Tether – A braided Kevlar double strap that is bolted to the wheel on one end of the chassis as well as on the other end which keeps the wheel attached to the chassis in case of an accident.
With a handful of races remaining in the 2000 season, we found ourselves in Williams Grove toward the end of October racing with the Outlaws before we finished out our USAC season the following week in California.
Here’s what you have to remember. You can’t expect a group of guys like us to just relax when we weren’t racing USAC because that wasn’t us. If anything, racing was our relaxation.
That left us racing sprint cars in Williams Grove.
Ryder, Justin, Tyler, and I were running in the top five in all three USAC divisions. Some thought we should be racing anything other than USAC but again, we just wanted to race.
Ryder had been running up high on the cushion all night, and at tracks like Williams Grove that meant trouble.
“You better watch that,” Dad told Ryder after his heat race. “That wall bites.”
Ryder laughed and went about his way. None of us really thought anything about what Jimi had said.
Halfway through the feature Justin and I were up front battling with my dad when we saw the lights flash yellow and then immediately red. This usually meant someone crashed badly or something was wrong with the track.
They stopped us coming out of turn three. When you’re inside those cars cramped in small quarters, it seemed like hours waiting but when they landed a helicopter in the infield, I knew it was serious.
I had no idea who was injured or how badly. The outlaws don’t have radios so we couldn’t ask.
Sometime after about forty-five minutes, they had us make pace laps and then I saw the car being hauled away. It was the number two of Ryder Christensen. I groaned to myself knowing he was badly injured. I hated to see him get hurt but, as I said, none of us did things half-assed.
That night at Williams Grove, the wall bit back hard and Ryder saw that.
From the time I was old enough to know better, I knew the dangers of racing. I was also too caught up in racing to be scared when I was inside the car. I’d seen first-hand the gnarly wrecks my dad endured and I’d had my fair share over the years as well, but that night in Williams Grove scared me.
I knew Ryder well from our times racing in the quarter midgets together and now with racing USAC, he was my friend, and seeing him airlifted away was not something I took lightly.
I wasn’t naïve. I knew we could get killed doing this and I’d seen it before and I was sure I’d see it again.
Spencer, Justin and I drove up to the hospital in Pittsburgh that night to check on Ryder while everyone else went back to Mooresville. They had him listed in critical condition but they said he’d be all right. Broken ribs, concussion, broken arm, broken leg, broken pelvis and broken back was bound to keep him out of racing for a while.
Dad and Bucky met us at the hospital as well to check on him and, for the first time, I talked to my dad about the dangers of racing. It’s not that I didn’t know how badly we could get hurt, but between racers it’s not something you talked about, it just wasn’t.
I think that night shook Jimi a little as well because Ryder and I were around the same age.
He saw me walking down the hall with Justin and reached for me, pulling me into a hug. I didn’t pull away, I stood there, part of me shocked that he was hugging me but also relieved that he was all right. That could have been him and that could have been me. It could have be any of us.
“How’s Ryder?” he finally asked pulling away.
“Pretty banged up but he’s stable. His dad is back there with him now.”
“Who’d he wreck with?”
Bucky cleared his throat beside us, his demeanor shaken. “He and Tyler were in a close battle for fifth and Ryder came around the outside just as Tyler’s left rear tire blew.”
I shook my head remembering my crash a month earlier when I destroyed the catch fence and myself doing that same thing. All of us loved the high side but it’s dangerous up there at times. It’s fast and sometimes too fast for conditions, but in Ryder’s case it was just bad timing. It wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t Tyler’s. It was the dangers of racing.
Dad and I flew back to Mooresville that night. They had bought a house there to make things easier on traveling; being able to sleep in our own beds at times was a nice change from sleeping in hotels and along the highway.
“Are you okay?” Dad asked when we drove from the airport to the house. I was in the middle of sending Sway a text to let her know I was on my way back to the Mooresville and was relieved to know she was there, too.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I slipped my phone inside my jacket. “I feel bad for Ryder. And Tyler.”
Tyler felt horrible afterward and left without saying anything to anyone. When Dad and I left the hospital, Tyler was still sitting outside the ICU waiting for Ryder to come around.
“I know,” he agreed shaking his head. “I hate to see that sort of thing but when you race as long as I have... it happens... too often. I haven’t seen a wreck like that since O’Neil’s kid.”
We didn’t say much else after that, just rode in comfortable silence.
