Gauge – An instrument mounted on the dashboard, used to monitor engine conditions such as fuel pressure, oil pressure and temperature, water pressure and temperature, and RPMs (revolutions per minute).
“Where are you going, kid?”
“The track. I’m meeting Sway there. She’s coming with us to Cottage Grove.” I told my dad on the way out the door.
For my birthday last year, my parents bought me a car. I had to pay for half of it and whatever amount I was able to come up with they matched. All that hard-earned money bought me a 1967 Ford Shelby Mustang GT 500 that needed an engine.
Yeah, I was spoiled but I loved that car. A few weeks after I got the car, my dad went for a ride with me and squeezed himself into the non-existent back seat. He refused to sit in the front seat like a normal person would. Instead, he insisted I drive him around town like I was driving Miss Daisy.
Though I loved the car, it wasn’t exactly practical. After four speeding tickets in two weeks, it was time to look for something else or I was about to lose my license.
Eventually, I traded the car for a truck, a 1996 Ford F-250 so I could haul my sprint car around.
Over the last summer, it was rare for Sway and I to ever be apart.
Chelsea and I dated on and off but I couldn’t stand her longer than a few weeks before I was telling her to get lost. Then Sway would get to me again and I found myself looking to Chelsea or whoever was available as a distraction.
Sway never did anything to piss me off, quite the opposite. Everything she did turned me on.
I began dating girls in an attempt to hide the physical attraction I was feeling toward Sway and kept my distance from her and her body in fear that I’d slip and do something to ruin the intense bond we had. I could tell her anything, as could she. Having this intense bond meant I knew when something was up with her, like today.
Last night we were at the track for the Northern Sprint Tour and she had disappeared somewhere between the feature events.
I was racing but when I made it back to the pits that night, Sway wasn’t around. I tried calling her afterward to see where she went but she never answered.
“Where’d you go last night?” I asked once she got inside.
Sway threw her bag on the floor and looked over at me. Her red puffy eyes focused on mine. “I went home. I wasn’t feeling good.”
I scanned her eyes, searching for the answer I knew they’d give me. She was lying and that wasn’t something we did. We never lied to each other.
“Bullshit.”
It took some convincing but on the way to the shop to load my car, she admitted she met up with Dylan Grady. I didn’t feel the need to ask questions. The revolting nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach kept me from asking what happened. It was comparable to the night I saw them making out at Tommy’s party.
Dylan Grady was a player; had been and always would be.
Sure, he was popular and good looking as the girls would say but his popularity did nothing for his personality or lack of one. The fact that she was hanging around with him in general enraged me but I kept my cool. I wasn’t her only friend and I wasn’t her boyfriend. I had no right to dictate who she hung out with or where she went.
So instead of replying to her confession, I only nodded and drove to the shop in silence. When we got there, Sway went over to Alley, who was now living with Spencer, and Emma and began talking while Spencer, Dad and me loaded the car.
By the end of their conversation, Sway was crying in Alley’s arms and Emma looked pissed. Emma may be the youngest of the Riley kids, not to mention the smallest, but she showed the biggest heart when she wasn’t lathering herself with lotion.
If anyone crossed us, it was Emma who felt it and took action upon herself. If there is one positive thing I could say about Emma, aside from being ridiculously obsessive compulsive, it is that she would stick up for her family above all else.
“What are you doing?” I asked Emma as she rummaged around through the toolbox.
“Looking for a wrench,” She seethed looking over at me. “I’m going to kill Dylan.”
“Hold on there, why would you do that?” Spencer asked reaching for the wrench. I held her back from retrieving it again.
Her expression changed when she saw Sway approaching the shop. “He... Sway... oh, never mind.” She finally mumbled when she realized she’d already given away too much.
Sway, in a slightly better mood and twirling a sucker in her mouth, bounded back inside the shop.
“You boys ready yet?” She chirped sitting down on the rear tire of my sprint car, with the sucker.
Holy fuck.
Distracted by the sucker around her lips for obvious reasons, I turned and made myself think of something else. Like why my sister wanted to kill Dylan.
Spencer drove up with Alley and Emma while Sway and I hauled my sprint car with my truck. I took the time to try to talk to her, after she threw away the sucker and I could look at her.
“Why did Emma want to kill Dylan earlier today?” I blurted out somewhere after we made it to Portland.
Sway smiled and looked down at her cut-off shorts, toying with the fringed fabric between her fingers.
“It’s nothing Jameson, he’s a jerk. That’s all.”
I left her alone, knowing my pushing the subject was bothering her.
