Air Wrench – This tool uses compressed air to quickly remove wheel nuts on contact. A crew member proficient with the air wrench can save a team valuable seconds on a pit stop. It might also be called an air gun or impact gun.
After being arrested, we kept things low as the season was getting intense, but so was the interest in my relationship with Jameson. I wasn’t sure why, but everyone wanted to challenge the connection we had. It was like nowadays people didn’t believe in a lasting relationship that had stress and obstacles in its way. Well, I did, and I damn sure wasn’t about to let anyone threaten it.
One night after the race in Bristol, I was walking back to the motor coach to meet up with Jameson, and we were heading to Elma for a couple days. I got halfway there and realized I’d forgotten Casten’s stuffed monkey in the hauler so Van ran back to get it for me. I stood waiting for him when Rusty, a Nationwide driver, approached me.
Rusty was about twenty-three or so and had a knack with the ladies. He thought, and I would argue this, he was God’s gift to women. He had no idea the man I had in my bed every night was by far the best.
So standing there in the darkness of the paddock waiting on Van, Rusty came up.
“What are you doing out here all alone?” he asked, stepping from his golf cart.
“Oh, well I forgot something in the hauler, and Van went to get it.”
“So Van, he’s like your bodyguard?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, something like that.”
He smiled, brown golden eyes trying to work their magic. “I can see why a girl like you needs a bodyguard.”
He stepped closer, blocking me against the side of Paul’s hauler.
I felt the nervous goose bumps and the sudden urge to run. Since the incident with Darrin so many years ago, I didn’t like to be cornered by anyone.
“So, Sway, how about you say we, oh, you know,” he let his voice drop lower to a whisper, “We go back to my motor coach?”
Was he fucking serious?
I must have given him that look because he replied, “You can’t tell me Riley gives you everything you need. He’s so focused on racing he barely sees you for what you are.”
Again, was he fucking serious?
He stepped even closer, his breath blowing across my face.
That was when the shit hit the fan.
“What’s going on here?” Jameson asked barely controlled.
I knew then, one wrong move, one wrong word and this Rusty guy would regret ever stepping my direction.
Even submerged in the shadows and harsh lighting, his temper was thick. Like a race at a superspeedway with twenty cars running in a pack on the last lap, I knew what was coming.
Rusty stepped back, distancing himself from me.
“Nothing, just talking to your wife here,” Rusty said casually with a hint of arrogance. “Nice run tonight.”
Jameson looked to me for an answer, avoiding Rusty. He knew by looking at me it wasn’t that and reacted exactly the way I expected.
“Sway,” Jameson’s voice had that tone, and I knew then Rusty was about to see the big one. “Meet me at the motor coach.”
My gaze upon my husband shifted over his shoulder to see Van standing there. I joined Van and never looked back.
Van sighed and continued to walk with me.
“How is it that I can’t leave you for a second?” he handed me Casten’s stuffed monkey.
“I don’t know, Van.”
I hoped Jameson didn’t get into trouble, and frankly, I was getting tired of this crap. Why wasn’t it that anyone could have a marriage without people trying to test their luck?
It was something I’d never understand.
Jameson returned with Spencer beside and motioned for me to get inside the Expedition waiting for us. I loaded the kids, and we took off to airport without another word.
When we got home and inside our room, he looked at me and leaned against the wall as I got ready for bed. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. Did you hurt him?”
“No,” his eyes dropped to the floor. “I just had a few words with him.”
I knew what that meant, and when I saw Rusty the next week, he wouldn’t even look at me and had the faint yellow markings of a black eye that was healing.
Riley was still very much Rowdy Riley.
Toward the end of the 2009 season, I had made it into the chase and was well on the way to my fifth championship when we got caught up in the big one in Talladega. A lot of chase contenders were involved, as well, so that was good, but not where I wanted to be heading into the final three races of the season.
Everything was busy right now. Sway was in Mooresville with the kids helping Tommy and the boys with the sprint car team. The World Finals started on Wednesday, and here I was on a Sunday night, after the Talladega race, drinking with Tate and Bobby.
We all just needed a break. Sadly, I didn’t get one.
I was standing there next to the bar, waiting for another round of beers when a man approached me for my autograph. I gave him one and expected him to leave me alone, but he decided to invade my personal life by asking how my son was doing. Now, I don’t really have a problem with that—he was in the public eye now, and there wasn’t anything I could do about that. What I had a problem with was those who asked about Sway. Given our history and the year we’d been having, I took that shit personally.
When his attempts got him nowhere, he went a step further.
“You’re wife sure is pretty,” the man said conversationally, though I didn’t take it that way by his dark tone. I didn’t like this guy. One, he was standing too close to me, and second, I just didn’t like him.