When we got home, it was around three in the morning but I wanted to see Sway. She was in the guest room so I snuck inside there. To my surprise she was awake, pacing the room.
“Are you all right?” I whispered watching her pace. She was only dressed in one of my t-shirts and her panties.
I prayed she was wearing a bra and then I silently hoped she wasn’t. I was so fucked.
I almost turned around and left but she didn’t let me before she was in my arms, hugging me tightly.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she wailed.
“Sway... shhh, honey.” I stroked her head as she cried. “You knew I didn’t wreck.”
“I know but I was worried,” she sniffled into my neck. I could feel her ragged heartbeat against my chest, her tears wetting my neck. “Seeing that helicopter... the crash...”
I held onto her tightly, trying to comfort her in any way I could. That was when I moved to sit down on the bed and she straddled my lap.
That position did nothing for my self-control.
My breathing hitched, as did hers, and I may have even groaned when she made contact with a very eager part of me. One second she was crying and the next we were moving away from each other.
“Sorry,” I muttered pushing myself off the bed.
Sway’s legs fell from my waist and she let go, sitting back on the bed and then curling her legs up.
“It’s okay. I forgot I wasn’t wearing any pants.”
“You should put some on.”
She glanced around the room, found her sweatpants and thankfully pulled them back on.
“Thanks,” I whispered before sitting back down on the bed beside her.
She looked at me for a long moment before chewing on her bottom lip. “Do you ... um ... okay, I’m going to be a total girl right now,” she sighed in defeat. “Can you um ... hold me?”
I had to laugh at her expression, so I did, and then she punched me in the shoulder. “Christ ... if you want me to hold you ... don’t physically hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, get over here,” she patted the bed.
“One condition,”
“What would that be?” she rolled her eyes.
“One, you keep those goddamn sweatpants on, and two…” I paused and laid down next to her. My hand came up and touched her cheek softly before leaning in. “You let me kiss you.”
She never answered, just leaned in and pressed her lips softly to mine. I wanted to remember the feeling, see if the same electric all-consuming feeling shot through me when our lips touched.
It did. The kissing only lasted a minute, maybe less before I pulled away and tucked her head gently against my chest. I don’t know why I tested myself so much with her. I didn’t want to, but as soon as I was around her lately all I wanted to do was be closer, kiss her more and never be away from her. That scared the shit out of me.
OVER THE YEARS, I’ve met my fair share of cocky drivers, myself included. You needed a certain amount of confidence to go out and do what we do but there was a fine line to walk there. Too much in one direction and it’s never good.
I’m not saying I was a saint, because really there were times where I didn’t like myself.
Here’s the thing though, I would never go out there and intentionally wreck someone. Unless they asked for it.
While running the last night of the World Finals for the World of Outlaw series at the Dirt Track at Charlotte in Concord, North Carolina, I ran into a driver I’d heard a lot about these days, Darrin Torres.
He just started in the NASCAR Cup series this last year. He thought he was hot shit whereas I had my own theories having seen him race before. Most of the Cup drivers who started out in open wheel racing reverted to it in the off-season or on Saturday nights when they weren’t racing so I wasn’t surprised to see him there.
Dad was there since he was an Outlaw driver, but what caught me off guard was the conversation before my heat race.
“Listen, Jameson, be careful out there.” The intensity in his voice was enough to make me look up from strapping on my belts.
Everyone was still a little shook up with what happened to Ryder, so I wasn’t all that surprised but we’d talked about this already. I knew the dangers but I didn’t suspect this had anything to do with Darrin.
“Darrin isn’t someone you can trust out there,” his eyes focused on the track, and then back to me. “Hold your line but if he pushes, back off.”
I scowled. I never gave my line up. Why would he even suggest that? He wouldn’t lift if it were him, why should I?
“It’s not worth it.” He muttered tucking his helmet under his arm. “I’ve seen too many guys wrecked by him.
I nodded and slid down into the narrow cockpit when he walked away, not completely understanding what he meant.
Sway and Emma came by with Lane prior to the race and said hello. I got a baby high-five from Lane. He was seven months old now and got more adorable every day. Sway hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek for good luck and Emma, naturally, kicked me in the shin.
In the feature, Darrin and I lined up in row four, beside each other, with me on the outside.