LAST NIGHT AT Elma I had good run—not great—but good and ended up with a third place finish in the feature. Tonight at Cottage Grove was absolutely nuts. In the start, things couldn’t have looked any worse, so I thought.
I was lined up fourteenth and fell back to eighteenth within the first three laps. Ryder, the kid from North Carolina, was racing side-by-side with me, taking every line I wanted. Every time I was beginning to make some ground, the caution flew and every time it took a few laps for my car to get into the groove.
My car was pushing which wasn’t unusual when you’re loaded down with fuel in the beginning laps. I hung on hoping the handling would improve once the fuel burned off.
The handling improved but my luck never did.
With nine laps to go, running in third, a bolt broke in the oil filter adapter base. Usually this wouldn’t have been that big of a deal until oil shot into the header and the goddamn thing went up in flames. Luckily, I wasn’t in it.
So there I was a junked car, a best friend—who’d said not more than two words to me since we arrived—and a drunk brother.
Later that night after loading up the car, we didn’t leave right away. Instead, we stood around talking to Ryder and his team along with a few other drivers. I’d become friends with a few like Justin and Ryder.
Sway was around but I hadn’t seen her in about an hour when I noticed her sitting on the back of my tailgate staring at her feet as she dangled them over the edge.
I excused myself and sat down next her. “You okay?”
“Not really.” She sniffed rubbing the sleeve of her navy blue sweatshirt across her wet cheeks. “But I’ll be fine.”
“Sway, what’s going on with you?” I asked softly as I leaned into her shoulder and then eventually wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her against me.
Melting into my embrace, she was about to answer when a crowd off in the distance of the pits caught our attention.
Dylan frequently traveled around with the Northern Sprint Tour as his cousin, Nick Grady, raced on it as well.
There Dylan stood with his arms around some girl I’d never seen before, kissing her.
Sway sighed and looked down at her feet.
“Should have known,” she muttered hanging her head. With her head down, I noticed scratches and a bruise along the side of her neck. Immediately I was angry.
“Is that what this is about? Dylan?” I asked, my voice rising with each word. “Did he do that to your neck?”
My jaw clenched as adrenaline began pumping.
“Jameson,” her voice held warning I didn’t appreciate at the time, “leave it alone.”
“I won’t leave it alone!” I shouted causing a few crewmembers of Ryder’s to turn and look over at us. “Something is up and for someone who swore to never lie to me, it’s pretty fucking evident you’re lying right now.”
Anger flushed over her features instantly. “You need to mind your own fucking business!” she pushed against my chest. “Just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you get to know everything I do or who.”
That right there confirmed my theory. She’d slept with him.
I sighed and hung my head, my gut knotted, as I avoiding her questioning gaze at my reaction.
I never thought it would feel like that.
“Why him?” My voice was soft and surprisingly calm.
“Why not?” she asked. “It’s not like anyone else has showed any interest.”
I was also to blame for this.
Most men that knew Sway also knew me and knew we were together more than apart. They steered clear of her, scared that I’d kick the shit out of them or, better yet, my beast of a brother would. She had no chance of meeting someone who would always be there for her if I didn’t back away.
We didn’t speak of Dylan again, mostly because I didn’t want details. It was bad enough that I knew she was no longer a virgin and she gave it away to a guy like Dylan Grady. He wasn’t gentle with her; that was apparent by the marks on her neck. Sway deserved her first time to be all that romantic shit that girls wanted and it wasn’t.
When Spencer came to find us to leave, Sway was plastered.
Tommy had rounded up a case of beer while Sway sang “Total Eclipse of the Heart” at the top of her lungs four times.
When she began the fifth time, I removed her beer and politely told her she sounded similar to a dying cat and needed to get some sleep.
“I don’t sound good?” she questioned, her eyes drooping.
“No, honey, you sound horrible and need to get some sleep,” I told her carrying her to my truck.
Sway spent the remainder of the night with her head in my lap crying, while I drove the truck home.
I had no idea what to say to comfort her so I was simply there and never let my hand leave her back, hoping I was providing what she needed. I held her tightly. I wanted to lock my arms around her and never let go, never let her be exposed to any kind of hurt like this. She clung to me, her entire body shaking with her sobs.
I gave her everything I could that night by being there and holding her.
That following Monday at school, I had the chance of meeting up with Dylan. I would say this happened by accident but I’d be lying. We didn’t know each other outside of the occasional “Hey” but he knew who I was.
I was pissed that he had the nerve to sleep with Sway and then never talk to her again so I opted for physical terminology. I think he knew exactly what I meant by that one punch to his jaw and never said a word to stop me.
