Ball Joint – A ball inside a socket that can turn and pivot in any direction. Ball joints are used to allow suspension to travel while the driver steers the car.
“He’s being picky,” Kyle told me as I stepped on the pit box.
I rolled my eyes because when wasn’t my son picky?
“There is nothing wrong with these tires but he thinks they’re shit.”
“What are his lap times?”
“Enough to break the track record... that I might add, he already set in qualifying,” Kyle sighed and pointed to the laptop in front of him. “These are his lap times for the last fifty laps ... but I can’t convince him the car’s perfect. Tony says every practice session, ‘the tire wear improves. His lines are perfect, his driving is perfect!’”
Jameson poured everything he had into every lap whether it was practice, qualifying, or a race, so, if someone told me he wasn’t giving it everything he had, I knew they were lying. That wasn’t Jameson.
“Let me talk to him.” I reached over Mason to grab the other 2-way radio. “Jameson, you copy? It’s Dad.”
“10-4, what’s up?”
“Bring it on in.”
“Just give me a few more laps.”
There was no convincing Jameson of something unless he believed it to be true. To convince him of something, you had to show him evidence, substantial evidence. You should have heard the conversation we had with him when he found out there was no Santa Claus.
When he brought the car back into the garage, I decided it was time to talk to him. So many times I’ve tried, but someday I’d get through to this stubborn little shit.
While I waited for him to finish with a few interviews, Nancy approached us.
She was always like a fresh breath of air for me.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she stretched up on her tippy toes to place a tender kiss against the stubble of my jaw.
I leaned in robotically. It’d been at least a week since I last saw her.
“Do you want to grab some dinner at Longhorn before the race in Concord?”
“Certainly, my dear ... but I need to speak with Jameson first.” Leaning in again, I pulled her closer.
“Oh, well, talk to him tonight. He’s racing in the Outlaw Showdown.”
I tilted my head in her direction, arching my eyebrow.
“Does Simplex know about this?” Since they found out about his track that was added to his property in Mooresville, they monitored him a little closer.
“Absolutely, they scheduled it.”
There’s nothing I liked better than racing with Jameson but I feared it as well. What if something went wrong and, more importantly, what if that something was triggered by me? As you can see, my brooding offspring was just like me.
Jameson finally made his way over to us, scooped his mother into a tight hug and then eyed me skeptically. “I thought you’d be in Concord already.”
“I’m heading there now. I stopped by to see how happy hour was going.”
“Shitty, I don’t know what wrong with it but I felt like it was lagging there at the end of the run. It’s tight on exit coming out of four.”
“It wasn’t,” I told him as we all walked toward his motor coach. We had to stop several times for him to sign autographs but eventually we made it. “Your lap times were enough to break the record you already set.”
He seemed to consider this for a moment before smiling at his mom. “Are you staying for the race?”
“Yes, honey,” he tucked her under his arm. Though he’d never admit this to anyone, he was a mama’s boy. “I’m heading to Concord with your dad but I’ll be back in the morning with your grandparents, too.”
“Oh yeah? Grandpa and Nana are coming?” Jameson asked shrugging out of his racing suit once inside the motor coach.
We made small talk for a few minutes before heading to Concord for dinner and the race. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time but I needed to talk to him before the race tomorrow. If there was ever a chance that I needed him to calm down and think, it was this next race. We couldn’t afford another hit in the points like we took at Richmond and Jameson didn’t need the added stress.
“Is Sway coming tomorrow?” Nancy asked Jameson when we were eating.
Jameson, trying to hide his smile by looking down, pushed the tomatoes out of his salad along with the cucumbers. Arranging them on a plate he glanced down at them several times as if he thought someone should take them, but his other half wasn’t here.
I saw the way my son looked at Sway and I saw the look of pure heartache and remorse when she’s not with him. I knew it because I’d been there with his mother. As a racer, you don’t want to fall in love in the peak of your career. It’s less than ideal when you’re trying to balance everything and, without trying to, you can break their heart or they can easily break yours. It’s easy to do. They see fame and forgot all about the person underneath.
Even though we live for speed, we have big hearts and when you make it, people seem to forget that. I also knew Sway would never hurt him that way. I hoped at least because, with Jameson, it would destroy him. Out of anything in this world, racing aside, Sway had that power over my son.
“I didn’t invite her to come out,” Jameson finally said. “She’s busy.”
“She graduated last week,” I said. “How can she be busy still?”
“With the track, she’s taking over as General Manager.”
Now I understood the change in his personality within the last few weeks. I heard about him flying back to Elma to see Charlie and I had a feeling it had something to do with it. He wouldn’t admit this but Jameson was looking forward to Sway graduating. We all were. Jameson was an asshole most of the time with his irascibleness but at least when Sway was around he was somewhat tolerable.
“I’m sure one race won’t hurt anything,” Nancy said to him reaching for his cucumbers. “I can call Charlie and see if it’s all right.”
Jameson didn’t seem comfortable with the subject but I needed to say a few things to him. “Jameson, I know that you don’t understand these feelings you’re having for her, but eventually they will make sense.” Smiling at my wife, I took her hand. “You can have both. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”
Surprisingly, he contemplated this for a moment before his guard came up. “It’s not like that with Sway and me,” he guarded himself so tightly when the focus switched to her. Even the Russian Army couldn’t break through to him.
Nancy and I both laughed, they’d both been denying the love they had for the last few years. There was nothing either of us could say to him to convince him. It goes back to that evidence.