Dad was right about Darrin. He was reckless on the track but I was faster, stronger and outsmarted him, taking every line he chose and pushed him up the track. I knew my abilities on tracks like Charlotte. He wasn’t even in the same league as me, and judging by his movements inside the car, he wasn’t adjusting well to the difference in handling from the Cup cars.
He was on my ass mercilessly though but I was satisfied he was using his tires up trying to catch me.
I ended up taking second. My car was no match for Justin’s and Darrin came in seventh.
All good, right?
Not exactly.
After the race during the cool down lap, he shot around and clipped my rear tire.
I think I’ve said this before but what happens when you clip the rear tires on these beasts? Over you go.
It was a cheap-ass hit. It was deliberate and I lost my temper.
I jumped down off the wrecker tossing my helmet and gloves in the same motion once we were back in the pits. Rage roared through me. Fuck being calm and reasonable. That was gone.
“What the fuck was that?” I snarled at him, getting in his face.
I didn’t give him a chance to answer. No way was I letting him get away with that shit. Punches were quickly thrown and I struggled furiously against crewmembers and officials fighting to separate us.
I was too caught up in my rage to listen to the officials. I lunged against the restraining hands but they had me pretty well contained. That was when I noticed he’d gotten a hit in on me and I was bleeding.
I growled doubling my efforts to get at him when my dad yelled. “Jameson! That’s enough!”
Getting light headed, I realized it was enough when the officials pulled Darrin away from me; either that or we were going to kill each other out here.
Stomping my way toward my pit I realized the blood was now pouring out. I had no idea he even got in a hit to do that damage but I was hardly paying attention.
Head wounds bleed like a bitch and I had enough sense to know this one needed stitches. I stormed back to the hauler with Tommy, Sway and Spencer following. Everyone who knows me knows my temper is legendary and I proved it that night. It took me a good four hours and six stitches above my eye before I calmed down.
It was all over the papers the next morning that Jimi Riley’s son tried to teach the NASCAR Winston Cup series Rookie of the Year a thing or two about retaliation.
I’d like to say that was our last run-in with each other but it wasn’t. Far from that.
That night was the end of the racing season and, once again, I was thankful. Not only for a break but my head was pounding and I had a feeling it would be for a while. I’d taken some hits this season. I was becoming used to double vision these days and, after a while, it seemed normal.
I was heading to Turkey Night in a few weeks but this also left a little time for a vacation and then, for the first time in my racing career, I was finally racing in the Chili Bowl in January. Schedules lined up with an open seat in Bucky’s midget car. I couldn’t wait.
Ryder was still in the hospital in Pittsburgh, so before flying home to Elma I decided to make a detour to see him. Justin came along with me and we spent most of the night there recapping the last few races for him.
He was doing better, still not up and walking around but the doctors assured him eventually he’d be able to get back into a race car if he wanted. He was young, just a year younger than I was, so it meant he’d heal faster than veteran drivers.
Justin flew home to Bloomington and I flew back to Elma later that night. It felt good to be home but I was so amped about Turkey Night and the Chili Bowl I couldn’t wait for January to roll around.
Dad decided not to race in Australia this year and forced us all to go on a vacation for Christmas. With some persuasion, I convinced Sway to come with us. Charlie was also going to come but cancelled at the last minute because he said he wasn’t feeling well.
On the way to Vail, Colorado, where we’d be spending Christmas, I decided it was time to tell Sway about the Chili Bowl. So far, the only people who knew I was going were dad and Bucky.
“Sway, I have something to tell you,” Jameson said, suddenly on the flight to Vail.
What, that you love me?
You wish, Sway.
“Yeah?” I flipped my magazine closed and looked over at him, ignoring my internal stupidity.
“I’m going to the Chili Bowl this year,” he smirked.
“What?” I nearly fell out of the chair. “Are fucking serious?”
“Calm down.”
“No, I won’t calm down! You’ve been saying this for years! Oh, my God, this is so exciting. When do you leave?”
I’ll admit, my enthusiasm for this was even alarming to even me but you have to understand, every year he plans to go and schedules cross or he can’t get a car together in time.
The Chili Bowl, Turkey Night, The Hut Hundred... The Night before the 500... those were the races that got you noticed and into full-time rides. This was huge for his career to be able to go. As it was, he was racing Bucky’s car and had a part-time sponsorship with Bowman Oil and a handful of other sponsors, but he funded his winged sprint car and that seemed to be what he wanted to run. If he had a good showing at an event like that, it could mean leaving there with sponsorship. Jameson needed this.