I was well aware my wife was attractive and understood other men coming on to her. Who wouldn’t?
What I didn’t appreciate were the ones who felt the need to come on to her in front of me. To me, marriage was sacred. It held a bond like none other. I valued it greatly and to have men disregard me as though my wife wasn’t my wife wasn’t something I was okay with. Actually, it pissed me off to no end. Just like the time in Bristol with Rusty, I lost my cool.
“Don’t.” I shook my head slowly as I reached for the three beers the bartender handed me.
“Don’t what?”
“Threaten me,” I growled, turning to look at him. “Do you honestly think you’re the first person to threaten my family?”
“I only said she was pretty,” his words didn’t match his expression, though. “Why are you so defensive about that?”
“Come on dude!” Bobby yelled from the table. “I could have gotten them faster than you.”
I nodded toward Bobby that I had the beers and was heading back to the table when the man followed me.
“I only said she was pretty. What’s the harm in that?”
Bobby and Tate caught on fairly quickly that I was moments away from showing this guy what the harm was. “You’re in very dangerous territory,” I told him as threateningly as I could. Now that I had the man backed up against the wall, it dawned on me who he was. He was the same guy from Indy—Gab. But as Van had found out, his name wasn’t Gab Kinney. It was actually Garrett Kinney, wanted for arrest in Atlanta, Houston, and El Paso on possession of narcotics and burglary in Seattle.
“You’re awfully protective,” he chuckled. “Has she cheated on you or something?”
“You are lucky I’m even letting you say that to me right now.”
“Oh, so that’s a yes?”
“Listen to me, Garrett!” His eyes widened in surprise that I knew his real name. I snapped, slamming my beer on the table as both Bobby and Tate stood from their place at the table. “My wife and my family are none of your fucking business, is that clear?”
His hands rose defensively. “I was only pointing out a fact.”
“A fact that is none of your concern.”
Keeping his hands securely in his jacket, he struggled against me.
“Jameson, let him go,” Tate warned stepping closer.
“You should listen to your friend.”
I had half a mind not to let him go. Flashes of Darrin surged through my blood, leaving me boiling. This wasn’t Darrin, just some smartass looking to piss me off, but it didn’t change the feeling. Throughout the year, it seemed everyone was testing me.
Knowing this came with fame, I tried not to read too much into it. But still, it was there, haunting me.
Bobby ushered the guy away from me while Tate sat me down at the table again. “Relax man.”
“Relax?” I balked. “That guy just told me my wife was pretty. How do you think that makes me feel?”
Tate seemed to contemplate this for a moment but didn’t answer.
“Let me ask you something, Tate... how would you feel if someone threatened Anna or Jake?”
“I would have reacted the same way, but he didn’t threaten you. He said she was pretty... there’s a difference, Jameson.”
“Really? There is?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Could have fooled me because that’s the first thing Darrin said to me.”
“What?”
“That Sway was pretty.”
Tate hung his head and then slowly shook it. “You have to stop comparing every man to Darrin. Yeah, he was crazy, but Sway is pretty. You’re not going to get away from men thinking she’s attractive.”
“That’s not the fucking point.” I slammed my beer down on the table and walked out. Bobby was coming back inside as I was leaving, and I blew past him with just a head nod.
Instead of catching a flight home, I decided to drive that night. Once you were on I-85, it was only a six-hour drive and after the race and then the bar, I needed the time alone. Throughout the season, it was hard to find any sort of alone time. No matter how in love you were with your significant other or family, you needed alone time.
Once I was driving home, I was able to calm down enough that I called Sway to let her know I’d be there some time in the early morning.
“What do you mean you’re driving?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
She sighed. “Why didn’t you just have Wes pick you up?” I could hear at least two of the kids screaming in the background.
“I just...” Letting out my own sigh, I ran my hand through my hair. The freight trucks passing by hummed beside me. “I needed some alone time.”
“Oh, okay. Well drive carefully.”
“I will,” I told her. “I love you.”
Sway told me she loved me too and then hung up after that. She called back an hour later and had me sing Arie to sleep. Lately she insisted I sing her to sleep every night so how could I deny my princess that?
When I finally arrived home, I felt better, but I was so tired I hardly had any sense to think. Just not hearing everyone tell me what I should be doing, or should be feeling was enough for me. It was a constant stream of advice these days from sponsors, drivers, my team, everyone, but my family had an opinion of me and wanted to cast their thoughts upon me. I could give a shit what everyone else thought, but it was them that stressed me out the most. While I didn’t care what they thought, it still weighed on me, almost as if it was a burden.
