Diffuser - The bodywork at the rear underside of the car that controls the underbody airflow as it exits the back of the car.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what Kyle suggested and the thought wasn’t absurd to me. What if she didn’t want strings attached? What if all she wanted was what we had and nothing more?
We were friends, yes, but what if we could have something more without the complications. It was noticeable the sexual attraction was there between both of us, so why not?
I wanted to be alone with her for a few minutes before the race started but when I returned after my interview with SPEED, she was gone.
It didn’t take long to find her though as she still had on the red dress.
Prior to the start of the race, Sway was sitting on the edge of the wall looking over at the steep banking of turn one.
Her eyes were closed as the slight steady Florida breeze blew through her mahogany locks that cascaded down, framing her beautiful face. It was as though she was in a trance. She gripped the concrete barrier with her fingertips and her legs dangled off the side as she slipped her flip-flops on and off.
I stared at her, my gaze locked on her as she smiled back at me. It was as if a spotlight was stuck directly on her and that was all I noticed, soft and warm, like an aura. In the raucous of the grid behind me, I could only see her; pure tranquility.
For a moment, I was held rooted to the ground as I felt the immediate draw to her. A magnetic pull drew me toward her, the feeling hot and caustic in my stomach. In a daze, I began to make my way to her, pushing through the mass of reporters.
I paused a few feet in front of her; the warm humid air blew across my face, dampening my skin. The smells of the engines and exhaust mixed with the warm moist air. The hums of racing was all around us as it always was but that was what defined us.
It was what brought us together and always brought us together. Neither of us knew a life outside of racing.
Sway tilted her head to the side, inhaling a deep breath before giving me a heavily lidded smile.
I moved closer settling down next to her throwing an arm around her. I wanted to move my mouth next to her ear and tell her how much I missed her and that she was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, but instead I caved, flustered and simply mouthed, “Hi,” when she looked over at me. She answered me with a smile. Her eyes sweeping into mine and I was lost in their beauty, swimming in the deep pools of green.
I wanted to say so much to her right then but I didn’t, terrified she wouldn’t want to hear it.
I don’t know why it has taken me so long but I guess it took me a while to figure out what I wanted or what I wanted to say, more importantly, how to ask for it. You don’t realize how important your choice of words are at times. It can either go smoothly or you can fuck it up with one wrong word. With so much weighing on that, you can see my hesitation here.
So I remained quiet and stared out at the grandstands teeming with fans.
It wasn’t long before Alley found me and I was being whisked away to driver introductions while Sway went with Emma.
Yet another time where I could have said so much but didn’t. With so much weighing on my words, I froze.
ONE OF THE coolest things about the morning of the race, besides having Sway around, was seeing my grandpa walk out onto the grid with me. His only comment was to poke fun at my driving suit that was plastered with logos.
“You look ridiculous,” he told me laughing.
Then he took a long pull from his flask that I was sure was filled with whiskey, his drink of choice.
“It’s just a driving suit, grandpa. It’s designed to keep me safe.”
“Son, I used to dip my britches in starch to keep from catchin’ on fire... things have advanced since my day,” he sighed and smiled at me. “We didn’t see the dangers of what we were doing, until it was too late.”
I knew what he meant by that and that was his way of telling me to be safe. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never said anything nice to me. I wasn’t sure how to react.
Much like Uncle Randy, Grandpa is only remotely approachable when he’s drinking, otherwise he’s a cold-hearted prick but he was also my grandpa and, like any other Riley, hotheaded.
“Well, doggoned, Jay, I knew you’d be here someday.”
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I signed a few autographs from some fans who approached me.
Grandpa lost interest with driver introductions and ditched me for my Nana who showed up as well. I wasn’t nervous until I became aware that my entire family had shown up.
Bobby must have sensed this and nudged my shoulder standing there waiting to be introduced. “You all right, kid?”
“Yeah,” I nodded looking down. “I’m fine.”
Bobby had figured me out and knew when I was quiet. I didn’t want to be bothered so he made small talk with Tate and Austin standing behind us in line.
I only wished the reporters knew how to figure this out, too.
