Rebound – In shock absorbers, a rebound adjustment is a change to the dampening of the shock on the expansion stroke.
“I know you don’t want to leave us, but it’s your job,” Sway told me as we stood in Axel’s bedroom discussing my schedule for the next few weeks. “I understand.” Her hand came up, brushing my hair away from my forehead. January had flown by with testing, and racing was now starting again.
“I know... it’s just hard now. I want you guys with me.”
This last month since Axel was born, I had spent every minute I could with the two of them, enjoying the chance to finally be a family; even if it was only for a month, I’d take it. I’d take any moments I was given.
“We will be in Las Vegas with you,” she offered.
“It’s just not the same. Last year you were there at Daytona.” I shrugged, looking down at my feet. “I just... wanted you there, as my wife. It’s lame, I know—”
Her finger silenced me. “It’s not lame, Jameson. I know exactly what you mean.”
I almost forgot how well she actually knew me.
We both turned to look down at Axel when he whimpered. Sway had him buckled in his car seat.
“What’s on him?” she asked, examining his hair.
Kneeling down, I took a closer look. “I’m not sure... it looks like... you have to be fucking kidding me... LOGAN!” I yelled after him.
Lane turned to Sway with an arm full of Legos.
“I not do that.” He smiled. “Can I hold him?”
“Sure, buddy, just let me get this peanut butter out of his hair,” Sway replied while I ran after Logan.
I found him hiding in our pantry, snickering to himself as he ate peanut butter with a spoon. I grabbed his scrawny arm and pulled him out, sitting him on the counter so I could look him in the eye.
“Listen to me,” I growled. “Stop acting like an asshole.”
He held out his hand.
“I don’t think so. I only give money out to kids I don’t want to corrupt. You start resembling a normal child and maybe I’ll watch my mouth around you.”
“He wanted peanut butter,” Logan replied trying to defend his actions.
“He can’t even talk. What would make you think he wanted peanut butter?”
Logan shrugged carelessly. “He whimpered.”
“He always whimpers.”
“Sorry,” he finally said and reached for the peanut butter.
I snatched it before he could take it again—trying to restrain myself from laughing at his scared shitless expression. “No, no, you’re done with the peanut butter.”
This babysitting shit was hard work. How our family thought we could handle a newborn baby, the Lucifer twins, and Lane all at once was bullshit.
Lane was okay... the twins were not. They hardly classified as normal children.
It was the day before I had to leave to Daytona for Speedweek, and the last thing I wanted to be doing was babysitting these shits today, but Andrea had to take Charlie up to Seattle for a doctor’s appointment, and Alley and Spencer were at the doctor, as well, getting an ultrasound.
Logan had long since passed out next to me, but Lucas was another story. It was now close to nine o’clock, and I thought for sure he’d be asleep by now but no such luck.
I was almost certain he had this plan that if he annoyed me long enough I would eventually cave and give him chocolate so he would leave the room. You’d think at some point logic would have set in and I would have recognized a pattern, but no, I chose to ignore it. Ignorance is bliss.
“Is everything okay?” Sway asked, carrying Axel into the family room, amused I’m sure.
I shot Lucas a warning glare.
“Yes, everything is fine,” I told her, feeling as though I might have gotten the situation under control, and not wanting to miss any more of Dog the Bounty Hunter.
The minute she walked in the kitchen, Lucas started whining again that the tape was hurting his arm. I hadn’t had much experience with kids before, but was intuitive enough to know things were not going well.
I was blissfully engrossed in my show while simultaneously contemplating a career choice in the bounty hunting and pretending Lucas wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary besides jumping on the couch. I knew enough about kids to understand he was looking for some sort of attention.
So I ignored him. I wouldn’t give into that kind of crap. He wasn’t going to get attention from me. I was trying to watch a goddamn show and not think about Speedweek fast approaching.
Then he jumped off the couch, untied himself, and tossed the remotes directly at me. What a shit!