BEING AT HOME always made me restless when I had racing on my mind, but all that seemed to be the least of my worries the next day when I was watching the kids so Sway could go to the store.
Sway’s cell phone kept ringing so eventually it annoyed me to the point I answered it.
“Hello?”
I waited, but no one answered—just breathing.
“Hello?” I repeated, riled from last night and then with the kids this morning.
Axel and Arie spent the morning arguing over what cartoon they wanted to watch while Casten decided it was a good idea to pee on our living room floor—all this while Sway was gone. I wasn’t sure how in the hell she handled all three of the little spaz monsters without drugging them. It definitely crossed my mind, but I quickly ruled that out as child abuse and something most would frown upon.
No one answered and eventually I got sick of the silent line and hung up. Two minutes later, the same goddamn thing happened. So when Sway finally walked through the door, grocery bags in hand, I was not happy.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, setting the bags on the center island of the counter and then swinging the door to the garage shut so Casten couldn’t sneak out. Any time the kid saw an open door it was like a bunch of prisoners trying to escape Alcatraz.
“How long has this been going on?” I held up her phone.
“A while, I guess,” the fact that she knew what I was referring to made me that much more irritated with the entire situation at the bar last night and now these fucking phone calls.
“How long, Sway?”
“A month maybe?”
“Goddamn it, you should have told me,” I snapped as she flinched at my harsh tone. Casten looked up at me, glared, and kicked my shin.
“No yelwing!” he told me and scurried to Sway where he usually hid.
“What is with him?” I asked, rubbing my shin, confused why my youngest kid was kicking me. Casten was a funny kid. He never paid much attention to me and usually when I’d get home he’d give me this slow once over gaze as if he was saying to himself, “So, you’re my dad?”
Talk about feeling inadequate. It was like he thought I wasn’t anything special.
Ignoring me, she picked him up and held on to him as she continued to put the food away like nothing happened. Something did happen, and damn well wasn’t going to again. I spent the next two hours lining up more security guards and a new cell phone for Sway, along with more security cameras at our house and the one in Washington.
“Jameson, this is uncalled for,” Sway told me when I handed her the new phone later that night. “We don’t need to be hounded by security. Van is enough.”
“You leave me no choice in the matter, Sway. You and our children will be protected from this bullshit!” I snapped harshly. “You should have told me this was happening.”
“You have been acting strange since that guy in our hotel room in Indy, what’s your deal?”
The fact that she didn’t understand why this was important wasn’t lost on me. She, of all people, should understand why. I walked away before I once again lost my temper, but as we laid in bed that night going over the schedule for the next week before we left for Charlotte, I confessed my fears.
I gazed at him; his strong hands ran through his hair as he watched the flames from the fireplace. Letting out a sigh, I wondered what he was keeping to himself when he turned to me, his face radiant in the glow from the dancing light.
He smiled softly when I entered the room, returning the smile.
Snuggling against his chest, his hands cradled around me securely.
“All of this with Rusty and Garrett makes me remember,” he whispered into my hair before softly kissing the side of my neck.
“Remember what?” I asked curiously, though I had an idea of what he meant.
His fingertips ran up my shoulder into my hair, trailing across the scar that remained on the back of my head. “What should never be forgotten.”
In a sense, it shouldn’t be forgotten. Darrin taught us a vital lesson about protecting ourselves. It had been five years since the accident, and we couldn’t forget. Every time I washed my hair, I felt the scar left on my scalp. Even so much as the smell of blood, a dark stairwell or hospitals would remind me of that time in our lives. There were even times when I looked at Axel and thought of it. But it wasn’t a bad thing as we used it as a reminder of how quickly everything could be taken away from us.
What Jameson was telling me was that he was reminded, too, and that when he overreacted, it was his way of surviving it.
So because this Garrett fellow called me about twenty times a day to breathe in my ear, he amped up our security. Axel was in pre-school now, and since we were on the road so much, we ended up getting a tutor instead of public or private school.
Lane, who just turned nine, was pulled out of fourth grade at Park View Elementary School in Mooresville because he got into a fistfight with another kid over Jameson. It wasn’t just our kids who were affected by this. All the Riley kids were. This left us hiring our own teachers. And it wasn’t that we didn’t want them having interactions like this—it was just getting dangerous given the following Jameson now had. I wouldn’t say that he was as famous as Brad Pitt, but almost everywhere we went, he was noticed. In turn, our kids were noticed.
AT THE COMPLETION of the Outlaw World Finals, the series announced Jimi would be inducted into the National Sprint Car Hall of Fame in Knoxville, Ohio. He’d won over eight hundred career wins and won his twentieth championship this year. Greatness, that was for sure.