All the reporters seemed to ask the same question, “Can you win?”
I don’t think of it as can I win because the answer will always be yes. Obviously, I could win, I have many times. Their questions should be, “Could I win the Daytona 500?”
And even then, my answer would be yes.
Watching all the pre-race activities going on around us, I found it entertaining that my first Cup race was the Daytona 500 because it was the biggest event NASCAR has.
It’s like the Super Bowl, but bigger.
Glancing around, I saw Darrin glaring in my direction. Rolling my eyes, I looked away. He still wasn’t happy about my frivolous meeting with Mariah, his girlfriend.
She had approached my car about an hour ago before I found Sway. I looked away but she got right in my face and pushed her tits against my chest and said, “I’m Mariah,” her hand sliding down my arm caused me to flinch back at the unwanted contact. “You should find me after the race.”
“I don’t think so,” I had replied immediately.
“Oh, come on, Darrin will never know.”
I removed her arm from my shoulder and handed the autograph back to the fan standing in front of me. “I said no,” I told her sternly and walked away.
Darrin caught me before I made it too far.
“What was that about?” his tone was sharp and accusing.
“What?”
“Don’t what me you little shit,” he snapped stepping closer. “Stay away from Mariah.”
“Mariah is it...?” I arched my eyebrow gesturing toward her with a tilt of my head, “... was all over my dick back there. You should tell her to stay away from me,” I snapped at him continuing to walk away.
“See you on the track, Riley,” he taunted after me.
“Fuck you,” was my response.
That rivalry racing USAC hadn’t diminished.
Anytime you put forty-three drivers together some are going to rub you the wrong way and others become your guide. With Darrin, I guess with me implying his girl was on my dick, he wasn’t going to be my guide.
Andy Crockett, another rookie driver, rode around the track with me in a Ford truck after being introduced. After a few minutes of silence, I struck up a conversation with him.
“Good luck today,” I told him waving to the screaming crowd. He did the same which seemed to ignite them in some thunderous roars.
Andy was a quiet, respectable guy and he always seemed to choose his words carefully. You never saw him getting into it with other drivers, it wasn’t his style.
“I’ll need it with you racing,” he grinned.
Andy had grown up racing stock cars so it surprised me he would think I was better, if that was what he was thinking, maybe he wasn’t.
“Nah, you’ll do fine.”
“You say that now but ... it’s different out there. You know that.”
“Yeah, but I’ve also seen you drive. You didn’t get here by accident.”
He smiled. “Oh, I know that.”
By now, we were back around the track and heading back to the cars before he leaned over and shook my hand. “Good luck.”
I grinned. I absolutely believe that I’m insatiable, more so than most other racers but that was also how I’d gotten this far in a callous sport, one that didn’t leave room for uncertainties. Most couldn’t understand the burning need to be better but those around me, the other drivers, they did and I was surrounded by them now.
After driver introductions, I headed back to my car to wait for the opening ceremonies to begin and to see Sway.
Interview after interview, reporters were constantly asking me how I was feeling, if I could win, what I did last night to prepare myself and what I ate for breakfast... It wasn’t until I walked over to get into the car that I started to grasp how big this all was. There were pre-race festivities, music, you name it, NASCAR had it and I was somewhere in the middle.
I watched Jameson closely that morning, wondering when he’d break. I couldn’t believe the tout surrounding him and his team. It was unreal. The media was pegging him as a champion already anticipating him winning today.
The thing that got me was they wanted to put this mold around him, like he was some cookie-cutter driver conformed to be a certain way, the way they wanted. But that wasn’t Jameson, not by a long shot. He was one of the truest, most exciting drivers around but he wasn’t fit for a mold.
They compared him to the younger version of Doug Dunham, a veteran driver and I saw the similarities but, then again, Jameson was inimitable. He knew he could never please everyone so he didn’t try but he could please himself, and that was exactly what he did.
I stood there next to his car leaning up against the side. I ran my fingers over the Grays Harbor Raceway sticker he had stuck on there.
“Reminds me of you,” he whispered in my ear and smiled. His nose skimmed through my hair and I could have sworn he sniffed as he did so.