He laughed at my enthusiasm. “If you would calm down for a minute I would tell you.”
“I can’t believe this!” I launched myself into his lap. “Does Jimi know?”
“Yeah, hey... listen... I wanted to know if you would come with me?” he smirked again.
“Come with you? To the Chili Bowl? Like in Tulsa?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be there for a week. I thought it would be a good break for you and I would like you to come with me.”
“Like to Tulsa?” I repeated.
“Yes, Sway,” he sighed. “Am I not explaining myself very well?”
“No, it’s just... you took me off guard.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
I was silent for a few minutes and I had no idea what to say.
Of course, I would go with him. I would have skipped school in a heartbeat but thank goodness my classes hadn’t started yet.
The Chili Bowl was only three weeks away and I almost thought I showed more enthusiasm for it than Jameson did that week we were in Vail.
It was fun being around the Riley family again, all of them. When I was with them, I felt as though I never left.
Jameson and I spent most of the time playing in the snow and trying to snowboard. This was one sport Jameson hadn’t mastered and neither had I. After that, the majority of the trip was spent in the hot tub nursing our sore bodies.
I had never laughed so much, ate so much, and been, well, as horny as I was.
Everything Jameson did turned me on. He breathed and I wanted to jump on top of him. He laughed and I wanted to hump his leg, he smiled and I nearly died. But it wasn’t just that I was horny. Everything he did was endearing. He looked at me, I fell deeper. He kissed me, I melted.
I never thought anything of the kissing because ever since Jameson and I were little, we kissed. When we saw each other after a long departure, we kissed. When we got drunk, we kissed.
It never escalated to anything of substance because he always stopped. I wouldn’t have stopped. Most girls would have gotten mixed emotions but I knew Jameson well enough to know that it wasn’t that he had romantic feelings but that he was just horny. I didn’t care. Should have, but didn’t. I would take anything he was willing to offer, that was how truly pathetic I was.
By Christmas, I was wondering how in the hell I was going to make it another week and then be in Tulsa with him.
We spent New Year’s Eve together and watched Lane while Alley and Spencer did God knows what behind closed doors. Lane was a hoot and definitely part of the Riley family. He thought his uncle Jameson was pretty cool, in turn, Jameson thought he was pretty cool.
I could see a lot of Spencer in Lane. The kid loved to laugh whereas Jameson was serious and had a contemplative nature. I wondered what a baby Jameson would be like, preferably mixed with my genes.
Have you lost your mind? I asked myself.
He doesn’t feel that way about you and you’re already envisioning your babies with him.
Crazy person.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Jameson said watching Lane sleep on his chest.
“Yeah,” I smiled adjusting his blanket so it covered his chubby little arms. “Hard to believe your brother of all people could make something that cute.”
“Do you want kids?” Jameson asked yawning.
I thought about it for a moment. I was imagining our babies.
“Yeah, I think someday I would.”
Jameson didn’t say anything and smiled.
“What about you?” I asked trying to remain sneaky. Jameson had leaned back on the couch so I sat down beside him and Lane.
“I don’t know. I guess maybe someday but not any time soon,” he chuckled softly and adjusted Lane on his chest. “I barely have time to sleep these days let alone take care of a kid.”
He was right. Usually when I heard from him, it was in the middle of the night. He didn’t have time for even himself these days and if he wanted this as a profession, it wouldn’t end.
AFTER NEW YEAR’S we all headed back to Elma and then it was off to Tulsa. I had to be back in school the week after so it was nice to get such a long break away from everything.
Tommy, Spencer, Jameson, Jimi, and I headed to Tulsa on Tuesday with the racing starting on Wednesday. The main event was being held on Saturday night.
The Chili Bowl Midget Nationals is the biggest midget car racing event and some even refer to it as the Super Bowl of midget racing. It’s held in an indoor facility in Tulsa, Oklahoma, that can hold 15,000 fans. It’s one of the only races where you’ll see around two-hundred and fifty drivers from the USAC divisions, NASCAR, World of Outlaws, and all the best open-wheel drivers in one facility all competing for only twenty-four positions. It’s some of the best midget racing you’ll ever see. Being an indoor facility, they never have to fight weather conditions and the track is never subjected to too much rain and wind that would ordinarily dry it out. They keep the quarter-mile clay track tacky and perfect, just the way the boys like it.