Jameson had always been in awe of his father’s raw talent in a sprint car, but when he was inducted into the Hall of Fame, that awe was replaced with reverence.
Similarly, already looking up to Jimi, Axel was in heaven when we took him to Knoxville with us.
Between Jimi being inducted into the Hall of Fame, Jameson winning the championship this year, and changes being made at Grays Harbor, we had a busy off-season.
Thanksgiving flew by since we were in Irwindale with the kids for Turkey Night. Jameson won, while Justin, the usual winner of the event, finally took second to him.
After the awards banquet, we spent Christmas in New York. The kids enjoyed the city so much we decided to stay. Once New Year’s had come and gone, it was back to preparing for racing.
We had the three drivers on the Outlaw team, Axel racing the USAC quarter midget Junior Animal division, and then the dealings with the track.
For a long time Grays Harbor had needed attention, so Jameson and I poured some money into the facility by adding grandstands, more concessions stands, and made the entire facility a place where children were welcomed, complete with a playground in the pits.
With the addition of another bodyguard, Clint, the stalkers seemed to be lying low. We still had the occasional crazed fan, obsessed pit lizards, and strange packages delivered to the house, but having security around helped. The nice thing about Van, and now Clint, was that it wasn’t like they were security. Van was part of the family now, and Clint loved to play jokes on everyone when he wasn’t on guard. Put him in a room with Jameson, Spencer, and Aiden, and they were trying to figure out the best way to embarrass each other. I didn’t mind that as much as it made me feel safe and provided entertainment at the same time.
Our lives were moving forward. Axel was six now and racing as much as he could. With the roof on the track at our home in Mooresville, I was lucky to get him to come inside—especially once Jameson installed lights.
I never worried much about his safety out there because, for one, we had cameras installed in the house so that I could see him on the track. On top of that, he wasn’t allowed on the track without a parent or someone with enough sense to come get us if he wrecked.
Behind the track was a motocross track so it was rare if any of us saw our children during the day. Lane was competing in races around North and South Carolina and racking up some nice wins so Jameson put in a track for him, as well. Our property became the local hangout.
Arie was, without a doubt, in love with her father. She was absolutely nothing like me. I wondered at times if she was even mine. Arie loved clothes, painting her nails, doing her hair—girly things. I was convinced she was conceived for Emma. Having two little asshole children of her own, who were only into dirt and destroying things, she had nobody to govern the girly world with, so that’s where my sweet little Arie and Lexi came in. They adored Aunt Emma.
Then there was Casten, Mama’s boy. He’d just turned two, and while he acted like your typical two-year-old, Casten wasn’t a fit thrower. He laughed all the time. It was actually kind of strange, but the kid thought everything was funny and had the most infectious laugh.
Last year, Jameson had won the championship and Turkey Night, Chili Bowl, and was well on his way to winning the Daytona 500 this year when he got caught up in a wreck on the last lap. His career was taking off, which left him with no time for anything.
On top of that, he turned thirty in June. He wasn’t wild about turning thirty, especially in a sport like racing. It meant that he was no longer the kid in the series. He was now looked at as being a wise driver, so to speak, who did not throw fits. Now if you knew Jameson, you knew this was basically out of the question. He still threw stuff after races; got in the faces of other drivers; was fined for aggressive driving; and received a suspension for one race when he punched a NASCAR official for telling him he was setting a bad example for his son.
I was going about life as I always did, just going with the flow. Our kids were growing, Jameson was happy, I was happy, our family was happy. What more could we ask for, right?
I would ask not to get old.
Did you ever wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you got so goddamn old? I did. Every day I spotted another reminder that I was no longer twenty-three, but instead, turning thirty.
Now I was pulling out gray hairs, yelling at my kids more often from lack of patience, waxing in areas I never expected hair to grow, let alone be gray, and finding the need to exercise daily to keep my ass under control.
Getting old sucked. Much like pregnancy, I couldn’t find a single thing I enjoyed, well, physically that is. Emotionally, I was extremely happy. I just thought I was wearing this body out. I wonder if they offered replacements.
In late August, my fears of getting old finally got the best of me.
Jameson had a bye week before heading into the race in Atlanta and was once again at the shop with Tommy making changes to the sprint cars before Knoxville Nationals.
Once Arie and Casten were down for naps, and Axel was speeding around the track out back, I finally had a moment to rest and clean up the paint Arie spilled in the kitchen before Jameson saw it. I could only imagine what he’d say when he saw the mess. If you thought he was obsessive about anything touching his skin, he had the same reactions to cleanliness around the house. Now if only he could manage to clean up after himself.
When he finally got home around ten that night, I was exhausted.
With the extreme events those kids had put me through today, sex was not on my agenda. My dirty heathen had other ideas, and as soon as Casten fell asleep, he was attacking me.