“It does?”
“Well, yeah, what else would it remind me of?”
“Racing.” I shrugged.
“No, well yes it does, but I think of you when I look at it.”
Alley approached us with Lane on her hip. Lane jumped into Jameson’s arms. “Uncle Jay!”
I laughed. There were only two people who could get away with calling him Jay, his Grandpa (he refused to say his whole name) and Lane, who couldn’t pronounce it yet.
Other than that, if you wanted him to answer you—you had better use his full name. I had always loved his name so I called him by it. I also knew how much being called Jay bothered him, so I didn’t.
“Good luck—good luck!” Lane chirped bouncing in his arms and then wrapped his arms tightly around his neck for a hug. I couldn’t think of a better hug than one willingly given by a child.
Jameson tickled his sides. “Thanks, buddy. Are you going to watch me?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
He was at the stage where he repeated everything twice. I blamed this on grandpa Casten. Lane loved him and, in turn, when Lane said anything Casten, who was hard of hearing, responded with, “What?”
Now little Lane was in the habit of repeating everything.
“That’s my little buddy,” Jameson replied spinning Lane around.
Alley took Lane back as they got the announcement to get inside the cars. My heart started pounding hard, my stomach tied in knots. I never got nervous when he raced but I did now because this was so much bigger than dirt tracks and though you could easily get hurt racing sprints, these speeds were higher. That frightened me for about half a second before my mind caught up with me and I reminded myself that I couldn’t think about what could go wrong. I had to trust that nothing would and know that he did this because he loved racing, that was all that mattered... he was happy.
I kissed him on the cheek before he got inside the car. He had other plans and openly kissed me on the lips in front of everyone. I wasn’t sure how to reply to it, so I kissed him back trying to guard any feelings I had from the hundreds of thousands of people watching.
Strapping myself into the car, that was when the nerves really hit me.
I’d never been claustrophobic before but with the panic attack I was having, it seemed like the only clinical definition that came to mind. I’ll admit, I was intimidated by this race at first. If I screwed up the first time I raced full-sized sprint cars, no big deal.
Now if I screwed up at the Daytona 500 that was different.
It was Sway’s words that calmed me, as always.
She leaned inside the car, her grin wide. “Just remember, it’s just like any other race.”
Anyone could have said that to me and I’d still be freaking out, but because it came from my best friend, my counterpoint, it meant everything. It wasn’t just any race though. I kept telling people it was, but it wasn’t.
It was bigger than those races like the Chili Bowl or Turkey Night. It was the Daytona 500.
Kyle did exactly what a crew chief should do, he kept me steady. Before I fired up the engine, he leaned in and said, “Just treat today like another practice session. That’s all this is.”
That was exactly the right thing to say to me. It reminded me of all the training I had and all the test sessions we did. The important thing was to remain focused and smooth.
“You guys copy?” I tapped into our radio frequency.
“Yep, we gotcha bud,” Kyle said. “Fire it up.”
“Aiden, you copy?” I adjusted my helmet and flicked the ignition switch, pulling my visor down. I usually ran tinted tear-offs on my helmet to aide in the changing of the sun by the end of the race. Now I didn’t have to worry about mud on my helmet but visibility could be as harsh with the sun here at Daytona.
“So you’re coming up on pit lane. Check your speed,” Kyle reminded me. “That will tell us your pit road speed.”
“Where’s the line? I don’t see it.”
I peered to the left, with the limited visibility I had, I tried to find my pit and the line for pit road. These were things I wanted to find before I was speeding down pit road in attempt to make it on and off quickly and without spinning myself.
“How can it be more obvious?” Aiden laughed. “Spencer is standing on the wall.”
I glanced toward the wall to see Spencer waving his arms over his large egg-shaped head. “Pace car is at pit road speed.”
I checked my RPMs. “Four thousand second gear.”
“Let’s have a good race boys,” Jimi said. “It’s a long day, stay focused.”
“Lights are out, comin’ to the green,” Aiden announced and my mouth was suddenly dry and that panic attack feeling had returned.