One hit me in the forehead, and the other hit the wall behind me, knocking over a glass on the end table.
Once I got hit in the face, I lost it my control.
“You little son of a bitch. I warned you once,” I told him, carrying him kicking and screaming up the stairs. I set him on the bed where they were going to be sleeping. “Now... go to sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” he countered and sprung to his feet.
“Well, I suggest you get tired.” I closed the door behind me, praying that Axel never acted like them. If he did, I would be sending the little asshole to boarding school as soon as permitted.
When I finally made it to bed that night, Sway was fast asleep with Axel. He was snuggled up against her chest in our bed, nuzzling his foodbags. I couldn’t blame him. I wished I was doing the same.
Mentally, I was preparing myself for racing again, but emotionally I wanted to be here, with my family. This off-season had brought with it another reason for me wanting to be home with my family. Axel.
I lay there awake, watching my son and wife sleep, remembering these last few weeks with them. Between testing and being pulled in every direction possible by my sponsor, I was still able to find time here and there to be with him and Sway.
I couldn’t tell you how attached I was to them. Not a minute went by that they weren’t both in the back of my mind.
As careful as I could, I wrapped both arms around them and was asleep before I knew it.
THERE WAS THE most annoying sound in the world disturbing my sleep, and it wasn’t stopping.
I opened my eyes and blinked steadily into the darkness of the motor coach only to see my phone was blinking on the nightstand.
It was back to reality and entirely too soon for me.
Once I arrived in Daytona, I was in race form once again. Though I missed my family, I loved racing, and there was no denying that when I was at the track. It was in my blood and would be forever.
What I didn’t love was the newfound fascination everyone had with my personal life.
It seemed everywhere I turned people were asking how my married life was or how my son was. I wouldn’t mind telling them, but I also knew my words were never my words. Everything I said these days was misconstrued into something else entirely. So I kept my mouth shut.
I was always in a shitty mood when I had to get up early, but when I was away from my family, it was worse.
Once I was surrounded by the obligations of the day, I was grumpy and that was never a good thing. Just ask Emma who was currently shoving posters in my face while I glared at her.
“How many more of these do you have?”
“Just sign them, asshole,” she replied with a smile, handing over another.
Standing outside my hauler, I looked down the row of eighteen-wheelers lined up along the paddock. It was nice not to have to walk as far this year.
All the haulers in the paddock were lined up by the previous season’s points. This meant I was now first in line instead of last like last year. Made for less walking, that’s for sure.
I had some time to kill after my interview with ESPN—before the race started—so I sent Sway a text message, which she didn’t return. It just made me miss her even more because I imagined she was incredibly busy with Axel, and it made me want to be there for them.
Speedweek flew by just the same as it did last year. The Budweiser Shootout seemed to blur right into the Duel 125s with all the sponsorship commitments I had, along with the unending amount of press. I was never alone these past few weeks, and if I was, I was sleeping, alone.
Sway couldn’t bring Axel to the race so she stayed home, which was incredibly frustrating, but I knew I needed to get used to it.
I thought I’d said this before, but each season, rules changed, drivers changed, owners changed, and sponsors changed. The beginning of the season was a time for change.
Even the name of the series had changed sponsorship.
Since 1972, the Cup series had always been referred to as Winston Cup. Now it was being called the Nextel Cup Series.
The new season brought with it rookies needing to prove themselves. I went easy on them because not only was I in their shoes last year, but I was trying to be the better man this season and not such a hothead.
That newfound optimism ended when I had a run-in with Gibson Racing’s new driver, Colin Shuman.
His first remark to me when we met at the drivers’ meeting was, “So you’re the chump who couldn’t stand up against Darrin?”
“Don’t pay him any mind,” Bobby Cole, my teammate with Riley Racing, told me.
Not only was I appalled by the irreverence of Colin Shuman, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach at the mention of Darrin’s name, and, therefore, I reacted as such.
“Shut the fuck up,” I told him as I took a few steps in his direction. Bobby and Tate had to grab me by the arms. “You have no idea what happened, so I suggest you keep your goddamn mouth shut.”