The school had other ideas about this and suspended me for three days. It was fine by me. I had a crispy car to salvage and school was in the way.
This wasn’t the first time I defended Sway’s honor and it wouldn’t be the last. She meant the world to me and I do anything for her. I kept my distance when she showed awareness in other guys at school or at the track in fear I’d hold her back. I did what any best friend would do. I was there when she needed me.
SINCE MOVING FULL time to sprint cars when I turned sixteen, I’d begun racing on the Northern Sprint Tour but I also raced occasionally in USAC races. I was doing anything to get seat time and log laps. I needed all the experience I could get and this, once again, led me to the Dirt Cup in Skagit the summer I turned seventeen.
It wasn’t hard to make the change between midgets and sprints but there were differences to get used to. The biggest differences were the wings. I preferred running non-winged cars but I raced anything I could and that left me in a 360-Sprint my dad had built over the winter.
The difference between the non-winged and winged cars was the down force. You’d be amazed how much down force those wings produce effectively pushing the car around the track. There was not as much driver ability required once you add the wing. Take it away and you’d better hang on. They slide through corners easily and produce some of the best side-by-side racing around.
I enjoyed the side-by-side racing in midgets and non-winged cars but I also loved the power the sprint cars provided. They were designed to go fast and that was exactly what they did but they could also cause some violent and brutal crashes.
Much like the one I got into that weekend at the Dirt Cup in Skagit, which is a 3/10 clay oval track outside of Burlington, Washington.
I preferred the clay tracks to dirt for obvious reasons such as the higher levels of grip it provided. The downside to clay though was it was an art to get the surface prepared. Too much water and the track was pretty much impossible to race on. Too little water and the track turned into a tire-shredding monster.
That night the track had tons of grip and it would be what most in the dirt world would refer to as “hookey” meaning the moisture content was just right.
With the surface exactly the way I liked it, I was running fast on the high line but this also meant I was dangerous.
There were a number of ways to get caught up in a wreck in a sprint car but some can be worse than others.
I took half the goddamn field out with mine when I was sent into a wheel stand after a driver moved up the track slightly and made contact with my left rear. My front end lifted and it was over. I tried to correct it with horsepower but it did nothing but let the staggered tires end my night.
My car turned hard on the left rear and flipped seven times ending up upside down on the backstretch, only on the other side of the catch fence.
Like I said, sprint car crashes are violent and happen so quickly that in the blink of an eye it’s over.
When my car finally stopped flipping and the safety crew helped me to the pits, Mom, Emma, and Sway were huddling around me repeatedly asking me if I was okay.
If you were watching that wreck from the stands, it looked worse than it actually was.
“I’m fine.” I announced pushing past them to assess the damage to my car.
The thing was, I wasn’t fine. My head was spinning and seeing double vision was not normal, at least I didn’t think so. Once the adrenaline wore off, I started to feel the pain. My neck was sore and extremely tender to touch, my head was pounding and I was positive I had at least one broken rib or two.
That night on the way home, Spencer drove and I laid in the back seat in Sway’s lap. Times like this, it was easy to pretend we could be more than friends. With my head rested against her thighs, she played with my hair and I began to relax.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked leaning forward to look at my face.
I flashed a quick smile and wink.
It wasn’t long before I sat up. Not only was my head pounding worse by laying down, but I was also aware of what laying with my head positioned at an area where I desperately wanted a part of me buried in was doing to me. Currently my blood flow was being directed to a part of my body that wasn’t allowed to make decisions when it came to Sway.
“You need to stay up,” I told him gauging his unsteady demeanor once we made it into his room. Poor guy got his bell rung out there tonight.
“What are we watching?” I asked when he put a movie in and staggered back to his bed, collapsing against me.
I hadn’t slept yet so why not stay awake all night? We did this a lot. More times than I cared for. He usually was so amped after a race that he couldn’t sleep until the wee hours of the morning but now with a head injury he wanted to sleep.
I couldn’t. I was a wreck.
We had just gotten back from Skagit and Jameson was in no condition to sleep with his concussion. He was loopy and the drugs we gave him were beginning to wear off.
Just so you know, a race car driver’s idea of pain medication was a beer and three Excedrin... not exactly healthy.
He was about to answer me when Emma came stumbling into his room singing “Take my Breath Away” at the top of her lungs.
I tackled her against the hardwood floor, “If you know what’s best for you—stop singing that fucking song!” I seethed.
Jameson and I equally hated that song and she fucking knew it.
When I first met Emma, I thought, “Oh, she’s sweet.”
