another lap. The two cars collided right outside of the tunnel turn. No word was released as to why Darrin Torres went back out on the track. Gibson Racing has declined to comment.

Riley was reportedly unresponsive when safety track officials got to him. He was later air lifted to Pocono Medical Center where he is listed in critical, but stable, condition and expected to make a full recovery.

Following the incident Darrin Torres was escorted to the NASCAR hauler and later police escorted away from the track. Crewmembers from Gibson Racing, Riley Simplex Racing, and Banner Racing were involved in a pit road altercation after Riley was transported. It was reported that members from Riley Racing and Banner Racing, entered the pit of Gibson Racing where the altercation took place.

 

Cole and Harris fined and placed on probation.

Drivers Bobby Cole, driver of the No. 90 Riley Simplex Racing Ayers Manufacturing, and Tate Harris, driver of the No. 10 Banner Racing and Donco Oil, along with their crew chiefs, received various penalties for their involvement in a garage area altercation following last Sunday’s race at Pocono International Raceway.

Cole and Harris were fined $10,000 each and placed on probation until Dec. 31. Ben Willing, crew chief for Cole, and Jeff Johnson, crew chief for Harris, were fined $5,000 each and placed on probation until Dec. 31.

NASCAR later released a statement saying, “If any other driver is involved in an action deemed by NASCAR as detrimental to the stock car racing or NASCAR, or is disruptive to the orderly conduct of an event, the competitor will be suspended indefinitely from NASCAR.”

 

After reading the article for the hundredth time that morning, I came to the distinct conclusion nothing would be enough.

Nothing would ever be enough for what he did to Jameson.

 In the past, drivers had taken Jameson out, if you want to call it that. Intentionally wrecking him, approaching his pit after the race, things like that. It had never gone this far.

Trying to kill another driver was not right. Join a fight club or hockey if that was your intention. To me, this was unacceptable. Something like this should have never been allowed to happen.

I’d been sitting in his hospital room all afternoon, most of which was spent in the bathroom, throwing up that insanely mammoth-style breakfast I demolished.

Jameson was in and out. Sometimes he was alert and aware of who was in the room. Other times he was just downright lethargic. They assured us this was the medication trying to help him heal faster.

Around nine o’clock Monday night his eyes were fluttering open again.

I was looking over a People magazine next to his bed emerged in the lifestyles of others. I’m not gonna lie, this was just a cover. I was intently watching some ridiculously captivating reality show as well.

Jameson groaned, “Fuck...”

At least he can still articulate his favorite word.

“Sway,” he croaked and then sighed. I could tell he was still heavily sedated from the narcotics.

I silently wished I had access to the same narcotics. They’d come in handy for this emotional rollercoaster I found myself riding.

Tossing the magazine on the floor, I leaned forward reaching for his hand.

His rough fingers grazed lightly back and forth under my palm.

“I’m right here, sweetie,” I soothed, pulling his hand toward mine.

“Come here,” he begged, all hooded eyes and a faint smile.

“I’m here.”

“No. Come closer.” His eyes fell closed again as he tried to shift closer to me, but he winced in pain. Apparently it didn’t bother him too bad because he motioned for me to get in bed. “Please... I want you closer.”

I knew what he wanted. He wanted me in bed with him.

Wanting that just as much as he did, I cautiously maneuvered myself in bed. This was an extremely difficult task to do with the many broken bones covering most of his left side.

I snuggled as close as I could get, without being too close. Jameson wasn’t having it and tugged me with his good arm even closer. Gently I laid my head against his chest, listening to his strained breathing.

“Thank you, honey,” Jameson whispered, his voice gravelly and sexy. “I needed this.”

I wanted to tell him that he couldn’t speak with that voice because it distracted me, but I remained silent. Now wasn’t the time for that.

Moments passed where we lay there watching the television. Well, I was watching it; I wasn’t sure if he was. I doubted Jameson could even focus on it, but when I felt a strained chuckle, I glanced up at him.

“What the fuck are you watching?” he finally asked squinting at the screen in the corner of the room.