I tried to get into the mood for him because we seldom were alone these days, but I was exhausted. Could you honestly blame me with three of Jameson Riley’s children around to annoy me all day? In one day they spilled an entire can of paint in the kitchen, and Axel jumped his quarter midget over the pool, followed by Lane jumping his dirt bike (they’d been watching Jameson and Spencer too much these days). Arie and Lexi put make-up on Casten and Cole. Casten decided to try out Mr. Jangles’s litter box, and Mr. Jangles went missing, only to later find him taking a dip in the pool, missing more fur. Noah and Charlie came over with Emma. That right there should sum up the rest of my day for you. I was tired. That was all there was to it.
All that being said, Jameson knew my body; he knew it well. So when I wasn’t really into it that night, he knew.
Some people told you they had the greatest sex life ever. Others told you they never had sex, and that it was horrible when they did. I guess it depended on who you talked to. Luck of the draw? Or luck of the Irish?
In reality, everyone had different obstacles in their relationship that set them apart from their friend’s relationship.
Maybe you fought about money, kids, work, or even having sex.
The thing was, it wasn’t always going to be mind-blowing sex. Even with Jameson and me, two people who were sexually attracted to each other from the beginning and have always had a strong sexual chemistry, there were times when it didn’t work, when we started and didn’t finish, or times when I didn’t get off and he did. It was marriage—leg cramps, sore, tired, kids screaming all day, bills to pay, with all those daily obstacles running through your head. It wasn’t always easy to shut out the rest of the world and just be in the moment with your other half. I got it.
Jameson, thought, he didn’t always understand that.
He stilled above me, searching my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” I replied innocently.
Jameson seemed to sense the lies in my facial features and rolled off me.
“Sway, you’re faking it,” he said, offended.
“No I’m not.” I also tried to sound offended, but I wasn’t sure that worked. After all, he knew I was faking it, and I was pretty sure he knew I was lying.
“Don’t lie to me.” He got off the bed and pulled his shorts on. “I can’t believe this.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“I’m overreacting? How many times have you faked it?”
This was turning out badly. “I haven’t been faking it,” I repeated, trying to buy some more time to think of a better lie.
“Did I do something wrong? Is it me?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, pulling up the sheets. “I just... have a headache.”
Nice one, Sway. Real fucking original.
He didn’t acknowledge that poor excuse, or maybe he didn’t hear me. “I’ve always been able to get you off,” he mused. “I was good at setting fast time. At least I thought I was,” he started to mutter. “Maybe I’ve lost my touch. Oh, my God....” He faced me now. “I’ve lost it. I turned thirty, and I’ve lost it!”
“Jameson, it wasn’t you,” I climbed off the bed and moved to sit next to him on the floor now. “Let’s try again.”
He looked at me with a shocked expression and pointed toward his now soft camshaft. “Do you honestly think I’m ready to go again? I think I need Viagra?” he said the last part in question though I was sure it wasn’t meant to be one.
“This is getting ridiculous….” I grabbed his face between my hands. “It. Wasn’t. You.”
He was about to say something else when his phone rang. He sat there glaring at me, actually glaring at me, before getting up to answer the phone.
“Yeah... no... because I don’t want to... no, you do it... leave me alone... all right, fine, bye.” He slammed his phone shut. “Fucking Spencer,” he grumbled.
“Who was that?”
“Spencer,” he replied, pulling his shirt over his shoulders without looking at me. He made his way toward the door. “I’ll be back later.”
“Where are you going?” I asked timidly.
“To the shop.”
“It’s nearly midnight.”
“They’re loading the cars for Knoxville and noticed Cody’s was leaking oil. We must have cracked the cover when we changed gears.”
“Oh....”
He was about to walk out the door, but slammed his fist into the wall and came back over to me. He bent down close to my face and kissed me. “We’ll talk about this when I get back.”
“About what?”
“My qualifying run.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I lost it.”
His qualifying run? What a weirdo.
And then I was upset with him. “I’m going to tell you again, asshole. That wasn’t your fault.”
He eyed me carefully. “We’ll still talk.”
Shaking my head at my crazy husband, I curled up and was asleep a few moments later. It was late by the time he returned, but in the morning, at breakfast, he felt the need to discuss it further.
“About last night,” he looked up at me as he ate a slice of bacon. “That’s never happened to me before.”
“Daddy, can you put the head back on my Barbie?” Arie asked him, shoving her Barbie next to his pancakes. He did, and she skipped off to the living room where the boys were watching cartoons.
“We don’t have to talk about this.”