I was wrong and understood why Jameson petitioned to have her auctioned off at the zoo when she was five. It was where the little weirdo belonged.
I finally got her to leave only after I threatened to dump out all her lotions and burn her favorite pair of jeans.
Relaxing back on the bed, I asked again. “What movie are we watching?”
“The Exorcist,” he yawned, turning off the light on the nightstand, leaving his room dark and then patted his bed. “Lay down with me.”
I panicked and voiced my concerns. I hated scary movies almost as much as I hated the word uterus. “It’s evident that you forgot what happened when you forced me to watch ‘The Shining’ when we were thirteen so let me remind you, I pissed the bed for a goddamn week. I might add I still can’t look at twins the same way ever again.” I ranted while he rolled his eyes. “Oh, and let’s not forget when we watched ‘Jaws’ and I couldn’t so much as take a bath for months convinced a Great White would come up through the drain and bite my girly parts off.” This time he chuckled. “Then there was the time you insisted we watch that ghastly movie with the birds in it and I couldn’t walk outside without thinking a fucking crow was going to peck me to death. This,” I pointed at the television, “is a horrible idea!”
“You’re watching it.”
“No, I’m not.” I insisted crossing my arms over my chest. “I will not watch it.”
I lost that battle real quick and we ended up watching it despite my attempts to knock him off the bed and burn the tape.
Later that night, securely in my own bed at home, I had never experienced being that scared in my life.
There I was, paralyzed with every light in my entire bedroom blazing with my window wide open.
Pulling the covers up higher and covering my face up to eyes, I searched the room wildly for any movement absolutely hating Jameson with every fiber of my being and wanted to kill the little fucker for making me watch that shit.
My paranoid self was beginning to hear things that weren’t there and talking to myself.
That was when I heard my phone vibrating on my nightstand and answered immediately when I saw the name.
“I was worried about you. You seemed scared when you left,” Jameson said softly, his voice thick with sleep. “Are you okay?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I hate you so much right now. Get your ass over here!”
I refused to sleep alone and since he made me watch that awful shit he was going to stay up with me until I could sleep again. Even if that was weeks from now.
I ran downstairs and was out the door before he even hung up. He met me at the end of my street seeing how our houses were less than a mile away and if you cut through the trees, it took only two minutes to get there.
Why I was running around at three in the morning should have concerned me more than the goddamn movie but I was a chicken shit and I needed Jameson.
I also wanted to kick the shit out of him.
“Sway?” he called from the bushes, hiding in the dark corner of the street.
“Why are you in the bushes? Get out here, asshole,” I yelled, sad that I had been reduced to this, but extremely glad to see him.
I kept myself under the dim luminosity of the streetlights above. I had this crazy notion that nothing would attack me if I was lit up.
A few minutes later, we were settled in my bed this time.
“I can’t believe a movie has me so freaked out,” I mused ashamed of myself. “I feel like a dumbass.”
He let out a nervous chuckle leaning back against my headboard.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m freaked out. Spooked?” he shrugged. “Yes. That was surprisingly... believable. Who thought of that shit anyway? My God,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I have some serious concerns about that director now. I mean, can he sleep at night after filming that?”
“Great, now I’m scared again.” I started laughing at him as he leveled me a serious look.
We sat there laughing for a few minutes at how childish this was while he wrapped his arms around me pulling me flush against his body. It was comforting.
“That’s nice. I think I feel better.” I added after a few minutes of snuggling.
“Uh, me too, not too spooked anymore.”
“How’s your head feeling?” I reached out to run my fingers over the bruises forming on his forearms where he’d obviously hit objects inside the car.
“I’m fine, sore... but fine.”
You don’t realize the dangers of racing when you’re watching but they’re there. A slip of an inch in a sprint car and you’re flying through the air. I’ve seen Jameson wreck and I admit that it gives me a heart attack each time but I also know that he is doing what he loves. I was in no position to tell him to stop. I could only hope that he is safe.
We eventually fell asleep on my bed wrapped around each other because I refused to leave any space between us just as I did during the movie.
He didn’t complain.
When we woke up the next morning, still wrapped around each other, Charlie was not so pleased that Jameson was in my bed.
“Sway?” he called out as he opened my door. “Oh, sorry...” his deep voice trailed off but then he took a double take. “Jameson?”
Jameson, not completely awake shot up in my bed.
“Huh... what...?” he glanced around and then looked at me and back to Charlie and then moaned out in pain when he realized how sore he was as he tried to untangle himself from me.
Charlie chuckled but didn’t look happy. “What are you doing here, Jameson?”