My entire body seemed to be jittery and uncontrollable, I couldn’t understand the feelings I was having so I took a few deep breaths, pulled on my belts once more and gripped the steering wheel. I was lined up fourth in the second row behind Tate on the outside. Guess who was beside me?
Yep, Darrin, in the number fourteen.
“Watch you’re shift,” Kyle said. “Harris lags back on the restarts, you saw that in the Duels.”
The problem with lagging back on tracks like Daytona was that you have forty-two other drivers setting pace by your car when you’re the leader. When you lag back, so do they. Sure, those first few cars see what you’re doing but the back half can’t. It’s an easy way to get smashed into from behind on the restarts. The last thing you want to do is get bumped when you’re trying to get up to speed and miss a shift or something similar, or worse, hit the car in front of you and smash in the nose. Aerodynamics were everything at Daytona, mess that up and you can pretty much forget your chances at the front. Not only will you not be able to cut a hole in the air needed to draft but you won’t be able to draft with anyone else. You need to be able to get right on them, the nose of your car pushed against their bumper so if you’re car is torn up, the contact will be harder to reach and maintain.
So there I was trying to anticipate Tate’s jump on the line. I shifted into third when we came out of three.
Aiden came on the radio. “Keep coming, flag’s in his hand. Keep coming ... keep coming ...” Tate did what I expected, lagging back but I had it timed and came off the line as strong, if not stronger. “Green!”
“Inside on the line, even with you,” Aiden guided me into the first turn.
This went on for a few laps; Darrin remained on my inside while I worked with Tate on the outside. His car was stronger than Bobby’s though so we were able to keep in front of them. Once the green flag had dropped, the nerves left and I felt like the same fixated single-minded guy I always was on the track. I led a little and did exactly what Kyle had told me to do; I stayed focused and smooth. As with any temper sensitive track, conditions began to change after about a hundred laps and the adjustments we made didn’t help.
“Can you see the air?” Kyle joked at one point.
“I can barely see the fucking gauges,” I mumbled, “let alone air.”
That got a chuckle out of both Aiden and Kyle.
I was trying desperately to hang on to my vibrating race car. I was fine in the draft but once I would get in front my car slid all over the place. It was apparent I wasn’t going to be leading this race. No matter what we changed, the car wouldn’t tighten up and there is no scarier feeling on a track than when you reach speeds near two hundred and your car’s loose.
It never got better but I managed to hang onto it and pull through with a third place finish. Again, I wanted to win but it goes back to forty-two other guys wanted a win as well.
During the cool-down lap, Kyle picked then to provoke me. “What’s the matter, couldn’t hang onto it?”
“Obviously I did hang onto it,” I snapped. “I finished, didn’t I?”
“Well, yeah, but third ... I thought for sure you could win.”
“If you keep talking, I’m pretty sure I’m going to kick your ass when the race is over.”
“You’re all talk.”
“Really? You’re gonna test me, huh?”
“Let’s see what you got, Riley,” Kyle teased laughing.
I wasted no time at all in climbing out of that car to kick his ass. I failed to realize that Kyle was the size of a black bear so my chances of victory were slim.
The media got a kick out of the wrestling match, as did the rest of our team. It’s not like two guys pushing and shoving each other in the pits wouldn’t go unnoticed in a sport that thrived on temper tantrums from drivers but this was all in good fun.
In the end, we laughed and he responded with, “I knew you had your hands full out there.” He slapped the back of my head and then bounced on the balls of his feet like a boxer then ruffled my hair. “You’re an awesome wheel man.”
After our childish wrestling, the rest of the team congratulated me as did Sway.
Reporters were standing by but I didn’t care at that point. I wrapped my sweaty exhausted arms around her, pulling her against my chest tightly.
“You stink,” she giggled but made no attempt to pull away.
“I just raced hours in a car that was well over a hundred degrees inside.”
“You still stink... but I never said it bothered me.”
“In that case...” I grinned wickedly wiping my face against hers. I could feel the wetness on my face when I got out of the car so I knew damn well that was now all over her.