I couldn’t think of any more lies to tell him, and I really didn’t want to tell him the truth. It was stupid. I was just tired, felt old, and I found a stretch mark yesterday. It was so dumb that I figured he’d just laugh, but clearly, he was overthinking it.
“Oh, yes we do,” he insisted, setting his bacon down. “You say it wasn’t me, so what the fuck was it?”
“It was me....” I sighed.
“Well….” He sighed, too. “I think I should see a urologist or something.”
“I think you need a therapist, not a urologist.” I stood up. “You’re being ridiculous.”
He did that thing he did when he knew I was lying an arched an eyebrow at me. Waiting.
I cracked under the pressure. “Fine.” I threw my arms up in the hair. “I found a gray hair and a stretch mark yesterday,” I wailed. “The kids are driving me insane, and I might add, I think the little one has decided against toilets and uses a litter box. That’s weird, right?” His brow rose curiously, and I slumped back in the chair. “Please, say something.”
He did the opposite of what I thought he would—he laughed so hard he fell out of his chair.
Stupid husband.
I kicked him on the way to the bathroom to look for more gray hairs and stretch marks. The older I got, the more I got. It was an endless cycle as time passed, and it did pass quickly.
I couldn’t understand why Jameson didn’t find this a matter of importance, but then again, I didn’t think him seeing a camshaft doctor was important.
Over the years I’d gained weight. Gravity, the fucking bitch, wasn’t helping.
With Axel, I gained around thirty pounds of which ten never left.
With Arie, I gained twenty-five, and again five stayed. Now with Casten, I only gained twenty, but then again five became a permanent fixture.
As a result, I’d packed on a good twenty pounds that refused to leave, but placed in a way that I could get away with it. I didn’t look bad either. For someone who was always fairly small, I looked healthy and still kept good muscle tone. The only problem was that most of my weight gain took up residence in my ass, and I became a five-foot-two version of Jennifer Lopez without the tan.
Jameson never complained. Hell no, he loved curves. After a while, I stopped trying to lose the weight and just loved my ass. After all, it was softer to sit on. And who didn’t love a nice soft place to sit?
Not everyone adopted my theories on a softer place to sit.
Emma tried relentlessly to lose the weight she’d gained with the twins, but she still carried a few extra pounds. She took weight-training classes, jogged with Jameson, and then when he pushed her into oncoming traffic as she didn’t understand that jogging was his attempt at relaxing, she was forced to just accept the fact that she had a few extra pounds.
“I just don’t see why he won’t run with me,” Emma would say to me.
“It might have something to do with the fact that you never shut up,” I would tell her.
“That’s a lie. I was quiet for the first mile and after that, well, that’s just unheard of for me.”
Emma just didn’t get it.
“I feel bad for her,” I said to Jameson later that night when I accepted my cushion.
“Why?” Jameson didn’t look up from the laptop. More than likely he was checking the points standing and not interested in Emma.
“She thinks she has to be a certain weight,” I came to stand behind him. My hands ran up his arms to his shoulders.
“Well, that’s stupid,” he looked up at me, eyes sparkling as they always did. “She looks great the way she is.”
I smiled running my fingers through his hair. “You’re a good brother despite trying to kill her.”
“Uh, she tried first when she stabbed me.”
“Are you ever going to let her live that down?”
He looked back down at the laptop. “No, probably not.”
Later that night, Jameson showed me just how much he loved those curves I had when he attacked me in the kitchen after the kids had gone to bed. He also showed me that he had no problems with his camshaft and matching me stroke for stroke.
“Fuck, honey.” His eyes darkened, and I knew it was over. “Get those sexy fucking legs up here.”
I did. He was on his knees on the kitchen floor with me spread out before him like the pit lizard days. Watching his muscles flex, he positioned my legs on each one of his broad shoulders. His hands slipped to my ass and squeezed.
“Don’t ever lose this,” he growled, squeezing harder. It was a good thing my ass cheeks were real or they would have popped.
“Oh, I’ve tried. It’s not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
And those were the last words spoken before I was trying to control my screams on our tile floor. It seemed inappropriate to be align boring on the kitchen floor, but then again, why did we put in heated floors if not to hump on them occasionally?
I never really thought about how I would feel heading into my tenth season in the NASCAR Sprint Cup series. The one thing that remained all these years was my support system.
My team was pretty much the same as it was when I started, aside from a few crew-members who shuffled back and forth between teams.
Our family still traveled with us. On any given weekend, you’d find my wife, my kids, my parents, and my siblings somewhere at the track. We were all part of this. I think that was why I was still in this sport. Without my family, I honestly didn’t think I could do this each week.
My sponsor remained the same, and over the winter we signed another five-year contract.