“Uh... I was spooked?” he looked at me arching an eyebrow as if he needed confirmation.
“Yes... spooked.” I glanced to Charlie. “We watched ‘The Exorcist’ last night after we got home. It was a disaster. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep with the lights off again.”
Charlie laughed again. “I almost shit myself when I watched that movie.” He shuddered and began to leave before looking back over his shoulder. “Jameson, your mom called for you. I told her you weren’t here, but apparently, I’m wrong.”
By the look on his face, I had a feeling I’d hear about this later.
When the door clicked shut, Jameson groaned again and leaned back on my bed before grabbing a pillow and placing it over his hips.
I giggled.
“Problems?”
“Shut up.” He snapped and hobbled to my bathroom.
I made my way downstairs to see Charlie sitting at the kitchen table rubbing his head, his face buried in his hands. “You okay?”
His head shot up.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He cleared his throat reaching for his paper. “Listen, I don’t want boys spending the night. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I know,” I agreed pouring myself a bowl of Captain Crunch. “It wasn’t planned. Like I said, we were a little freaked out by that movie.”
“I know, but just... be careful okay.”
“It’s not like that dad. Jameson and I are friends, nothing more.” I said this as though I was trying to convince myself of it when really, I think I was.
I felt something for him but I had no idea what it was. I couldn’t even decide on what to wear in the morning most days let alone decipher feelings.
Charlie looked at me for a long moment before narrowing his eyes at me. “Have you thought of college yet?”
I shrugged.
“Not really. It’s a little overwhelming.” I pulled my hair back into a ponytail before digging into my cereal.
“That’s life, kid.”
I snorted, bad idea with milk in your mouth. I ended up inhaling a crunch berry up my nose. “And I thought deciding on what cereal to eat in the morning was hard.” I choked out.
He chuckled carrying his empty coffee cup over to the counter. “Well, kid, it’s time I made it to the track. Some people don’t have the luxury of sitting around all day eating cereal. Some people have to work.”
“Some people will enjoy doing nothing today. Some people have fun.”
I sort of zoned out reading the back of the cereal box in front of me as Charlie stared out the kitchen window.
“Hey, Sway... is Jameson okay?”
“Uh... I think so, why?” I looked up from the box glancing around the kitchen to see Jameson in the front yard, puking.
Concerned, I ran out there.
“Are you all right?” I asked frantically rubbing his back over his T-shirt.
“I think so... my head hurts.” He took in a deep breath before removing his T-shirt to wipe his face of sweat and puke.
“Maybe you should go to the doctor.”
He slumped back in the grass. “I’m fine... it’s just a headache. I guess I took a pretty hard hit last night.”
I watched him for a moment. The sharp defined lines of his stomach contracting with each deep breath he inhaled and exhaled.
I’ve been around enough race car drivers to know they will never admit when they’re hurt and will never go to the doctor. Most say it’s nothing a beer can’t fix.
“Maybe you should take a shower.” I suggested. “That might make you feel better.”
He finally smiled. “With you?”
And he’s back.
“No,” I laughed. “You take a shower—without me.”
“Oh,” he stuck out his bottom lip. “It might make me feel better.”
“I don’t think so, champ. That’s what Chelsea and your hand are for.”
I helped him to the bathroom and he tried to drag me in there with him laughing and I slapped him. He winced, I felt bad but not bad enough to get in there with him.
Jameson always teased that he was attracted to me but I chalked it up to friendly flirting. All guys did that, even Tommy flirted with me and I thought for sure Tommy was gay when I first met him. It didn’t mean Jameson had feelings and it didn’t mean I had any for him outside of friendship.
I was obviously no judge on attraction—Dylan would be a prime example. I thought he liked me, he said he did, we had sex and as soon as he pulled out, it was over. He never spoke to me again, just walked away.
I’d never felt so used, disgusting and dirty in my life as I did laying in the back of my old beat up truck half naked.
I don’t understand why people can’t decipher their emotions but I knew I couldn’t and neither could any other teenager I knew.
I also didn’t trust my feelings—look at Dylan. I felt something for him, so I thought and look how that turned out.
I had an attraction to Jameson as it was becoming apparent with my constant glances at his rock hard body but I also saw his desire to race. I’ve met a lot of racers at the track but no one ever showed the desire to be the best like Jameson did. He was focused, determined, and, above all else, he had the ability. That combined with his burning desire made him unstoppable.
He was a natural on the track. He was born to do this and I wouldn’t get in his way and I wouldn’t be a distraction.
I would be the friend he needed and not the distraction he didn’t.