“I, uh...” Reaching for the remote on the table beside the bed, I turned it off. “I have no clue... It was just on,” I lied.

Damn you, reality TV!

Now I could see why everyone watched that shit.

“How are you feeling?” I snuggled against his warm body. It was hardly comfortable, but at the same time, it was.

“Sore.” I felt him try to shift in the bed but groaned instantly when he realized that wasn’t happening. “Very sore.”

The room went quiet; the only sounds were the beeping of the monitors he was hooked up to and the sounds of his unsteady breathing.

He surprised me when he spoke, his voice a raspy whisper. “Are you really... pregnant?”

I smiled thinking of the little crazy, irrational jellybean inside me. “Yes,” I whispered back. Thoughts of little rusty-haired grass green-eyed baby floated around me.

“I... uh...” He cleared his throat carefully, “not that I’m upset or anything, but I thought you were on birth control?”

Turning in his arms, I looked up at him. I thought I would see regret, but I didn’t. All I saw gazing back at me was love. The love he had for me and our unborn child.

“I was. Apparently they’re not one hundred percent effective... or so I’ve been told,” I replied sarcastically.

“Really? Fuck... they should put that on the box.”

“That’s what I said. But I read the box, and they do.” I let out a soft chuckle. “You’d think they would put it in a larger print or something.”

Jameson’s head leaned back against his pillow, his lips turned up in a smile when his eyes closed again. “A baby... hmmm.”

“Do you want to see the picture?”

His eyes flickered open and met mine, my favorite smile shone. “You have a picture?”

“Yeah.” I reached in the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out the crumpled photo. “That,” I pointed to the bubble on the black and white photo, “… is your crazy, irrational jelly bean. It’s still cooking, but it’ll be ready for racing sometime early March.”

Jameson let out a soft chuckle, kissing my forehead.

“Who told you I was pregnant?” I asked curiously.

“No one did. I had a feeling when I left but didn’t want to say anything.”

Intuitive bastard. Why couldn’t he have let me in on that theory before he left? At least then I wouldn’t have been subjected to the insanity of Emma and her trying to sneak a peek at my crankcase and her inner workings.

Setting the picture on his thigh, I looked up at him.

“I’m sorry about Axle.”

I could see the sadness instantly in his tortured expression; he was still struggling with that. I knew the events directly prior to the race were hazy, but he remembered what Alley told him.

“I know,” he murmured with a nod. I watched, as his eyes shone with tears though none spilled over.

Squeezing his eyes tightly, he composed himself. Jameson never showed his emotions that way, but he did when it came to that brown-eyed little boy who stole a piece of his heart that day he spent with him. It was a piece that would forever be held with Axle Nathan Taylor.

Continuing to stare at our picture, Kyle knocked softly on the door before stepping inside. I could see his girlfriend standing outside in the hall waiting for him.

“Hey bud, how are you feeling?”

“Ready to race.” Jameson attempted to give thumbs up with his good hand that was wrapped around me.

“Ha!” Kyle laughed. “You’re funny.”

Jameson looked down with a nod. He knew he was going to be missing a few races, and I think that bothered him.

“I hear they’re doing surgery on the wrist tomorrow morning?” Kyle moved closer, sitting on the couch just inside the door.

“Yeah,” Jameson sighed. “They’re putting some pins in... I guess.”

Kyle stood and walked toward the bed. Jameson moved his arms from around my shoulder, reaching for Kyle’s hand. “I’m glad you’re okay, bud. You scared me.”

“I know... I’m sorry.”

Kyle reached for his cell phone in his pocket. “Can you repeat that?” he laughed, pushing the phone at him. “I want to record it.”

I started giggling from my place beside him.

“Not a chance.” Jameson glared at me before turning it on Kyle. “That’s the only sorry you will ever get out of me. Remember that.”

“Oh, I will.” Kyle added, “I wasn’t sure you were capable of those two words.”

Jameson groaned. “So what do we do about another driver?”

“We got a few options around,” Kyle told him. “We can worry about that after the surgery when we know how long you will be out. That will determine who we choose.”