“Jerk face,” she snapped pulling away from me. I let go this time.
“Jerk face?” I chuckled brushing a towel over my neck.
“Yes, I said jerk face.”
It was hard to respond after that as the media was wanting their interviews from the rookie driver who placed third in his first Cup race.
I gave them what they wanted, interviews, one cookie-cutter interview after the next. Finishing in the top three meant another round of press known as the Contenders Conference. This was a press conference held for the media to ask questions of the driver, crew chief and car owner, as though the interviews after the race weren’t enough. If you haven’t noticed by now, I did not like interviews.
After the race, most of the team had flown back to the shop to get ready for California next week.
My family decided to go to dinner together since it was rare that we were all in the same city at the same time. We ended up going to an Italian restaurant in Daytona Beach by the name of The Cellar restaurant.
A few of the other drivers told us it was good and usually wasn’t crawling with pit lizards as were most of the bars in the area.
When my Grandpa decided to tell stories about me learning to be potty trained, I wasn’t impressed. This is exactly why I did not enjoy my family.
I was not laughing, not even a little when the subject turned toward an obsessed fan who asked if I’d sign her inner thigh. Ordinarily, I would have said, “Sure, why not,” but something about my mother and Nana sitting at the table struck me as not the time or place for that sort of thing.
And don’t think Spencer didn’t notice because he did, laughing like the idiot I always knew him to be.
There are a few things I’ve learned about Jameson over the years.
He never sits still, and I mean that. Even while sleeping he’s constantly moving. Sleeping next to him is similar to sleeping with an overactive toddler.
He is always thinking of racing. He can be having an in-depth conversation with someone about politics (not likely, but you never know) and that boy is thinking of racing in some form, I guarantee it.
And, lastly, if there is a lastly, his phone was always ringing.
His phone rang twenty-six times during the two-hour dinner we had with his family. Not once did he answer it, but the fact that he couldn’t actually have a meal without someone wanting something was evidence that this lifestyle was trying.
I could tell it bothered him when his Nana was speaking and she could hear the vibrating of his phone. He finally got to the point that he simply turned it off.
It was nice being around his family again and they did nothing but make me feel like one of them. I will say that his Nana made me feel a little strange when she caught me in the bathroom and said, “Oh sugar, when are you going to marry that handsome grandson of mine?”
“Spencer is married already, Nana,” I told her squeezing her.
I had a problem with squeezing elderly people. They were so damn adorable to me that I squeezed them. And they were fragile. I should be more careful.
Nana pulled back, her pretty-blue eyes glazed over. “My dear, I’m speaking of Jameson.”
I knew that. I was buying my time, thinking of a lie I could tell her.
“Uh ... I ... shit,” was about all I could articulate at that moment as Emma barged into the bathroom.
She started fussing with Nana’s curls, so I made my getaway.
When I got back to the table, Jameson was ready to go. I think he was exhausted for one and Casten was on his fifth whiskey. To save himself the brunt of embarrassment, we left.
Cal drove the motor coach to Rockingham and Jameson was tired so all of us just ended up getting a hotel room for the night in Daytona Beach. I had to fly out in the morning so this was my last night with him. Thoughts of raping the poor boy came back when we ended up in bed together.
With Emma, Alley, Spencer, and Aiden in the room, I wasn’t able to. Not that I would have. I’m pretty chicken shit when it came to this but the idea was still there.
I think he had some of the same ideas because when the lights went out, his rough calloused hands explored, as did mine, and we ended up kissing again and doing some more touching. The thought wasn’t lost on me that we were both extremely horny and needing relief.
But with each other, that was dangerous.
Our friendship was intense and to cross a line like that whether there were feelings involved or not, was dangerous. Jameson never showed anything but sexual attraction toward me though and it didn’t appear emotional.
His hands moved quietly, his kisses were soft and tender and before I knew it, I was crying and he knew it.
In a gesture attempting to comfort me, he dragged me against his chest. I could still smell the lasting hints of the race on his skin, mixing with the salt from tears. My body shook in silent sobs as he held me tightly. We never spoke but we also never let go all night. Regardless of my crying for no apparent reason, I never felt more tranquil as I did with him.