When I signed with Simplex, I had no idea they’d support me throughout my entire career. Let’s face it, sponsors came and went, but I had a relationship with Marcus and Melissa now. We understood each other, and they trusted our team.
What didn’t change were the obsessed fans and pit lizards.
It never failed—the women were everywhere at a NASCAR race. So many times, I wished this wasn’t part of it, but it was. Never wanting Sway to get hurt, I never told her how many times I had to kick them out of my motor coach or how many times they found my hotel room and showed up naked.
She didn’t need to hear that shit. Hell, I didn’t want to hear it, but it was reality for me.
Dana Sloan finally moved on from stalking me to stalking Shelby. Shelby seemed to enjoy it.
These days, there were new pit lizards stalking me, and a few of the old—Ashley being one of them.
When we were back in Daytona, just before the Budweiser Shootout, she took it too far when she asked when she could go for a ride again, in front of my daughter.
That was not okay with me.
Arie looked up at me with wide, curious eyes clearly wondering why another woman was flirting with her daddy. She may have only been seven, but she was fairly perceptive to this sort of thing. It happened that often.
“Don’t you ever say that to me again,” I warned and tightened my grip on her arm, pulling her away from Arie. “I don’t remember a goddamn thing from that night. I was drunk. I woke up in a Safeway parking lot. You need to get over the fact that it will never happen.”
I watched her expression carefully, my glare never wavering. She needed to understand how serious I was about this.
“You’ll give in eventually Jameson, they all do.” She stepped closer, her breath blowing across my face. “Just ask Bobby.”
Was she fucking serious?
I’d known Bobby since I started in Cup ten years ago, and I never once thought he’d give in to Ashley. Not to mention, he was married and had been for the last three years.
“I don’t give a shit what Bobby does; he’s not me, Ashley,” I told her firmly.
“Whatever, Jameson.” She rolled her eyes.
“No, not whatever. You need to understand right now that it will never happen. Stop coming on to me. Stop calling my wife, stopping talking to my kids. Stop.” My voice continued to rise until I was nearly yelling at her in the middle of the paddock with other team and media personnel walking around.
“Fine.” She huffed, stepping back. “I’ll leave you alone. Just admit you had a good time.”
“I don’t even remember it. That should tell you how good it was.” I knew I was hitting low, but at this point, it was the only option.
Tears pooled in her eyes, and for a moment I thought she was joking until her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“You’re an asshole,” she mumbled and walked away—finally walked away.
You’re an asshole meant nothing these days. I heard it so often it barely fazed me anymore.
The following weekend, I caught up with Bobby just before we began driver introductions for the Daytona 500 and asked about his interactions with Ashley.
“Ashley caught up with me last week….” My voice trailed off, hoping he’d understand.
“Let me guess... she told you?”
I groaned. “Bobby, why would you do that?”
Bobby leaned closer for privacy as we filed through the gates to the stage. “I don’t know why. It just sorta happened one night.”
“Were you married then?”
He didn’t say anything, and that pretty much answered my question. I knew this happened with other drivers. The temptation was there and was readily available for us if we wanted it. Not once had I ever acted, or been tempted to act on it. Sway was everything to me. It just wasn’t an option for me. The fact that Bobby had cheated on Kelly sickened me.
I ALWAYS THOUGHT that eventually the nerves of standing on the grid of the Daytona 500 would fade, but no. I was fine all morning, but when I stepped on pit road the morning of my tenth career Daytona 500, the nerves hit me.
“Jameson, how are you feeling this morning?” a reporter with ESPN asked while I talked with Tate and Bobby by my car.
“Oh…. I’m feeling good,” I replied, laughing at the joke Tate has just told.
“I hear both your boys couldn’t be here today, racing, huh?”
“Yeah.” I hated talking to the media about my kids. It was none of their fucking business, but it was part of the game. “They raced in the Duel in the Desert yesterday and won their divisions.” I smiled. “Casten is just getting started, but he’s taken really well to it. Axel helps him along.”
“Speaking of Axel, he’s really tearing it up in the quarter midget series. Heard he’s won two district championships and a handful of regional and track championships.”
I laughed, leaning back against my car. “He did,” I agreed. “He’s nine now and chomping at the bit to get into the full-sized midgets, but you have to be twelve these days.”
Back when I started, age wasn’t enforced as much, but after a few kids were killed in the series, the age restrictions were strictly enforced. Hell, I was racing a full-sized sprint car by the time I was twelve, but looking at Axel’s size compared to a full-sized sprint car—I had no problem with the age enforcements now.
“Hothead in the making, I hear. Didn’t he throw his helmet at a USAC official last weekend?”