Jameson stood and held up his phone.
“I need to go make a phone call.” And, just like that, he disappeared around the corner.
Nancy sighed beside me. “Do you think they’ll ever wake up?”
“Maybe,” I told her with a smile. “Probably not, but let’s hope so.”
It took me six long months of arguing with myself before I realized I could have both, love and racing. The problem wasn’t knowing you were in love. With Nancy, I knew right away that small town green-eyed angel stole my heart the first night I met her. It was balancing the two loves and being able to provide both the attention they deserved from you. Racing could consume your entire life if you let it. Since Jameson was four, he’d let it. But gradually, his interests shifted toward women. I should say one woman, Sway.
Nancy and I feared constantly that his lack of a normal childhood had something to do with his indecisiveness with women. Most saw him now as the NASCAR rookie sensation who took his precarious talents to the highest level but none of them knew the boy behind the wheel. There was a boy there, one who had fears but a hunger that outshined it. He was still a boy to me though, one that couldn’t see exactly what he needed, the girl.
“What position are we in?”
“You go out twenty-third,” Aiden replied wiping sweat from his brow before adjusting his black Simplex hat. Damp blonde curls peeked out from the sides.
Not bad, I thought. Qualifying in the middle was good, got a good amount of rubber down on the track and you also had the advantage of seeing what line was fastest.
I nodded while Aiden and I walked to the hauler. Spencer and Mason pushed the car toward the grid.
The qualifying order for a NASCAR race is similar to what you’d see at a local dirt track, aside from NASCAR using a Bingo parlor setup, whereas dirt tracks keep it simple and draw pills with numbers on them to determine your qualifying spot. It’s a tradition with them.
Each team sends a representative to the draw. We usually send Aiden. With his personality, it’s entertaining to watch him wait for a number.
Can you understand why we love this so much? He usually spends the entire time trying to foresee the future, so when he comes back it takes him a good hour to calm down.
When qualifying begins on Friday before the Sunday race, one car at a time goes out on the track. We start on pit road, have less than a lap to get up to speed then make two laps. They take the best time out of those two laps to determine your starting spot.
If there is a tie in the time between two drivers, the owner with the highest points gets the draw.
Only two things can send you to the back of the field after qualifying, missing a drivers’ meeting or making significant changes to your car such as an engine change or switching to a back-up car.
“You ready?” Aiden asked reaching for his headset. Since last year, NASCAR has required a spotter when your car is on the track. The spotter not only serves as your eyes in the sky but they monitor track conditions, talk to other teams about positions and, oddly enough, calm you down when needed. As you can imagine, Aiden did this a lot.
Entertaining enough, he could make quick decisions on the track but couldn’t decide on what socks to wear in the morning.
Pulling out my headphones, I smiled slipping my iPod inside my suit.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
And I was. Throughout the week, I was able to relax and focus on the bigger picture, winning the championship. If I could win the Triple Crown, Chili Bowl and numerous track championships, I could win this as well.
I’d like to think I was relaxed but after snagging the pole, happy hour was a different story. Suddenly I thought my car needed something more, or maybe it was me?
The night before the Coca-Cola 600 was my only free night.
What did I do with my one free evening for the week?
Yeah, you guessed it. I raced at the local dirt track. It just so happened that the Outlaw Showdown was only twenty minutes away in Concord. So Tate, Bobby, Spencer, Aiden, and I piled into a minivan and zipped over to Concord after I had dinner with my parents. Being a team owner now, I had a car ready.
“Why are you adding weight?”
“Because Skip said we were light.”
Tommy looked over at Rusty, our mechanic, scratching his orange hair with a wrench. “Take the floor plate out and replace it with a steel plate. Let me know how much weight we’re off then.”
Rusty and his little helper, his brother, began tearing out the floor plate.
After weighing in again, we were still off by fifty pounds with my car, so I had them add a lead to the Nerf bar on the left side that seemed to take care of it.
It was a blazing hot day and even with the sun setting, as day turned to evening, the track turned dry and slick. Anytime the track crew tried to moisten it up, the sun had it dried out before the water truck had pulled off.
Some of the drivers were packing their suits with ice packs, while others dealt with it. Being used to the high temperatures, I dealt with it.
It was nothing like the race in Texas earlier in the year when the inside of my car was close to 135°.
Before the heat races, I made my way over to the flag stand for an interview with one of their announcers.
Simplex asked that I come, since they were sponsoring the Outlaw Showdown this year. This meant I had a little sweet-talking to do.
Standing there, I had my suit wrapped around my waist with a wet t-shirt clinging to my body. It probably didn’t look appropriate but if you’ve never been on the East Coast during the summer with 103° temperatures and high humidity, you’re not missing anything. Nor would you understand why I was standing in front of around five thousand fans sporting a wet see-through t-shirt.
I let out a small chuckle as they recapped my career.
“This young man standing here beside me,” Richard’s hand grasped my shoulder shaking me slightly. I smiled wider and the cheering from the crowd intensified. “He started racing at four. By the time he was six, he had won two Regional Quarter Midget Nationals, moved onto the Deming Speedway Clay Nationals at nine ... then the Triple Crown, dozens of track championships ... Chili Bowl ... the list could take up to an hour of our time here but what you all want to know is who this kid is ... right?”
By their screams, they knew me all right.
Richard smiled and pretended to clean out his ears with a quick shake of his peppered hair.