The format is different from any other race. The first day is practice, and then from there it’s five hours a night of racing with a fifty-lap feature event on the last night. Each night they have heat races, dashes and twenty-five lap features to make it to the last night to be one of the twenty-four cars that fielded the A-feature.
The way it worked this year was we arrived on Tuesday, practice sessions were held Wednesday, and then on Thursday racing started. Each night there would be twelve heat races with starting positions determined by a pill draw, then two B-features and the A-feature. Points were accumulated for finishing positions plus passing points. The optimum objective would be to start last and finish first. This would allow you to gain the most points, but with the competition at the Chili Bowl, no one ever accomplished this unless you were Jameson and Justin.
The goal was to advance each night until you made it to the A-feature on Saturday night.
Thursday’s practice session went good and Jameson’s car was fast. Bucky had provided him a crew and the midget to race. Tommy and Spencer helped but they weren’t obligated to assist. It had to be nice for everyone to just show up and race and not have to worry about fixing the car when it broke.
Justin was there this year as well driving Bucky’s other car so Jameson and Justin were teammates.
Justin and Jameson raced well together. They both had their strong points. Justin had a rap for getting fast starts and staying strong, whereas Jameson would lag back and come on strong in the end. Both techniques worked well but this provided Jameson with more points and moved him up faster. Justin won more heats but Jameson gained more points.
On Friday, the night before the A-feature, Jameson and I walked through the pits with Justin. They were stopped every few feet but eventually we made our destination, Bobby Cole’s pit.
Jameson admired Bobby for what he’d done in the USAC divisions as he was the only driver who had won the Triple Crown.
Bobby was a rookie this year in the NASCAR Winston Cup series and hadn’t been to the Chili Bowl in years.
I wasn’t surprised to see a crowd around him, but Jameson was surprised when Bobby knew who he was as did another Cup driver Tate Harris.
“Hey, Jameson,” Bobby said conversationally when we walked up. Jameson threw his arm around my shoulder and shook Bobby’s hand with the other. “Glad to see you made it this year.”
Jameson smiled. “Yeah, finally lined up this year.”
“Who ya drivin’ for?”
“Bucky.”
“You smoked me last night in that heat race,” Bobby grinned.
“Must be the car,” Jameson teased with another smirk.
“Or the driver,” Bobby hedged. “Have you met Tate Harris?”
Jameson shook his head and looked over his shoulder to see Tate making his way through the crowd. He bumped Jameson’s shoulder when he walked through and back at us.
“So you’re the kid who’s won the Night before the 500 three times now.”
“That would be me.” Jameson leaned into me slightly. I tucked my hand into his back pocket.
Oh, jeez... now I’m touching his ass. God help me.
Jameson didn’t seem to mind and never attempted to move so I kept it there. His arm never moved from my shoulders either.
“I’ve tried to win that for the last six years.”
“Yeah, and I’ve tried to win Turkey Night for the last six.”
They all continued to tease each other about their wins that never came. It was nice to see Jameson mingling with guys around his age. He grew up around the legends in the Outlaw series but he never mixed with the USAC guys. Sure, he was friends with Justin, Ryder, and Tyler, but other than them he rarely even spoke to any of them. He seemed to be at ease around Bobby and Tate. It was nice to see.
One thing was for sure, there were a lot of people who disliked Jameson as well. When you have two-hundred-and-fifty drivers from all over the world and from different divisions, they all had different racing styles. Some didn’t like that Jameson would lag on restarts or his tetchy personality but you either loved Jameson or hated him.
I honestly believed that if you hated him, you didn’t understand him. He was the type of person who you had to understand and to see the real him in order to like him. He only let a few people see him for who he was.
Watching him that night, I couldn’t help but admire who he was becoming.
“Racing gods... please, help me!” Jimi groaned carrying a rear shock to his midget.
“I think that’s supposed to be on the car,” Jameson jutted. “And, in one piece.”
“No, shit,” he tossed the shock at our feet. “You guys got a spare?” he asked Bobby and his mechanic who were standing next to him.
Without question, Bobby handed over a spare shock.
That was the thing with racing. On the track you fight for every position, every point but I guarantee you that if someone wrecks or breaks something, you’ll have ten guys waiting at your pit to get you back out there.
I wasn’t surprised to see him here being as this was the Midwest, but Grandpa Casten, Jimi’s dad, walked up holding his flask and motioned behind him.
“Hey, Jay, those girls over there are screaming your name.”