Jameson and Kyle made small talk for a moment before Pussycat Doll came back in to deliver the good stuff. I knew I only had about fifteen minutes before he fell asleep.

Kyle politely excused himself before Melanie started her process of exams on Jameson.

Being the crazy-irrational-hormone-enraged-pigizzle that I was now, I watched every move she made and scrutinized every look Jameson gave her trying to decipher whether or not he’d be attracted to her. I have never been an insecure person, so I wasn’t impressed with these emotions at all. I’d like to blame it on my hormones, but I seemed to be blaming everything on that these days. You’d think at some point my brain would need to take some sort of responsibility.

My thoughts were lost when the nurse began her exam, pushing his gown aside to reveal his stomach. My eyes instinctively went to his lower abdomen and then lower hoping to catch a glimpse of the camshaft. All I was able to see was the faint dark hair leading to my favorite track.

“Oh, well look at those,” Melanie snickered looking over Jameson’s tattoos on his hips that told her he belonged to Sway Reins.

I laughed, trying to hide my amusement by pretending to cough. Didn’t work. Jameson shot me a glare, attempting to cover his hips from being exposed further.

“You’re going to have those forever, you know,” she told him, straightening his blanket.

“No shit,” he grunted, clearly not amused.

“Jameson.” Melanie touched his left leg over the blanket ignoring his rudeness. “How are you feeling tonight?”

His brow furrowed, looking down at her hand before answering.

“Sore but less groggy. I guess that’s better?”

“Well, the grogginess won’t go away just yet.” She tapped his IV. “It’s the morphine. You’re on a high dose right now to keep you relaxed. The more you rest, the faster you heal.”

I could tell he was still sleepy or else he would have objected to being sedated so heavily.

Melanie smiled one breathtaking smile at him. A smile that made me want to punch out all her white teeth.

Jesus, could she be any more beautiful?

“Let me know if you need anything, sweetie.” Her head turned to the side. “It’s not every day we have a NASCAR superstar in here.”

Jameson smiled and then looked away quickly without saying anything. I could tell she was making him uncomfortable; he didn’t like attention, or the touching, and neither did I.

Once the door closed behind her, Jameson sighed heavily. “I hate this place,” his voice thick and drowsy. “I want to go home.”

“I know... I do, too,” I agreed, running my hands over his stubby jaw. “Soon.”

Gingerly I brought his lips to mine. I intended on kissing him once, but Jameson had other plans when his tongue glided against my lower lip.

Without thinking, I slowly deepened the kiss. His right hand came up from between us, cupping the back of my head. My mind was screaming for me to stop this. He was in no condition to be making out right now, but I couldn’t make myself.

Jameson moaned softly, his tongue dancing with my own. He tasted different, like medicine. His movements were slow, but I could tell he wanted more. I was moments away from pulling away when he dropped his hand to mine, and then moved it to his erection over the blanket. At least that wasn’t damaged—that would have been fucking tragic.

Jameson groaned into my mouth. “God, Sway... I need you.”

“Jameson,” I whispered, pulling away with a grin of self-satisfaction that I could arouse him so easily. “We can’t do that... in here.”

Thoughts of straddling him in a hospital bed began flooding my perverted brain. Now I understood his fascination when he was stabbed and wanting to do it in the hospital bed.

I could blame baby hormones for that, too, right?

I think he knew we couldn’t, but it didn’t stop the pout he gave me before he muttered, “I know.”

“Soon... I promise.” I pulled back away from him. “You need to heal first.” I leaned in placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He once again tried for more, his tongue sweeping over my lips.

Both of us jumped when the door to his room opened. At the reaction Jameson winced in pain. “Fuck...”

“Now, now... that’s how you knocked her up in the first place.” Spencer laughed at his weak joke before he and Alley barged in.

“Can’t you put him on the do not let in list or something?” Jameson asked me quietly. His eyes drooping even more, he was fighting to stay awake.

I realized how inappropriate our position looked so I cautiously removed myself from the bed, albeit against Jameson’s struggles to keep me there. Eventually, he settled for me holding his hand.