“Looks like they know who you are already?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I laughed. “Maybe they have me confused with someone else...?”
“Do you think this is... Jameson Riley?” the fans were literally all standing on their feet screaming. I think I said this back when I won in Rockingham, but I was utterly amazed at how popular of a driver I became overnight.
Richard went on to talk about the Winston race. I kept my comments short and nothing that would come off as rude. When asked about “Rowdy Riley” and Darrin, I simply replied with: “It’s just racing. Anytime you put forty-three drivers together, tempers flare. It doesn’t go beyond that, it’s just racing.”
“So you two get along outside of the track?”
“I wouldn’t go that far ...”
The crowd screaming dissuaded Richard off subject and I was able to sneak away for the pill draw and then heat races. I ended up one tenth off the track-record, which my dad set. This left me starting on the outside of the front row with him.
It felt good to be out here and still competing competitively still. You can’t understand the feeling you get when you can successfully switch to a completely different series, and win.
I loved being around my “dirt buddies” as I called them. Even though I was now technically considered Tyler and Justin’s boss, it never felt that way. We were just a bunch of friends going back to our roots that night. Or at least I was going back to my roots, they never left.
And even though I wasn’t racing with them anymore, times hadn’t changed that much. Justin was still considered “Wicked West” and could pull slide jobs on some of the best on dirt.
Ryder remained the “Beast from the East” and then there was Tyler. His racing had taken off and soon got the nickname of “The Sleeper” because he had the ability of waiting until the last second and then coming on strong like wild fire.
Another kid that caught my eye was Mark Derkin’s grandson, Shelby Derkin. He was a sixteen-year-old kid out of Richmond, Indiana. The kid lapped most of the 360 division in his main and could have easily qualified for the B-Feature in the 410 class if he had the power. Part of me wanted to hop into a 360 and see what this kid had to offer. This goes back to the side of me who always wanted to race with the best.
Why?
Because the only way to see how good you are is to race against the best.
After the drivers’ meeting we hung around my dad’s hauler waiting for the features to begin when a few girls made their way over.
There was one I looked at twice, thinking it was Sway. They could have passed for twins, though I doubted she had Sway’s witty traits.
The girl smiled when my eyes focused on hers and she was pretty but was not who I wanted. Returning the smile, I turned away from her silently letting her know I wasn’t interested.
Next thing I knew, her arm snaked around my waist as she leaned against my side.
“You’re Jameson Riley, that NASCAR driver ... right?”
“Last time I checked,” giving her another half-smile, I shifted away from her embrace.
“So are you sticking around after the race?”
“Nope,” I answered vaguely.
When I looked back at her and her friend, it dawned on me just then who the other woman with her was.
It was Ami, as in Justin’s Ami.
“All Outlaw drivers need to report to their cars.” The intercom system announced throughout the pits.
Thank God! I thought to myself. It was getting harder and harder to get away from these pit lizards.
Our cars were pushed onto the front stretch and then we walked through the grandstands and down toward the flag stand where they introduced us by our qualifying order. Justin walked past me so I nudged his shoulder.
“Was that Ami?”
“Yeah,” he grinned widely. “I saw her about a month ago when I made it out to Elma for that Modified Nationals with Tate.”
“So are you guys ...”
“Not sure. But she’s here ... that has to be a good sign, right?”
“Clearly, you’re asking the wrong guy on that,” I chuckled adjusting my hat. “Have you not seen me around Sway?”
“Oh, I have,” Justin nodded. “But you didn’t fuck up the way I did. I broke her heart, and now, well, I couldn’t live with myself if I did it again.”
“Don’t then,” I ventured.
He snorted as we filed in beside the stage they set up for us to walk across. “Nice advice.”
I didn’t get a chance before the roar of the fans and fireworks drowned us out.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you wanted the best, you’ve got em’ here. Let’s introduce your starting line-up for the Outlaw Showdown, the heavy hitters of the World of Outlaws!” the announcer drew out in a deep enthusiastic voice. “Starting on the inside of row one, we have the King, your very own, fourteen-time champion ... Jimi Riley!”
“Starting on the outside... the son of the King and NASCAR’s Rowdy Riley, none other than Jameson Riley!”
Tipping my head at the crowd, I smiled when they roared to life. Dad turned around, glaring. I’d clearly gotten more cheers than him. He threw his hands up in the air at the crowd before they admired their champion.
Laughing, he pulled me into a headlock.
Like I said, it was nice to be around my dirt buddies. I considered them my family, yes, my dad technically was, but Justin, Tyler, Ryder, Tommy ... they were all my family in some way.
“How’d the car feel?” Tommy asked sometime after the heat races. He was running around making sure all of us had the right setups.
“When I lift, I got instant stick, maybe too much.”
Tommy went right to work on the adjustments.
When we finally started the feature, dad was all business. He was leading the series with Justin a close nine points behind him. He had no room for mistakes and I almost felt bad about being in the mix with the point leaders but I also knew if any of them had the chance to race cup and compete at those levels I had been, they wouldn’t question it.
So why should I?
Engaging the coupler, I signaled to the driver, letting him know I would be taking off. The car roared to life. The sound is absolutely addicting. Nothing sounds like or feels the way a sprint car does.
Even my Cup car was nowhere near the consoling meditation that a sprint car provided. I think the best part was the feeling I got just being out here, around the dirt track again. It was exactly what I needed. The dirt, the methanol, even the sunscreen worn by the women, all reminded me of a time Sway was with me, a time when everything was so much simpler, though I’d never taken the time to appreciate how simple it was.