I don’t know if I need to point this out, but given the chance, Casten would do anything to embarrass you, much like Spencer.
“Grandpa.” Jameson shook his head in embarrassment.
We weren’t expecting to see old Grandpa Casten here but I was pleasantly surprised. He was always good for a few laughs and loved to make fun of others, this is why I loved him. The only problem was that old Casten had a way of enlisting me into his army. This meant I somehow ended up wondering how in the hell I got myself into a situation when the outlook couldn’t have looked any worse. The old bastard got me arrested once when I went to a Nine Inch Nails concert with him a few years back. I’ll spare you the details but I was arrested and wasn’t happy about it.
“Hey, that one’s got a set of lungs,” he elbowed Jameson. “That could be a good time right there.”
Jameson leaned into my ear. “Kill me now, please,” he begged me.
I giggled. “Nah, this is entertaining.”
Jameson stayed and talked with Tate for a while so I walked back to his pit with Casten and Tommy.
“What’s with you and my grandson?” Casten asked conversationally, his eyes glued to the woman’s ass in front of us.
“Who are you talking to?”
“You. I was talking about you. Now settle the fuck down,” he grumbled taking a pull from his flask. “It was only a question.”
“I don’t know?” was the nonsense that left my mouth in the form of a question.
What the fuck is wrong with me today?
I started to panic and, thankfully, he lost interest when the Red Bull girls caught his eye.
Later that night we all planned to go to dinner since Grandpa Casten made the special trip out here.
When I told Jameson what we were doing his response was, “I don’t like the sounds of that.”
“You wouldn’t,” Casten grumbled at him.
Grandpa Casten was hardly suitable for public. The Nine Inch Nails concert was a prime example of that.
“Do you want to sit with him?” I asked Jameson motioning to Spencer and Casten in the backseat of the Suburban Jimi rented.
Jameson gave me a glare. “No, I can’t sit back there with them. I might strangle them.”
Spencer perked up and nudged grandpa. “I can’t understand why he wouldn’t trust us.”
Grandpa snorted. “It’s like he has no faith in family. Dumb shit.”
Jameson looked at them and then back to me. “Do you see what I mean?”
THE DAYS FLEW by and before we knew it Saturday had arrived and the field was set for the A-feature. Twenty-four cars had fought for a place on the grid.
Tyler had missed the lock-in by one position when he finished fourth in the B-feature. I felt bad for him when he threw his helmet against the side of the transporter and punched the wall. These poor guys had battled for days, and then to not make the main by one position, he had every right to be angry.
It was a rugged field for the main with all good drivers but Jameson had the confidence in him. Not once throughout the week had his optimism wavered. I watched him closely thinking at any moment he’d lose it and show some sort of nervousness but he never did.
Jameson started eighth in the main lined up behind Jimi and Bobby Cole. Levi was on his outside with Alex Reed right behind him. I bite off all my nails thinking of the last time he and Reed tangled but I hoped Jameson kept his head.
Prior to the feature, he pulled me in for a kiss, telling me I was his good luck charm.
I couldn’t turn him down even if I wanted to.
After that Tyler, Spencer, Tommy and I made our way to the pit bleachers to watch when Tommy nudged my shoulder as we walked. “You know, some would think you two were dating by the way you act.”
Spencer chuckled, as did Tyler, but I wasn’t laughing.
“Shut up, fire crotch!”
“I’m just sayin’,” he dodged my swing for him and then leaned in to whisper in my ear. “He’ll come around.”
I choked on my own spit. Tommy had to pat my back as we took a seat.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s not like that,” I managed to say between coughs.
Tyler and Spencer looked over at me as I continued to choke.
Announcing the drivers for the feature got underway and thankfully no more talk about Jameson and I was mentioned. I knew people had their assumptions.
To the outside eye, we couldn’t have appeared any stranger. Here we were best friends, but we touched and kissed all the time. Who wouldn’t think we were together, but the thing was it never escalated. Besides the time in the sleeping bag when we woke up without shirts on, we kept it innocent.
That wasn’t to say these days I didn’t want things to escalate, because boy did I. But that wasn’t us. We were friends. At least this is what I told myself.
For never being at the Chili Bowl before, Jameson received quite the uproar when his name was announced.
When the green flag dropped I was ready to start biting Tommy’s nails if he would have let me. I was crushing his hand that I was holding in an attempt not to have a nervous breakdown with the insane battle between him and Alex Reed for sixth halfway through the race.