“We won’t stay long,” Alley assured me. Jameson’s eyes were already closing. “We wanted to say goodbye. We have to go pick up Lane at my mom’s.”

Jameson’s eyes opened briefly when Spencer leaned down and whispered in his ear. His mouth twisted into a faint smile as Spencer ruffled his hair carefully.

Once they left, he fell asleep quickly. I didn’t. I stayed vigilant of every breath, every movement, and every flicker of emotion.

 

When Jameson woke up the next morning for surgery, he was grumpy.

Actually, he was pissed. That was a better word to describe his mood. His pillows weren’t fluffy enough, he was cold, he was uncomfortable, and he was hungry. He was acting like a goddamn child was what he was doing.

When the nurses left, he admitted he was also incredibly horny and wanted to be alone with me, while I gave him a sponge bath.

His words, not mine.

Believe me, after seeing the way Pussycat Doll ogled his body during his physical exams, I was happy to be the one he was requesting do his sponge baths.

Jameson’s biggest concern was, naturally, getting back to racing.

It was a huge relief to hear his doctor say that he didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t be back to racing in three weeks.

Once the doctors told him that, it was all he could think of. He became that version of Jameson Riley I knew, determined to prove to anyone he could come back from this and win.

When he wanted something, he didn’t let anything stand in his way.

That afternoon, after his outburst for pretty much everything, his head turned toward me, sunlight from the window sparking in his green eyes.

“I love you,” Jameson whispered as I stood beside his bed. His good hand came up and touched my stomach gently. He smiled.

“I know you do.”

 

The days following Jameson’s surgery for his wrist were, for lack of a better description, a cluster fuck.

It was now Wednesday, and the decision needed to be made who would step in for Jameson during the Indianapolis race. Jameson wanted Justin West to step in. The only problem was Justin could only make Indy without interfering with the World of Outlaws schedule.

The doctors indicated the hole in his lung was healing, which meant the air escaping was slowly decreasing, but he still wasn’t healed. This meant he needed to find a driver for Michigan and possibly Bristol before he could pass the physical NASCAR required.

His room was constantly filled with doctors, the Pussycat Doll, reporters, and police detectives. Melissa and Marcus, representatives with Simplex Shocks and Springs, his sponsor in the Cup Series, made a visit to see how their driver was doing. Hell, even Randy, Jameson’s uncle, even came by to check on his nephew.

All of this pissed Jameson off. You’d think he would be happy all these people were there to see him, but no, all my dirty heathen could think about was sex... and more importantly... sex with me.

Every time someone left the room, he was back to molesting me with lingering touches, inappropriate kisses, and constantly whispering all the naughty things he wanted to do to me.

I was in pigizzle heaven. I was where a pigizzle went to die a blissful death, surrounded by my dirty heathen.

I was afraid he was going to hurt himself with the way he would pull me against him, but that never stopped him.

At one point, I even tried threatening him. “I’ll call the nurse and have you sedated if you can’t settle down.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged, looking at my finger wavering over the call button.

“Behave then.”

Jameson groaned, dragging his hand through his hair.

“Fuck, Sway... it’s been two goddamn weeks since I had any sort of stimulation down there. Three, if you count anything other than my own hand.” His eyes showed panic. “I’m going to go insane.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Shut up,” he snapped and continued to pout while picking at his cast. “I’d settle for some micro-polishing?” he suggested south with a lazy nod, letting his voice get that particular drawl to it that he knew would leave me weak.

“Jameson, no, you’re injured and pretty badly, too,” I objected though inside I was jumping up and down he still wanted my pregnant ass. “There’s no way I’m doing anything besides kiss you while you’re in this hospital.”

“So... no chance of bleeding my pressure valve either?” He gave me the sad puppy dog eyes attempting to seal the deal.

“Jesus Christ... no!”

“This is ridiculous. I’m injured.” He roughly pointed this out as though I didn’t know. “You should be taking care of me. You’re being completely unfair.”