Kyle was by my side in an instant along with Mason, Aiden and Spencer.
Immediately, I was thinking that this season would be a repeat of the shit I went through last season with Darrin, but it wouldn’t be... I refused to let it be.
The reporters were relentless with the questions about Darrin, and how I’d dealt with it over the off-season. The questions also swirled around my personal life and marriage to Sway, all of which I answered with the same answer.
“It’s great.”
As far as I was concerned, that was all they needed to know.
BEFORE LONG, I found myself inside the car waiting for the green flag.
“Let’s have a good day out here, bud. We are the defending champions. Let’s show them what we’re made of and start this season off right,” Kyle, my crew chief, said as I finished adjusting my belts.
“Ten-four.”
“Pull your belts tight. It’s a long race. We’ve got five hundred miles so take your time.”
Envisioning the race in my head as I always did, my thoughts drifted to Sway and the baby. I wondered what they were doing right now and was frustrated that I wasn’t able to hear her voice this morning.
Last season during my rookie year, I had something to prove to everyone coming into the Daytona 500. Though that hadn’t changed, it was a different kind of establishment. It was showing everyone I was a champion.
I wasn’t optimistic, and I certainly wasn’t hopeful, as you can’t be in racing. Instead, I was sure and determined.
When you thought about it, as a race car driver, your education never ended. Other drivers would school you any chance they got so you always had to be on your game. Every race, every track, every turn was a test of endurance, skill and disposition, a chance for you to demonstrate how much you knew and how much you have left to learn.
On tracks like Daytona and Talladega, you would run wide-open, and mostly you can hold the throttle down the entire lap. But to get the most speed, you need to draft.
That’s where your education comes in.
When you’re drafting with another car, the one in front of you cuts a hole in the draft and if you’re behind him, you’re drafting with him.
If you want to pass, you get the momentum, swing out and pass. I’d like to say it’s easy but it’s not. Drafting is tricky.
It takes a long time, and practice, to understand how the air moves over the car. That’s your education.
Kyle and Mason talking strategy interrupted my thoughts during the warm-up laps.
“Stick with Cole and Harris. It’s our best chance at getting to the front.”
“Green flag this time by,” Kyle told me. “Push Harris in front of you, line up behind him.”
Once the green flag dropped, I was on a mission. Tate and I worked together to move to the front. Daytona was a track that required drafting. If you fell out of line, you were hung out to dry.
I was running third, behind Shuman within a few laps, and I wasn’t all that surprised we went from our nineteenth starting spot to third in twenty laps. Drafting did that. My car was awesome, and I was ready for him. Colin was too obvious with his movements so I could tell he was going to block me high. His movements were jerky and predictable, and he was nervous given it was his first Cup race and he knew I was faster.
Tate, who was lined up behind me, tapped into my frequency. “I’m with you when you go.”
I could feel beads of sweat trickling down my face under my helmet, even with my cool air system; I was sweating like crazy.
“Outside at your door,” Aiden announced. “Middle two. The ten and the ninety are with you.”
I could see Austin Kennedy in my periphery, but I was just a fraction of a second quicker, and that was all I needed to pull in front of him going into turn two.
Austin darted in behind Cole two positions back in the draft leaving Shuman out to dry.
Every muscle was burning from the exertion of racing at Daytona as I fought each second not to fall out of the draft.
“Fourteen coming strong behind you,” Aiden said.
Had I ever mentioned how much I hated seeing that number fourteen again? I was sure with my dislike for the actual number, you could gather Colin and me would never be friends.
Some five laps later, I was not expecting Shuman to take the air off me some and send me into the wall with his kamikaze drafting.
“Fourteen never lifted. Hit the wall in turn four, right side flat,” Aiden told the crew. “Twenty-nine outside... clear... keep it low.”
Way to start the season!
I immediately thought to myself: nothing was worse than spending the entire off-season preparing for the new season only to wreck the first race out.