Being with him this week made me realize how much I missed him.
I missed the warmth of his body against mine at night. I missed the smell of him, methanol and dirt. I missed watching him race in person and the exciting thrill I got seeing him take the checkered flag or doing a burnout. I missed the smell of the car after a race. The way he smelled when he finished a race and would pull me into a hug before he showered, albeit covered in sweat, I didn’t mind.
I missed being in the pits, wondering where he was and then he appeared out of nowhere to put his arm around me, the warm feeling I got, feeling like I belonged to him.
Nothing was the same without him.
I missed my life.
But mostly, I missed him. I missed my life with him. It had been nearly a year since we last saw each other. A year since I’d felt the impossible strength of his arms wrapping around me and the way his warm touch felt against my skin and that was why I was crying.
Now that I was finally here, surrounded by him, I didn’t want to let him go again.
I knew why Jameson wanted me around. I was like a security blanket for him as he was for me. We knew each other and that was comforting.
The next morning, it was hard to say goodbye.
“You sure you want to leave?” he asked in a voice mixed with annoyance and uncertainty.
The only reaction I had was to nod and look at the pavement because I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t look at him either. If I did, and I saw the sadness, I wouldn’t leave and I needed to.
He took the first step forward so I followed and wrapped my arms around him, fisting his shirt in my fist. “Promise me something, Jameson?” I whispered against his shoulder and he nodded his head. I slowly pulled away from him, and without trying to hide the tears falling from my face, I finally looked up at him. “Promise me you won’t change.”
“I will always be who I am right now, Sway,” he whispered leaning in again.
He pulled me into another hug and I let myself get lost in him. His scent, the way his concrete arms felt around me, and the way his heart sounded with my head pressed to his chest.
“Thank you,” he whispered against the top of my head.
I pulled away from him. “For what?”
He put both his hands on my face and looked down at me. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
I wanted to cry, worse than I already was.
After a brief hesitation, I smiled and shook my head. “You did this yourself.”
“No, you did. I race the car but you are what has kept me focused on what I wanted.”
“Well, then, I believe I should be getting half your salary then,” I teased.
“Now you’re getting greedy,” he laughed shoving his hands in his pockets. “Will you call me when you get to Seattle?”
“Yes,” my voice was shaky again. I knew I needed to leave but my feet wouldn’t move.
I think he sensed I couldn’t do it on my own so he walked me to the car, but before he let go he paused and stared at me for a long moment, his voice cracked when he spoke. “I ... I will miss you, honey.”
I started crying again.
Eventually I did make it on the plane and home but it took a lot of convincing from Emma, who flew back with me. It was Jameson’s orders, or punishment, depending on how you looked at it.
For ten years I wondered why this girl owned me the way she did. When I thought of myself, I thought of Sway and always would. The night before she left, I held her as she cried and I realized exactly what I’d been denying for ten years. I loved her.
There was so much I could have said when she left the next morning. But I was too blinded by the loud thumping in my heart, the pain of letting go, to say it. This girl owned me, owned my thoughts. I drove myself insane thinking about her but still, I couldn’t fucking say it.
I knew she was leaving, I knew she wouldn’t stay but what scared me even more were the words that were on the tip of my tongue when I kissed her goodbye ... I love you.
I wanted to say it. For the first time in my life, I wanted to tell someone I loved them, and she was my best friend. I didn’t love her as a best friend either, no, it was so much more than that.
It was the kind of love that you felt in your bones; deep blinding love.
I’d be lying if I said I was okay, I wasn’t okay with this. I was far from being okay.
If I asked her to stay would she? And if she did, then what? Could I handle it if she felt the same way?
No, I probably couldn’t because I could not offer her what she needed. I wasn’t in the position to.
Then I thought back to what Kyle said. That maybe she didn’t want the relationship, maybe she wanted the benefits. If my siblings hadn’t been in the hotel room last night, I’d have been tempted to ask her for more but they squashed that idea. But then again, I wasn’t ready to ask for what I wanted in fear she’d agree.