Another laugh escaped. “Yeah, he’s worse than me at times. Doesn’t like to finish second.” I shrugged. I was considered calm on the track compared to Axel. After he threw the helmet at the official, he was suspended for a race. It took him being suspended to realize he had to control the temper or they wouldn’t let him race.
Sounded familiar, right?
I’d cooled my jets these days, being a father humbled you, and when you saw your kids’ reaction to a fit you’d thrown on or off the track, it really made you think about that image you were creating for them. Not only did you face the ramifications, but your kids had to, as well.
Colin Shuman, Shelby Clausen, and I had spent enough time in “the big red hauler” last season that we had assigned seats. Even with all the arguments and wrecks we got into, we usually ended up throwing back a few beers afterward. That was when I felt I grew up.
“Well, good luck today,” the announcer said and left me to get ready.
Once I was inside my car, the pre-race jitters were wearing off, and I finally began to relax when I realized why I’d been so amped up this morning. Sway wasn’t here.
She’d only missed three of my ten starts here, and those were from having my babies, but now she was with our babies.
Arie decided to come with me to Speedweeks and stayed for the 500 race. My little angel was standing beside my car handing me a good luck charm she made me.
“Here, Daddy, I made this for you,” Arie beamed, handing me a beaded bracelet.
“You did?” I looked down at her wide and excited emerald green eyes and thought of Sway. “I’m sure I’ll win now.”
“You will.” That was one trait my little angel possessed. She believed in her daddy, and if anyone told her differently, well, she told her big brother, and when that happened it was over.
Axel would do just about anything to prove you wrong, and his determination never wavered when it came to protecting his family’s name. Arie was the same way. But with Axel, he seemed to be a mixture of Sway and me. He could be cocky, arrogant, and indomitable, but he could also be relaxed, amiable, and blasé. The kid was wise beyond his years and a force to be reckoned with. By the time he was four, it was apparent Sway and I were in over our heads.
Now Casten, he was in it for fun. If he wasn’t having fun, he didn’t do it. He was blithely carefree and loved everyone—just like Sway. You rarely saw that kid without a huge smile. Even when he was sleeping, he was smiling, and he had the negotiation skills of a politician, no lie.
Arie listened to my in-car audio on the pit box and provided her own commentary on the race and her thoughts. Much to my surprise, but not hers, I did win. After ten years of trying, I finally won the Daytona 500.
Arie was there to greet me in victory lane, along with her brothers and my wife, who must have shown up sometime during the race.
I smirked when I saw Sway jumping up and down with the same excitement our kids showed, knowing that their father was a Daytona 500 winner.
“I knew you could do it,” Sway whispered in my ear when I pulled her hard against my chest. With our schedules, it’d been weeks since I last seen her. “You behave, dirty heathen.”
I winked. “I love you, honey,” I whispered back before our kids were climbing on us.
All those times away—the late nights, the early rises, and the sacrifices—were worth it at times like this.
The only thing I ever hoped for out of all this was that those who helped me along the way understood they were a part of what I did and always would be. When I won a race or a championship, it wasn’t just for me, or my dad as the car owner, or even Simplex as my sponsor. It was for everyone, and I hoped they felt the same excitement I felt in winning. I was sure no one exactly felt like I did, but I sure hoped they realized what it meant to me to have that support. Yeah, I was a six-time NASCAR Sprint Cup Champion and had won 113 Cup races, but I owed a lot to everyone else.
My tenth season in the Cup series was by far my best year yet. Not only did I win the Daytona 500, but I also won the All-Star Race and managed to pull off my seventh Cup championship.
It was a good year.
One of the most closely guarded secrets in NASCAR, besides the rulebook, is how much each driver is paid. You see it with the NFL, NBA, NBL; most nationally recognized sports flaunt what a particular athlete is paid each year, but not NASCAR.
Word got out on occasion, but you’d never hear a driver say, ‘I made this amount.’ Not only did we receive a base salary from our owner/sponsor, but we also got outside money from prize money, contingency awards, and endorsement contracts. It wasn’t uncommon to see a veteran driver raking in around $15 - $25 million in a season.
Without a doubt, this seemed to be one of the best years of my career with a record number of poles and wins and the championship title once again. Financially, I was also on top of the sport. Along with my $900,000 salary from Riley Simplex Racing, I received forty percent of my winnings, and then my endorsement deals from clothing companies, safety gear, shock companies—the list went on and on. Then you accounted for my owner profit in JAR Racing, and the twenty percent I took home from each time Justin, Cody, or Tyler pulled into victory lane, and I really wasn’t hurting for money.
But all that didn’t matter. Sure, it was nice, but I wasn’t in it for the money. I was in it to race, and you know what happened because of that?
I became the best driver in the series.