I made a firm rule that he needed to be discharged from the hospital before we had sex. To say I was horny as well was a fucking understatement. My surplus hormones were out of control. I had an oil leak that needed a new filter, desperately. Don’t think I wasn’t ready to ask Nurse Pussycat for a shot of Valium, because I was.

I was also moments away from climbing on top of him and riding the shit out of him, despite the broken ribs and punctured lung.

What was satisfied immensely was when Jameson showed absolutely no interest in the Pussycat Doll or any other nurse who snuck in to try their luck with him. There were many.

Tommy, however, was madly in love with Pussycat and asked her to marry him on more than one occasion. She thought he was adorable and actually gave him her number. Crazy lunatic. She must have liked orange heads and men with the mental maturity of an eight-year-old.

Jameson was a cranky jerk by the time Sunday rolled around, and he was forced to watch the race on television—something he’d never done until now.

I actually had to leave the room a couple times and beg the nurses to sedate him, or me, when he was yelling so profusely at the reporters that I honestly thought he was going to give himself a heart attack.

Everyone in the NASCAR garage knew exactly what happened and that Darrin intended on killing Jameson that day in Pocono, but the media painted a very different picture.

They went through every possible scenario: maybe he was testing something out on his car; maybe he didn’t realize Jameson was on the track; maybe Jameson shouldn’t have still been on the track.

Bullshit... all of it, bullshit.

Darrin Torres knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled off pit lane and hit Jameson’s car at approximately one hundred and seventy miles per hour.

That was not a goddamn fluke. It was intentional.

What shut Jameson up completely that afternoon was when they replayed the accident, and he watched it for the first time.

He was quiet for a good hour, and I think the only reason he spoke after that was because I threw up beside his bed after watching it.

It was sickening to see. The video footage they had didn’t show Darrin coming, but instead showed Jameson doing his burnout with his arm out the window, and then you saw a glimpse of Darrin’s car in the smoke... then this horrible metal-to-metal thunderous noise.

When the smoke cleared, Jameson’s car rested—demolished—against the outside wall, the camera focusing on his body slumped over his steering wheel.

It was one of those horrific accidents you see in movies and can’t believe they walked away from; it was gut wrenching.

Jameson never did make any remarks about the accident. Knowing this boy my entire life, he wouldn’t.

 

By Monday morning, Emma was prohibited from his room after she brought in a fluffy stuffed cougar that was practically the size of Jameson.

His response, after making me set the cougar outside his door, “You have to be shitting me?”

Nancy was dangerously close to being banned as well when she brought me Burger King.

Jameson had to sit and watch as I wolfed down two Whoppers and a milkshake.

He was not so amiable after that since his doctor said he wasn’t allowed any greasy food while he was in the hospital. He actually contemplated kicking me out, but I suborned him with another sponge bath—worked like a charm.

The week in the hospital flew by.

Jameson was driven. He pushed himself harder each day, determined to recover in time for Bristol. The thing was, that was what Jameson was good at, balancing on the edge of control, determination—anything really.

I knew that soon he’d be getting back behind the wheel of a race car. I was happy for him, but the other part of me—the part that wanted the father of our child around for his or her birth—was scared shitless to have him behind the wheel again.

I don’t think anyone could ever understand the feeling you get when you watch someone you love almost die right before your eyes. It’s indescribable and something I never want to experience again, but I know it will happen.

Besides last Sunday, the worst crash I ever saw him get in was one at Indy when he flipped a USAC midget seven times and landed on the guardrail. He walked away from that one and even laughed about it when he saw the video. He was the only one laughing.

With all of this, I came to the conclusion that none of it was in my control. I could hover over him like his mother to the point of driving him insane... or I could support him and let him know every day how much I loved him.

Though I knew he was risking his life every time he got inside that car, it was something he loved to do and was his passion.

How could I ever ask him to give that up because I didn’t want to lose him?

To me, that was the most selfish thing I could do.

So instead, I told him every chance I got that I loved him and supported the career he chose, even if he was out of his mind for wanting to go two hundred miles per hour into a corner with concrete walls surrounding him.