That was until around lap thirty something of the feature and I ended up tangling with Tyler on a re-start. He blew a right rear tire and took me with him.
It was no one’s fault, he didn’t make it blow. Sprint cars are so temperamental that the tiniest change in that stagger I’ve talked about sends them flying without a moment of warning.
Being upside down was the least of my worries. I was more concerned about the methanol pouring onto me. The problem with methanol burning is that it burns invisible, no flame or smoke. If a fire happens, you can’t see it to put it out. But you can feel it burning you.
I started thinking of all the ways it could catch on fire. Certainly, it could reach a spark but that wasn’t my concern because the engine wasn’t idling. My fear was the 800° headers it was pouring onto as well as my racing suit. So while there was no obvious spark for it to come in contact with, the headers were another story. Methanol has a flash point of 385° so the 800° headers were starting to concern me.
Safety crews were scrambling around me, searching for injuries and frantically asking me if I was all right.
“Riley, are you okay?” they repeated that a few times before I could answer.
I nodded and gave them a wave. It wasn’t like they could hear me with all the cars running past. Even on pace laps, they produced quite the sound.
Motioning toward the fuel tank behind me, I said. “The fuel is pouring onto me. Can you get me turned over?”
That got them going. The wreck happened right in front of the pit bleachers so both Tommy and Spencer were there to help get the car turned back over. My skin was burning from the methanol that soaked through my fire-resistant suit. It may not have ignited but it was still something you didn’t want on your skin.
Knowing me, what kind of mood do you think I was in having a substance on my skin?
Not a good one, but that was all but forgotten when Justin held off the King of the Dirt for the win. My car, a driver I hired and my friend, won that night. The only feeling greater than winning, was seeing a friend win. After celebrating for three hours, I called it a night when that determined pit lizard from before starting hanging on my arm.
“Jesus Christ, you stink!” Spencer grumbled once we were inside the car.
I inhaled deeply. “There’s nothing better than racing fuel.”
On the way back that night, I drove with the windows down as the methanol was a little strong when confined. With the night’s air, the warm summer breeze blew throughout the minivan. The freight truck’s hum drowned out Aiden’s obsessive talking and Spencer’s intolerable snoring.
Being back on the dirt tonight confirmed one thing for me … I couldn’t wait any longer.
My stomach was in knots that night when I made the decision, a decision that was essentially eleven years in the making. Still ... my will wavered and probably would until I saw her again.
I had commitments now, obligations, fans, sponsors, the list endless and if I thought it would get easier, I was in denial.
So when would I ever get a chance for me?
Sure, I loved what I did, this was what I always wanted and worked so hard for. Racing was my life, my passion. Somewhere between the time I left home to chase this dream, and now, I felt something missing and it was her. The one that changed everything I thought I knew with one look.
For the longest time, I ignored the fact that I was in love with Sway for one simple reason, what if she loved me back?
If I didn’t want to lose her, how long would I let this go on? I have only ever had physical relationships. How could I have more?
Just simply being my friend came with a price tag, imagine if she wanted more? How would that affect her life and how could I do that to her?
I knew my life would never be normal but I wasn’t about to take away any sense of normalcy that she had away from her. How could I? Sway never had a say in anything and Charlie proved that.
Was it fair that she would soon have responsibilities that no twenty-two-year-old should have? No. The difference between her and me was that I asked for this. I knew the sacrifices I would have to make and was prepared for them from the beginning. She wasn’t. She had no idea of the pressure and opinionative populace that was out there. Being pessimistically jaded, I didn’t want her to know that side of the world but I soon wouldn’t have a choice and neither would she.
Consequently, I knew my decision was wrong but I also knew that if nothing in life was free, then I was ready and willing to pay anything for her happiness.
“Who are you calling?” Spencer asked stepping inside the motor coach that night before heading to his hotel.
“Uh... Sway,” I admitted and hung my head waiting for her to answer.
“I’m sure you want to be doing more,” he countered with a smug grin.
“Shut up,” I kicked him on the way out. Gratifyingly, he fell down the steps. “Hey, wait, get back here.” I yelled after him hanging out the door by my arm on the door handle.
He turned to me brushing dirt off his jeans. “What?”
“Did Josh take care of Blake?”
Spencer’s eyes lit up like he’d just been told his favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, would be celebrated twice this year.
“Dude, you wouldn’t believe how scared that douche was. Even pissed his pants when Josh and his buddy got a fake search warrant,”
“Why’d he piss his pants over a search warrant?”
“Turns out he was growing weed in his apartment and selling to the students at Western.”
“No shit?” This turned out better than I thought it would. Even though I would have liked to see him threatened about never touching Sway again, at least he was in trouble.
“Shit.” Spencer nodded turning to walk away. “Oh, and, don’t sound too eager when you beg her to come out here. Have some dignity.”
Chuckling as I swung the door closed and Sway answered. “Hello?” her voice bleary.
“Shit,” glancing at the clock on the wall I realized it was nearly two in the morning there. “I forgot the time difference.”
“Jameson?”
“Yeah, honey, it’s me.”
“Oh... good job on the pole,”
“Thanks... hey, I called for a reason.” I paused, preparing myself. “Come see me.”
“What?”
“This weekend,” I clarified. “Come see me in Charlotte. I’ll buy the ticket for you to come.”