Of course, this pissed me off. I flashed a few hand gestures and pushed against him when the caution came out with my mangled car. I was amazed I was able to drive it away after that.
“Asshole!” I yelled and bumped him once more. He pushed back, offering his own hand gestures.
It wasn’t a friendly hello.
I was almost positive this would result in some words with NASCAR after the race and possibly some words with Shuman, which I’d be ready for after his earlier comments.
Kyle came over the radio as I pulled onto pit road. “Calm down, bud, we can still pull through with a decent finish here.”
Aiden was also yelling something I couldn’t quite make out about me being out of control, but because of all the commentary on my behavior my dad was now contributing to the conversation.
“I wonder if I could drive without the radio?” I asked myself during the pit stop.
“You copy, Riley?” Cole asked once I made it back up front after pitting twice to repair the damage.
“Fourteen at your door... clear,” Aiden interrupted.
“Ten-four, I think we should hold up,” I said to Bobby. “The track’s changing out here,”
“I agree. I was tight and now I’m loose. If we could get some momentum we could stretch it out.”
“Stay with me, I think we can make it to the front if we stick together.”
Kyle kept yelling for me to keep myself in check because I was extraordinarily aggressive the rest of the race, as were Cole and Harris. I couldn’t help it, and apparently neither could they. First race of the season and this Shuman asshole was already trying to take me out like Darrin.
Cole and Harris, after last season, were protective of me on the track. It explained their aggression.
Anytime you add a new driver into the Cup series, they earned that rookie strip to be taken off their car. At this rate, Shuman wasn’t earning his.
Gibson Racing really knew how to pick drivers.
Cole, Harris, and I made it to the front, but it wasn’t enough to compete with Paul Leighty.
“Good job, bud. Way to pull through with a good finish,” Kyle said as we crossed the finish line.
We managed to snag a fourth place finish, and just as I expected, NASCAR officials, along with Tate, Bobby, and Colin Shuman immediately surrounded me.
I knew I was driving like an asshole. I was all over other drivers being intentionally antagonistic.
Tate shook his head next to me, knowing what my reaction would be to this.
I flashed a quick smile at him and pulled myself from the car, all while Shuman wouldn’t shut up. Like I said, Gibson knew how to pick ‘em.
“I see marriage hasn’t calmed you down,” he smarted off. “Looks like your girl needs to put out for you, relieve some of that pressure so you don’t drive like an asshole all the time.”
I didn’t say anything, just walked toward Tate as a NASCAR official followed close behind me. I knew I’d get myself in trouble if I said anything. I didn’t know why he would feel the need to bring my wife into this, but the mere thought of it had me seeing red, and worse was the fact that this eighteen-year-old kid didn’t seem to realize I was about to kick the shit out of him if he didn’t shut his mouth.
“Don’t tell me she stopped putting out already?” he snorted as he smiled cockily following me.
The red overruled, and I stopped thinking and started acting. I ripped my gloves and helmet off and started throwing punches at him. This kid was clearly an asshole and needed to be put in his place. I didn’t appreciate his remarks and thoughts on my private life.
I was only trying to teach him a lesson, school him off the track.
Tate did nothing but stand back and watch while an official pulled me off him. When I looked back at him, I realized I did some pretty decent damage, too. I was sure I’d broken his nose with the amount of blood coming from it, and maybe bruised his ribs a little. I was hoping I had cracked a couple.
Along with the ever-present reporters, the NASCAR official was in my face instantly, threatening to suspend me, which then caused me to start yelling back at him because, goddamn it, he was standing there the entire time. He was close enough to hear him taunting me.
Apparently, in NASCAR’s rules, taunting didn’t equal an ass kicking… who knew? I guess I didn’t read that section of the rulebook. It must be under “detrimental to the sport” but taunting wasn’t. I’ll tell you what, though. That detrimental to the sport shit was sure beneficial for them as the screaming fans still in their seats right now watching this, wasn’t it?