With the pressure put upon drivers now, we had little time for personal relationships.
Sure, other drivers were married and had girlfriends but they also traveled with them and were able to maintain a sense of normalcy that we wouldn’t have. I wasn’t in the position to offer her that and with the track she wasn’t in the position to give that up.
So where would that leave us?
I had no answers and didn’t have time to think of answers the day she left. I wasn’t even able to drive her to the airport because I had to leave her at the hotel that morning to catch a flight to Charlotte.
By Tuesday, I was like a zombie and had a day to myself before heading to Rockingham for the next race. At home, I had time to think or beat myself up, whatever way you want to look at it.
I heard my alarm going off that morning, knowing I had a team meeting to be at but I ignored it, hoping the awful buzzing would stop.
The sun coming in through my window hurt. Rubbing the grit from my eyes, I cracked my neck, relieving the pinching as my neck painfully throbbed.
I sat up slowly realizing that my phone was also ringing and I reached over to get it.
“Hello,” my voice was groggy.
“Where are you?” Alley demanded.
“Huh?” I looked at the clock. It was nearly six in the morning. “In bed. Where the fuck else would I be?”
“Jameson, you are supposed to be at the shop this morning.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll make it,” I shook my head, still trying to wake up.
“Yes, you will! Spencer is coming to get you.”
Before I could tell her no, she hung up on me. I scrambled to focus but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t think or see straight. Probably because they only thing on my mind was Sway and the tears in her eyes when she left.
“Damn it,” I hit my head on the floor. “Why does it have to be this way?”
I got up from the floor and into the shower. Still, all I could think about was Sway.
I managed to make it to the team meeting an hour late, but I made it. Dad wasn’t too excited about me being late. After a few choice words, well yelling, he told me if I was late again he’d be taking it out of my pay.
I had the rest of the evening free and did what I always did to get my mind sedated … I drank.
Three hours later, I was sitting at the bar in my parent’s kitchen drowning my sorrows in a country song. I felt like a country song and then started to wonder who would sing it.
Staring through a whiskey glass, I saw the reflection of my brother walking back toward his room carrying Alley in his arms. I didn’t even bother to look up, just grabbed a bottle off the table and popped a couple of pills.
Squinting at the bottle I attempted to read the label. It was probably wise to know what the fuck I took with whiskey.
Vicodin. Nice.
I need pain relief and lots of it.
Avoiding my thoughts, I turned the bottle around and read off the side effects out-loud. “Blurred vision... I’m okay with that. Difficulty breathing... already had that. Dizziness, drowsiness, mood changes ... hell, how is that any different from my usual personality?” I asked myself.
No one answered, so I answered myself. “It’s not any different,” I continued reading, “Severe allergic reaction may occur.” I squinted at the bottle.
Allergic reaction meant itching. That did not sound okay with me. “Anxiety, fear, unusual tiredness.”
This shit wasn’t going to make me feel any better so I turned the bottle of whiskey around to see if it had side effects ... none listed.
I gladly accepted the side effects though, anything was better than what I was feeling right now.
Emma pushed me off the chair when she walked into the kitchen. I didn’t bother to get up but tripped her as she walked by.
“You brought this upon yourself, asshole.”
“Get out,” I rubbed my forehead.
“No, I live here, too.” She sat down to annoy me some more. “Why are you so mopey?”
“Get out!” I yelled and then calmed myself a little. My dad would skin me if he heard me yelling at Emma like that and I was sure he was somewhere within the huge house. “Please, leave me alone.”
I think Emma knew me well enough to know when harassing me wasn’t a good idea and now was one of them.
I stared at my phone, wanting to call Sway, wanting to hear her voice.
Would she want me? Would she love me in the ways I loved her?
After the entire bottle was empty and I was searching the liquor cabinet for more, in walked Spencer.
He looked at me contemplatively, I think. I did just drink a fifth of whiskey, he could be flipping me off for all I know.
“You know,” he began and I groaned.
Why can’t people leave me be?
“You can’t expect her to know how you feel if you don’t tell her.”