She was quiet for a few seconds, her steady breathing was the only sound before she sighed softly. “I, uh... are you sure?”
“Well, yeah,” letting out a soft chuckle, I continued. “I asked—didn’t I?”
She was silent so I added fuel.
“I miss you and I got the pole.” I softened my tone. “Please, honey ...” I begged.
“Fine, I’ll come,” she sighed with a soft giggle.
My perverted brain was focused on the fact that she said I could come. I blame this on the fact that I haven’t had sex in over a year. Hell, I’d barely done any bleeding of the pressure valve these days.
We ended the conversation after that so she and I could both get some sleep.
After I called the airline and got her ticket, I was no longer focused on the fines handed down that had consumed my mind all week. Now I had the pole to the Coca-Cola 600 and Sway was coming.
Oh, goddamn it.
My body had other ideas at the thought of the word coming again, so I snuck off to the bathroom before heading to bed.
I woke up feeling both relaxed and energized. For one, Sway was coming to see me and I raced sprints last night. Whenever I got a chance to race on the dirt, I felt better.
Things were looking good, so I thought.
I only saw what I wanted to and had avoided the underlying feelings for too long holding out hope that they’d go away. They didn’t. I was determined to do something about it this time. I was done messing around. We needed more from each other and if physical was all we could have, then so be it. The thought both excited and terrified me.
I walked through the paddock that morning, lifting my chin in acknowledgment at the calls from fellow drivers and fans who gathered.
My mind kept considering how I might tell her I wanted more.
I’ve wanted to tell her so many times how my feelings had changed but I couldn’t. This lifestyle was not something I could ask her to adapt to, how could I? That was the part I couldn’t get past because in order to give myself to her in all the ways I wanted to, my demanding schedule was what was holding me up.
I’m on the road forty weeks out of the year. Monday through Wednesday, I’m usually doing sponsorship commitments or working on sprint cars for my team. Thursday through Sunday, I was at the track racing and then it started all over again on Monday.
Prior to the team meeting, I stopped by the motor coach where Cal had fixed breakfast for everyone.
“What are you going to do when she’s here? You know you need to be concentrating and not thinking of ways to get Sway in bed with you,” Spencer asked shoving a bagel in his mouth.
I kicked him under the table we were sitting at. “Fuck off. It’s not like that with Sway.”
“You’re in denial.”
I shoved myself away from the table and got ready for my endless amount of interviews today.
On the way there, Sway sent me a text.
S: Got my ticket, be there at two. Someone had better pick me up, asshole.
I typed one back.
J: Headed to interviews. Can’t wait to see you! Alley will pick you up.
Alley caught up with me after my appearance on Trackside Live. “Hey, Jameson, you have a meet-n-greet in about an hour.” She pushed her curly blonde hair away from her face—the summer heat was blistering today. Her porcelain cheeks flushed from the heat with Lane on her hip.
“Thanks ... hey,” I flashed her with a wheedling smile.
My mood was never this good on the day of a race; this wasn’t lost on Alley either who looked at me as if she’d never seen me before. “Can you pick up Sway from the airport today?”
She nodded her head looking down at her Blackberry. “Sure, but don’t do anything stupid.”
“What are you talking about?” Lane squirmed in her arms to reach for me. His bright curious blue eyes scanned around the humming boisterous atmosphere of race day in the garage area.
“With Sway... just... don’t, Jameson,” she warned handing him to me.
“Huh?” Lane and I both looked at each other—he squinted into the sun shining on him over my shoulder.
Alley slapped at my forearm.
“I know you... you want...” her eyes focused on Lane as she chose her words carefully, “more but I’m telling you right now, one of you will get hurt. Just don’t.”
Lane smiled at me, his expression strangely serious. “Mommy says no.”
Great, now a three-year-old is giving me advice.
I knew what Alley was warning me about but I had to know if Sway felt the same way. I knew she had feelings for me but I needed to know for myself if there was any chance they might be more. I wanted more. I wanted it so badly it’s all I could think about right now. Understanding how long it took me to come to this conclusion that I wanted more, do you honestly think I’d be persuaded not to act upon it that easily?
I wasn’t sure how it would turn out once she was here but I had to try. I was done wasting time with her, I needed something, anything.
EVERY RACE DAY morning while I did my interviews and meet-n-greets, my car went through inspection at the far end of the garage. NASCAR officials picked over the car on an elevated platform. During various times throughout the weekend, your car was inspected. Usually before the first practice session, before qualifying, after qualifying if you win the pole, and just before the race.
They also do this after the race for selected cars, usually the top five finishers, the first car to fall out of the race not involved in an accident and one random car. You don’t know if you’re a random car or not until you’re pulling onto pit lane and the official tells you. If something doesn’t jive after the race, you lose the points awarded for the win and you’re penalized. In most cases, you do get to keep the win itself.
They inspect everything from ride height, angle or size of spoiler, weight (they must weigh 3400 pounds with at least 1600 pounds on the right side without the driver), engine specs (the car must adhere to compression ratios and displacement), how the car fits into the templates, and restrictor plates if it’s a restrictor plate race.
Now did I mention they check your fuel?
If I didn’t, it’s because I never thought about it, until today.
Our team had no reason to cheat, so why would we?
Each week we were consistent, always had been. I’m not saying we didn’t bend the rules from time-to-time because every team did. You push and push until you get handed a fine. Then you know you can’t get away with that any longer and you push the next issue. It’s racing. With the competition levels the way they were, every team tried to “one up” the other. It was the name of the game.