Kyle and Spencer pulled me away from the official who I was about to show the same lesson to. It took both of them to pull me away, forcing me toward the NASCAR hauler.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Kyle snapped, pushing me forward.
“He... that... he was saying shit... and I... fuck!” I couldn’t even string a damn sentence together. I’d lost it once again. Just when you thought you had control over yourself and everything you learned had taught you something, you realized once again, you were no different than any other animal and always fighting for survival.
“Stop this shit!” Kyle said incredulously, yelling in my face. “I thought you would have learned with Darrin!”
Learned with Darrin?
Kyle knew better than to get in my face, or maybe he didn’t. Either way, it just riled me up even further.
The fact that I was away from Sway, that it was the first race of the season and some kid tried to fuck with me by talking shit about my wife, had me in somewhat of an emotional, hormonal, testosterone, and adrenaline-ridden mess.
“Don’t ever mention his name around me again, Kyle,” I warned, jerking my arm away from him.
“Calm down,” he huffed and stalked inside the hauler.
After a few deep breaths, I headed inside to face the fire.
Shuman was leaving just as I walked inside. We exchanged a heated glare, but other than that, he avoided me and for good reason.
I chuckled to myself that he was holding a towel to his face.
After a few minutes there, fuming with Kyle, Lisa opened the door and motioned for me to come in. Kyle waited as she didn’t want to see him yet.
“It’s good to see you, Lisa.” I kicked my feet up on her desk after I took a seat in the leather chair to the left of her desk.
“Feet down, Riley,” she snapped but smiled despite her clipped tone.
I was surprised to see I was joking around considering my shit-tacular mood.
“First of all... congratulations on the baby,” she smiled. “I hear he’s cute.”
“Pft... look at his dad... why wouldn’t he be cute?”
She smiled and clicked her pen obsessively. “I see fatherhood hasn’t calmed the Rowdy Riley down, has it?”
“Oh, please, that fucker was asking for it.”
“Regardless, just because you’re a champion, doesn’t mean you can go around starting fights. You need to act like a champion. Going out there and roughing up the rookies is not the way to conduct yourself. Especially after last season.”
Of course she would refer to last year.
Everyone seemed to like to remind me of what happened as though I forgot. Every single time I looked at my wife, I was reminded. Every time I looked at my son, I was reminded. And every time I looked at the championship trophy, I was reminded of how I got past it. Why they thought that reminding me would be beneficial to me, when I constantly reminded myself, was stupid.
I stood immediately, my temper rising again.
“I didn’t start it!”
“Sit down,” her glare had me sitting. “I know you didn’t start it, but I’m not going to put up with shit this season. Act like an adult. Walk away for once.”
I had no comeback for that one because when I thought about what I just said, I was acting like a child. I only nodded after that as she told me I was being fined, but she wouldn’t issue probation if I kept out of trouble.
I left after that, only to be stopped by my dad.
“Where have you been?” he asked, following in step beside me.
“Uh... bathroom?”
“Bullshit,” his eyes narrowed. “You were in the NASCAR hauler, weren’t you?”
My eyes flickered to his, but I kept looking straight ahead while a group of fans approached us. I shrugged once. “I just wanted to say hello to Lisa.”
“Yeah... I’m sure,” he replied signing autographs beside me.
“You wanna catch some dinner before I fly home?”
I hadn’t had seen much of my dad since New Year’s. He left right after the holiday to prepare for the World of Outlaws season. Their series actually started in late January as opposed to mine that started in February. Being the owner of the team I raced for, he must have thought his presence was needed at the first race.
The fans around us distracted him so I asked again, “Dinner?”
“Sure,” he agreed nodding. “How’re Sway and Axel?”
I felt a smile graze my lips.
“Good. I can’t wait to see them.” I smiled even wider when I saw she was calling me. I hadn’t seen her and Axel in nearly three weeks, and I couldn’t wait to get home tonight.
“I bet,” my dad smiled and shook his head as I answered my phone.