“I thought you were leaving for Rockingham tonight?” I growled slamming the cupboard door closed when I couldn’t find any more alcohol.
He shrugged taking a seat at the breakfast island. “No, I’m going with you and I’m hungry.”
I found another bottle of whiskey stashed above the fridge, pulled it out and dropped down next to him. “Here.”
“I said hungry,” he looked at the bottle of Vicodin. “Combining alcohol and narcotics, huh?”
“Fuck you.”
“I don’t get you.” He shook his head and took both my bottles away from me. “You fuck around for years avoiding what you feel for her. Then,” he emphasized this by throwing his hand in the air. “You finally pull your head out of your ass and realize you love her but you let her leave again.”
I slammed my fist down on the granite not wanting to hear the truth but then I gave up. My head fell forward. I’d barely admitted this to myself, why would I want to hear someone else say it?
“You told me, too.” I pointed out trying to emphasize he aided in my sleeping around.
“I didn’t think you’d listen!”
“Fuck you, Spencer,” I ripped both bottles from his hands and stumbled to my room.
I couldn’t feel much of anything within an hour so I guess the intended use worked.
I knew I loved her, took me long enough to discover that but how could I actually have her?
I could cut the strings and let her go, let her have the life she deserved with a man who could provide her that.
It was a good idea except it didn’t give me her and it was impossible for me because letting go was not an option.
What else was I going to do, tell her how I felt?
Nope. That would be far too easy but the hardest part would be hearing she didn’t feel the same. It also goes back to finding the right words to say. I usually never faltered for words, but with her, when everything depended on those words, I couldn’t form them.
The next morning Tommy stopped by, he was going to Rockingham with us and then back to Elma for a few weeks. I wasn’t in the best mood, I did drink a little, okay a lot, but that wasn’t why. I still had no clue what I should do. I was sick of feeling like this.
For a guy who had been so vigilant on one mission for so long, I was thrown a curve ball with this newfound discovery that me, Jameson Riley, loved someone. That someone wasn’t just anyone either, she was my best friend.
“Did you change out the coil springs in Justin’s car for the torsion bars?”
“Yeah, I changed the gears, too.”
Tommy tried to get me to talk but I remained silent most of the morning as we loaded the sprint cars for Greg West, the driver of the transporter for my sprint car team. Once that was finished, we had about four hours before we had to leave. The nice thing about the next race being in North Carolina was that we didn’t need to fly.
“You know,” Tommy began, kicking my leg as I slumped on the couch in the race shop. “I’m tired of you being so stubborn.”
“I’ll be sure to drop your comment in the I-don’t-give-a-fuck pile later.”
“That’s harsh.”
“It was meant to be harsh.”
He dropped down beside me on the couch. “I’d offer you a beer but I think you had enough to drink last night.”
I was silent so he kept talking. Tommy never knew when to shut up. “Did you talk to her last night?”
I shook my head. “I fucked up, Tommy. I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Let’s go fishing.”
“What? Why? I don’t fish.” How this had anything to do with my problem was what I wanted to know.
Tommy jumped up from the couch. “Well, when my dad said he fucked up with my mom, we went fishing so he could think.
Not understanding his logic, we went fishing until we had to leave.
Tommy being Tommy didn’t allow me to think, he talked the entire time.
“If you don’t stop talking, I will throw you out of this fucking boat.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Saying what? You’re not making any sense and I thought I was supposed to be thinking.”
“We are.”
“No, you’re talking. I’m listening. Well, not really.” I dangled my fishing pole in the water but I had yet to catch anything and doubted I would. I knew nothing about fishing. Honestly, the sport seemed boring to me. To fish you needed patience, something I didn’t have.
“Well, then think ... I shouldn’t have to tell you to think.”
“Stop talking.”
I did think a little but it confused me more. I had no idea how to tell her what changed in me and I wanted more from her. Could I ask for more but still remain friends with her?
I wanted to know that if I couldn’t have her in all the ways I wanted, that I could at least have her in some way, the only way I thought she wanted me, and that was physically. It would be ideal. We wouldn’t have to worry about all the hassles of a relationship that neither of us had time for.