So, yes, we pushed boundaries, but we never messed with the fuel or tires. Two things NASCAR heavily enforced.
All things considered, when Kyle approached me after inspections and prior to my meeting with Simplex to tell me they found something in our fuel, I wasn’t pleased.
“What the fuck do you mean they found something in the fuel?”
“I don’t know,” he threw his arms up. “Mason said they made the crew drain the fuel tank and they took the fuel for testing.”
Alley must have noticed my fuse was about out to ignite as Kyle was talking cause she stepped in front of me and her hands gripped my shoulders.
“Jameson,” Alley’s voice was full of warning. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I was getting angrier and confused.
“Lose control right now,” she said sternly. “Just relax.”
I grunted and walked away from both of them heading to my meeting with Simplex. This was not the shit I needed or wanted today.
While I was busting my ass through the paddock to make it to the hospitality tents Simplex had set up, Spencer chose now to talk to me.
Catching up to me, he slowed his jog to a fast walk. “Hey, dude, is Sway really coming?”
“Yeah, she’ll be here later this afternoon.”
“Are you going to talk to her?”
This was not a conversation I wanted to have right now or ever for that matter.
Glaring his direction, he grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
My fist rose to punch his shoulder but he ducked away and bounced on the balls of his feet.
“Good luck, little brother!”
Before I reached the hospitality tent, Alley caught me again with Kyle trailing behind her.
“What now?”
“NASCAR wants to see you, Kyle, and Jimi in the hauler ...”
“I have the...” I motioned toward the tent as my voice faded when I looked at her. Something was wrong.
She pushed me back the other direction. “That’s going to have to wait. I’ll talk to them, you go see Gordon.”
So there I sat, in the principal’s office again. Alley sent me a text when I was sitting there waiting for Gordon.
Alley: Whatever you do, don’t answer their questions. It’s exactly what they expect you to do. Be selective.
I typed my response while Gordon entered the hauler. He didn’t look at us as he carried a manila folder inside his office and slammed the door behind him. The water pitcher on the desk outside his office shook from the force.
J: It’s too late for me, they know everything. Get out! Save yourself!
Alley: Fucking idiot. She sent back.
I was surprised I was joking around but I had to or else, at that point, I was going to kill someone. Turning to Kyle who was sitting next to me, I asked, “Is there something I should know?”
“What are you talking about?” His eyes scanned mine.
“With the fuel... did you guys add something?”
Kyle looked offended. “Do you honestly think I’d allow something like that?”
“No, but I’m just checking.” I flopped back in the chair wondering how I could get us out of this mess. “I don’t want to go in there defending us and then find out it’s something we did.”
“Our team would never jeopardize something like this.” Kyle snapped. “They could impound this car ... you know that right?”
“Why do you think I’m asking?”
Gordon came out of his office after that, looking thwarted. “Riley, can you come in?”
Standing, I tilted my head toward Kyle. “You better be right.”
Gordon was silent for a moment before he paced around his office, the room appearing even smaller by his constant movement.
“The officials said they found something in your fuel. They’ve drained the tank and you will be allowed to race that car with the fuel we tested clean.” He paused, his eyes focusing on a stack of papers on his cherry wood desk.
“I’m not sure what’s in there Jameson... but if it’s illegal, you better believe this will be expensive.”
Oh, Jesus... was he serious? This was just my fucking luck. Where’s Fortuna?
Alley was not amused by the time I got back to my hauler. I refused to let this bother me and smiled at her despite my temper boiling under the surface.
She had no reaction at all, other than slowly raising a single finger to me hiding it from Lane. You can guess which one.
Spencer returned right about then from God knows where with more food in his mouth. “Why did we have to change gas tanks this morning?”
“Are you fucking stupid? Or have you not been paying attention?” Alley asked him handing Lane over to me once again.
Aiden walked with a cocky gait, he smiled wide tucking in his shirt. “Jimi’s looking for you. He looks crazy.”
Even better.
“Why the fuck are you smiling?” I asked heading inside.
Aiden’s grin widened.
“Nothin’.” His expression turned panicked as though I caught him.
Emma, straightening out her skirt, walked past as well but didn’t stop. Race days were just as crazy for her as they were for me since she and Alley attended every media event I attended.
I couldn’t understand why everyone was acting so strange today. You have Spencer who is in his own world. Aiden who just smiles, and then Emma, who apparently needs to check her attire before she leaves as her shirt was on backward.
Jimi was crazy when I walked inside, that much was evident by his distraught pacing. He reminded me of Gordon. “How’d it get in there?” he asked.
I looked behind me—I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, someone else, or if it was a rhetorical question.
“Marcus asked that we meet with him this morning so we should get going. Gordon informed me they found a mixture of methanol and ethanol in the fuel.”
My jaw clenched as I started my own pacing, my luck just got a whole hell of a lot shittier. Like I said, NASCAR is very specific on fuel and tires and adding additives like methanol and ethanol into the fuel they provided was not allowed. If added it increased the oxygen content and, in turn, could make you go faster.
The problem was, how did it get in there if we didn’t add it? As I’ve said before, the car is inspected numerous times throughout the weekend. Not one of those inspections detected anything wrong with the car. Why now? We had been using the same fuel.
“What does this mean?” I asked leaning against the stainless counter in the hauler. Kyle opened the door just then.