Jameson had pulled his usual lagging back until half way and then became like a different driver. The caution came out soon after that for Jimi when he tagged the wall after his right rear blew.
Reed slipped coming out of four on lap thirty-one, Jameson passed him on the bottom for fifth. He went high for a few laps and came up on the Cup drivers fighting for fourth and they caught up with the lapped cars. Jameson seized the opportunity and rallied by both Cole and Harris on the high side and was reeling in Justin and Levi, the kid from Australia, with six laps to go.
He passed Levi with little effort and I honestly believed that if anyone was going to stop Jameson that night, it was Justin West.
Justin was strong but so was Jameson. He couldn’t pull away and slowly, Jameson began taking his line. One slip by either of them and the third place of Bobby Cole would be ready. They raced each other clean but they also never lifted. They both wanted the win just as bad.
Every time Justin came off three, his car would sputter. After two laps Jameson knew the exact moment his car did that and passed him on the inside. One thing about Jameson was he never passed on the inside, I don’t know why, he just didn’t. It wasn’t his style.
Jimi had pulled his car to the infield and sat on the roll cage watching, by now with one lap to go he was standing on it waving his arms in the air. He was one proud dad.
Grandpa Casten, who appeared out of nowhere, leaned into my shoulder. “He looks like a fucking idiot out there.”
I assumed he was referring to Jimi, at least I hoped he did, because Jameson looked far from an idiot. Every move was smooth and controlled.
Justin didn’t give up though, stayed right on his outside but when they came out of four, Justin’s tire hit the cushion on the outside. And, once again, Jameson was on it and pushed past him enough to get his front tires over the finish line before Justin.
Jameson won the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals by less than a foot.
The crowd was in an uproar around me but I sat there staring at him as he spun his midget around in front of turn three where we were all sitting.
Leaving his helmet on, he pulled himself from the car, stood through the top roll bars and pumped his fists in the air while Jimi ran over to him, as did Justin. They all knew how much a win like this meant to Jameson.
The sports announcers swarmed over to them after that and Jameson was still showing an extreme amount of excitement for his win, as was Spencer and Tommy beside me... Grandpa Casten... well, he was too busy watching the Red Bull girls at the other end of the bleachers to care.
“Jimi,” the announcer tried to push his microphone in his face but he and Jameson were still hugging. It was sweet to see them so happy together. “Jimi,” he tried again. Finally, Jimi turned toward the announcer. “Did you give him advice?”
Jimi laughed.
“If he wants it, I give it,” he looked at Jameson tucked under his arm. “There’s not much I can tell him he doesn’t already know though. He’s been around racing since he was born. He knew what he was doing tonight,” Jimi looked around and motioned to the track. “Obviously.”
“Jameson,” the announcer turned the microphone toward him. Jameson wiped sweat from his face before nodding for him to continue. “How close was Justin to winning or did you have it all along?”
“He’s was pretty damn close! I didn’t think I had it until I saw his struggle coming out of three and saw my opening.”
“How does it feel to win your first Chili Bowl?”
“I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow when I’ve calmed down,” he laughed. “Right now, I’m just in shock!”
Victory lane was a mad house and I could barely see Jameson once we arrived. There were other drivers, reporters, crewmembers, sponsors, car manufacturers... there were people everywhere.
Being a little over five feet tall, I couldn’t get close enough to see him when Tommy picked me up and carried me toward Jameson.
“I’m following orders,” he grunted and hoisted me over his shoulder.
I wasn’t amused.
He set me down in front of Jameson and then before I could move Jameson wrapped his sweaty arms of steel around me and pulled me tight against him chest.
“Can you believe this?” his voice was breathless and incredibly sexy.
“You did great out there,” I replied pulling back to look at him, his eyes focused on my lips for a second before looking into my eyes.
“I…” he sighed letting the words go. I felt like he wanted to say something, I wanted to say something but we didn’t.
After a moment, he tipped his head in Tate’s direction.
“He wants to introduce me to someone.”
I wasn’t surprised. Tate had big-time sponsors in the Cup series and had been watching Jameson’s every move this week.
Without a doubt, Jameson had rocked the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals. He was like a possessed man on the track racing with consummate skill and showing his immense talent and intelligence for racing.
He was making a name for himself and everyone was seeing that.
They were seeing him as Jameson Riley.