Dad looked up at him and then down at his phone he was flipping obsessively in his hand.
“They’re fining us $50,000 but we get to keep the starting position since the additive wasn’t detected prior to qualifying.”
“Fifty thousand dollars for a fucking additive?” I yelled. “How the hell did it get in there?”
Dad and I both glanced at Kyle who held up his hands in defense. “We have no idea.” His glare was evidence he really didn’t know. “Mason and Gentry were with the car all morning.”
“What about last night?” Dad asked his face scrunched as he contemplated all the ways something like this could have happened.
“Mason was the last to leave the garage area He said a couple other teams were in there but left right after him.”
We had no answers, just that we were being fined $50,000.
Don’t get me wrong, I understood the need for rules and respected NASCAR for what they did, but really?
This seemed a little steep for something we didn’t do.
My other problem was explaining this to Simplex.
This was not the sort of thing your sponsor wanted to see. When you think about it, without corporate sponsors and fans, we wouldn’t have this sport. The money provided pays for us to be competitive, such as buying parts, building these cars and paying the salaries for the team members and myself, oh, and according to NASCAR, buying additives for our fuel tanks.
In turn for this money, the primary sponsor has final say in team colors, uniforms, paint schemes and other team appearances.
What we do for the sponsor is present ourselves in a positive way and advertise for them.
How do you think we looked now?
Certainly not positive... and when the media catches wind of the fines... not positive at all.
After a few minutes of silence from everyone, I asked, “Appeal?”
“It was a kneejerk reaction by Gordon.” Alley offered. “I think we have a chance with the appeal board on this one.”
The NASCAR penalty system is black and white. It just is. They allow you to appeal their decisions and be heard in front of board members of the commission but sometimes this doesn’t work in your favor and the fines are increased. If you still aren’t happy, you can appeal to the national commissioner for a final appeal but his word is the last say.
My point is, these penalties don’t make cheating impossible, just stricter if you get caught. It’s like speeding. The ticket isn’t going to stop you from, let’s say, getting to work twenty minutes faster because you do eighty instead of sixty, but the ticket for reckless driving might make you think twice.
That was what NASCAR was trying to do, I get that. What I didn’t get was the severity for something we didn’t do.
I didn’t break the rules and neither would our team like that. We had no reason to.
“We’re appealing the fine,” Jimi said, walking out of the hauler.
Alley let out a whoosh of breath before turning toward me. “Is Sway flying into Charlotte Douglas?”
“Yeah, she should be landing soon.” Though I was still excited as hell to see her, my thoughts were focused on this turn of events with the fuel.
“Marcus is waiting for you. Just... be careful what you say.”
“Are you sure I should be talking to anyone right now?”
“No. I’m almost positive you shouldn’t be talking to anyone, especially Simplex. But you’re the driver, they want to hear from you.” Moving past her she reached out to grab my shoulder, wadding a fist full of my t-shirt in her hand. “Do not, under any circumstances speak to the media about this ... I mean it, Jameson, decline to comment.”
“Yes, ma’am.” waggling my eyebrows, I asked trying to remain modestly coy. “When will you be back?”
I could not wait for Sway to get here.
“Oh, for Christ sakes, control yourself!”
Lane pointed his tiny finger at my nose, touching the tip of it. “Comtrool youself,”
“I’m not so sure I know what comtrooling is?”
“That not what I said.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Was not,” he argued, his brow scrunched as he glared.
Ruffling his hair, I threw him over my shoulder. “You’re definitely a Riley.”
TWO HOURS, A meeting with Simplex, and around a hundred autographs later, I was standing next to my car in the garage before they pulled it out to line-up along the grid.
“Did we get it filled up again?” I asked Mason and Trace who were going over their pre-race checklist on the car. Everyone had checklists on race day.
The Car Chief, Mason, had one. The Team Manager, Trace, had one. And the crew, directed by Mason and Kyle, had one. If you’re wondering how the Car chief, Crew Chief, and Team Manager had different roles, they all had very different roles.
The Team Manager is in essence, the owner’s right-hand man. He will oversee the day-to-day administrative duties that keep the team running. Originally, we had Alley doing this but, as you can guess, her double duty of being my publicist as well, she had a hard time balancing the two. Now we had Trace doing this, which worked out well because Trace had previously worked for Leddy Racing the past six years and he had the experience our team needed.
The Crew Chief, Kyle, who worked closely with the Team Manager, oversaw all the hands-on activities related to building and adjusting the car that will race on the track. As you can imagine, the Crew Chief needed to not only know a lot about racing and the setups of these cars but he also had to work well with the driver’s personality.
Now the Car Chief, he had the worst job in my mind because he not only took orders from the Crew Chief but also the Team Manager, and me when I felt the need to tell him a thing or two I thought he needed to know. I can be an asshole, but that was nothing new. Mason was good people though, and took it all with thick skin. He handed down the orders during the race that the Crew Chief decided.
So if I said, “I’m tight coming out of four.” Kyle would then say, “How about we make a wedge adjustment?” I then say, “10-4.” or something similar. Kyle will then send those orders to Mason who directs the crewmembers on what to do.
Some may think that was a lot of passing of orders.
Yes it is, but if Kyle had to concentrate on not only deciphering my cryptic assumption of what my car was doing and worry about the crew doing their job as well, plus try to anticipate what could go wrong on the track and calculate fuel mileage, that was a lot to ask of one person on race day. Hence the need for all these guys.
Gentry gestured toward the official standing next to the car. “He watched us add the drums this time and hasn’t moved since.”
Mason’s voice was harsh and low when he spoke. “Where was he when the additive was placed in there?”
Since the impromptu team meeting we had an hour ago, most of us felt it was added by another team, I had a pretty good fucking idea whose team that was by the way.
“How was the car running in happy hour?” Tony asked approaching us.
Tony, as the tire specialist, kept logs of tire wear, air pressures and temperatures throughout all practices to calculate any changes we may need to make during a run. A run was the distance between each pit stop.
The car was running so I had to speak over the idling.
“I was tight coming out of three but the more laps I made, the more the car came to me,” I told them.
Kyle stepped inside the garage motioning behind him. “Looks like someone’s here for you,” he smiled.
You would have thought I had been shot with the pain that hit my chest when I turned around to see Sway standing there talking to Spencer and Aiden. Her long mahogany waves fell midway down her back and her creamy ivory skin reflected the day’s sun like a mass of energy.
For a moment, I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak as I stared at her. It was if I’d never seen her before. When really, I had never seen her like this before. Over time, she had matured into a woman right before my eyes, but now, the emotions I felt for her only amplified anything I thought I felt for her or saw in her.
When Aiden smiled at me, she spun on her heel, her eager eyes focused on my smiling eyes and ran for me.
Tension built in my chest, stomach and groin when she wrapped her legs around my waist. I wasn’t complaining, hell no, I wasn’t complaining but it was somewhat awkward having to adjust myself in the middle of the paddock discreetly. My arms instinctively pulled her closer.
“I missed you, Sway, so much.”
I felt her shiver at my touch when my fingertips brushed against the sliver of skin peeking out under her tank top. Turning my head, the stubble of my jaw brushed against her bare shoulder, I kissed her flushed cheek.
There were people everywhere around us, but I couldn’t stop staring at her, until Alley cleared her throat. Setting her securely on her feet, I kept my arm around her, drinking in her beauty.
“Oh, Jesus, do you two need a room?” Alley snapped.
I wanted to say, “Nope, she’ll be with me.” but I didn’t, instead I laughed.
“I can’t believe all this. It gets crazier every time I see you,” Sway nudged my shoulder pretending to bounce around like a boxer and then held her forearm to my face. “Will you sign my arm? Or my ass?” she stopped jumping and stood in front of me, waiting.
All I could think about was seeing that delectable skin that I so badly wanted to taste, tempting me. So I licked her arm. “There’s your autograph. Want me to sign your ass, too?” I’ll sign every inch of your goddamn body if you let me.
Rolling my eyes, at myself mostly, I turned toward Alley. “What’s the plan tonight?”
She was busy tending to Spencer’s eye that was bleeding. “You have the drivers’ meeting in an hour.”
“What the hell happened to you?” I asked Spencer.
He glared when I chuckled. “You’re best friend there decided to try and take my head off with your spring.”
“That’s my girl,” I nodded appreciatively smiling down at Sway tucked under my arm.
“Listen,” Alley smacked my shoulder. “You have the drivers’ meeting and then introductions start at four. After the race you have to make an appearance at the Howl at the Moon club in downtown Charlotte.”
I turned to Sway. “So what … did you get a hotel room, or do you want to stay in my motor coach?”
She seemed to hesitate for a moment before whispering, “Alley got me my own room.”
“Damn,” he smirked. “Well, I guess that means I have to return you to your room tonight. Or you could stay in my motor coach.”
There was no way I was returning her to her room tonight, not unless I was with her.
Alley smacked at my shoulder. “You’re staying at a hotel tonight, dipshit. You leave town tomorrow morning after an interview. Which you better not be late to.”
“Am I staying at the same hotel as her?”
“I’m not getting drunk tonight, Jameson,” she warned as we walked toward the garage.
“So you say,” I pulled her against my side securely before whispering in her ear, my lips grazed her ear. “I bet I can convince you otherwise.” I paused before smirking. “Besides, I have another ass cheek that needs branding and so do you.” Reaching behind her, I slapped her ass once.
“Is that so?”
“Without a doubt,” I replied confidently with a smug lewd smile and then winked to add to the fire (hers and mine). We stopped beside my car, her eyes lighting up. Sway wasn’t your ordinary girl around cars, she got the same glazed over expression I got when she heard an engine rumbling, quietude.
As I walked her around the garage, introducing her to the new team members, there was a sense of familiarity between us that was comforting. She was still my girl, the same girl who would blush and punch you at the same time. The same girl whose eyes told a story, but you had to listen to understand them, if you didn’t, you would never know the real her. She was the girl who loved ice cream more than breathing, who hated clowns like they were the devil and couldn’t walk into a room at night without every light being on. She was my girl.
I watched her closely, inquisitively examining her every movement. It was as if my mind was trying to find a way out of the decision it already made but she wasn’t giving me any reason to go back it.
She was responsive to my touch, leaned into my embrace and when I kissed her cheek every so often, she returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around me.
Could it be she wanted something more just as much as I did?
The night was passing with a blur and soon I was heading to the motor coach to get ready. It was funny to me that everything I’d been feeling throughout the day with the penalty, was overshadowed by Sway being here. She had the power to completely pivot everything hurled onto my shoulders just by being here.
I had a plan for tonight and nothing was going to change that. My mom asked me where that boy was who was so tenaciously determined? Well, I found him. More tenacious and more determined than ever.