Balance – When a car doesn’t under-steer or over-steer and is said to be riding like it’s on rails.

 

Throughout my life with Sway, I had managed to fuck everything up.

The first time we had sex, we were drunk. The first time I told her I loved her, it was right after we had sex, and I made her cry.

When she told me she was pregnant, I was in the hospital, high as a fucking kite.

So, wanting to pull off a proposal was wishful thinking, especially with my family and hers around to assist me in fucking it up. Not to mention this weekend had turned to shit on more than one occasion with everything that happened in Summerville. A weekend where I wanted to propose had turned into me constantly apologizing for making her cry. So that afternoon, I tried again by taking her to lunch before I had to be back at the track for race day activity.

Trying my luck once more, Emma made reservations for Sway and I so that I could propose. At least, that was the plan.

The restaurant was romantic and everything you would think a proposal should be.

Most of the meal, I couldn’t stop thinking about what the fuck I should say. Part of me wanted to blurt it out, part of me wanted to hand her the ring and hope she magically understood, and the other part of me, the scared shitless part, wanted to leave. Not leave Sway, but leave this restaurant for even considering this goddamn idea. It seemed so cliché now that we were here. It’d been done hundreds of times. The man pulls out the ring under the candlelight and asks the woman he loves to marry him—cliché. That wasn’t us. There was so much more to this than the standard cliché.

She deserved better. We deserved better than a cliché.

While my inner struggles continued, Sway dropped her napkin to the floor when she reached for another bread stick. Automatically I got down on my knee to get it for her, and when I looked up, I almost did it. The words were there, but I wasn’t. Like I said, cliché.

Instead, what did I do?

I blurted out ‘will you marry me’ in Italian because I knew goddamn well she wouldn’t understand. “Mi vuoi sposare?”

Sway blinked curiously when I handed her the napkin, the question hung between us. I wanted to smack myself in the forehead it was that dumb.

“What did you say?” She smiled, probably thinking, Wow, he’s completely lost it. Either that or she was agreeing to my dumb thought.

“Umm... I said... you’re beautiful.” To add to my problem, ‘you’re beautiful’ came out like a question.

She giggled, eyes scanning the nearby guests and then gestured with a flick of her hand for me to move. “Get off the floor, silly.”

“I can’t do it like this. I’ll do it when it’s right, but right now, like this,” I motioned between us, “just feels rushed.”

“What are you talking about?” Sway asked with a mouth full of food.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, completely embarrassed that I didn’t have the fucking balls to do this. “How’s your ravioli?”

“Delicious.” She wiped cheese off her lips and winked.

Another failed attempt. I was never gonna get this right. And to think, I still had to race today. With the proposal heavy on my mind, and now Darrin, I was hardly ready to race once we got back to the track.

 

“What would you give up for everything you’ve ever wanted?” was a question my dad often asked me.

The veracity of it was that it was a loaded question that couldn’t be answered without weight.

My grandpa used to tell me, “Jay, you can have anything in life you’ve ever wanted, if you give up everything else for it. There’s a price tag on everything.”

I knew those sacrifices very well by now and had since my first race.

I’ve found that the basis to being a competitive and successful race car driver was what I gave up to do it. Sleep, friends, and any chance at a normal life. I sacrificed it all for the moment when I could call myself a champion. Sure, I’d won track championships before and the USAC Triple Crown National title, but to have one in the big leagues, that was what I wanted.

And I would admit that there were days when those sacrifices seemed worthwhile like winning a race or making a pint-sized fan’s day by signing his t-shirt. Then there were days when everything was a sacrifice, like I didn’t even know myself or why I was doing any of it.

Like the other night with Darrin. Those were the times I questioned this lifestyle and what it was doing to me and my family.

But then there were the parts of my life that I couldn’t figure out why I was giving them up. Not being there for Sway was the biggest.

I couldn’t say I regretted the decision to become a race car driver, but there were times when I honestly felt alone with the lifestyle, the politics, and the overwhelming push to perform.

I couldn’t have normal friendships because what kind of friend wanted to hang out on my terms? On the contrary, this was the life I’d chosen, and I knew I would always be faced with sacrifices, some I would be okay with and others, well, they were harder to deal with.

What I most worried about were the sacrifices my family was forced to make. Was I worth them giving up any chance at a normal life? Would Sway resent this lifestyle after a few years? Would my brother and sister, two people who have stood by me through everything?

Then there’s Sway. Sure she said she wanted to be with me, but if she had told me that she didn’t want to be with me, do you think I would have taken that well?

Highly doubtful.

Getting ready to get inside my car for the race, I had the ring tucked inside my racing suit because I couldn’t risk Sway finding it in the motor coach or the Lucifer twins exposing me.

Sway stood beside me, enduring the constant repetitive media, all with the same polite smiles. I only wished I had as much patience as she did for all this.

“You were second quickest in practice and qualified on the pole for today’s race. What do you think your chances are for a win?” a reporter I didn’t recognize asked me as I stood next to the car.

Tate walked past me with a smile on his face, tipping his head and offering his best. I did the same and then leaned the direction of the reporter, keeping my standard stance the media liked to refer to as the “Rowdy Way.”

“You know with Darlington, it’s a battle with drivers and the track. Everybody goes for it being a night race. There’s a lot of bumpin’ and bangin’, it’s an interesting and exciting race with a track that will add its two cents, as well,” I replied. “There’s no telling what can happen. It depends on the other drivers who we’re battling with. If the cards play out, hopefully we’ll pull through with a victory.”

Just like any interview with a pressing reporter looking for the next big story, the interview shifted to my personal life.

“We hear you’re going to be a daddy soon, does this affect your career now? Will ‘Rowdy Riley’ finally be tamed?” the reporter smirked.

I laughed, shaking my head and deciding on how exactly I would answer.

For a moment, I focused my attention on the new paint scheme of my car for this weekend. It wasn’t unheard of for different sponsors to shell out money to change a paint scheme to promote business sales. This weekend, Ayers Manufacturing, who sponsored my sprint cars, teamed with Simplex Shocks and Springs. So my usual black and red car was now white, with red flames and black numbers. I kind of liked it. It reminded me of my USAC midget I used to race in ‘98, the year I won the Triple Crown.

Bobby walked by, shaking my shoulder with a roguish punch offering a friendly. “Good luck, bud.”

I smiled, returning the gesture.

“I really don’t think you can tame me on the track,” I said to the reporter with a laugh. “And, yes, we are expecting a child.”

It was surprising to me how quickly I found myself being conscious of my decisions and how they might influence Sway and the baby. What the media wanted to know wasn’t necessarily what Sway wanted them to know.

“How do you feel about NASCAR’s decision to increase the penalty issued to Darrin after your altercation on the track at Pocono?”

My body tensed, remembering last night.

Letting out a sarcastic laugh and resisting the urge to shove the microphone up his ass at the sudden shift in the questions, I answered, “I personally don’t think the fine was anywhere near what it should have been.” My tone, though sharp, remained composed for the sake of those around me. They didn’t deserve another outburst, like the one last night—specifically Sway. “NASCAR should have suspended him from racing altogether after what he did. He could have killed me.”

NASCAR had increased the penalty issued to Darrin to $100,000 and upheld the suspension through the end of the year. As far as a lawsuit against Darrin, we had nothing. Hell, we couldn’t even keep him away from us.

Sway must have sensed my discomfort with the conversation and shifted closer, her arm circled around my waist to lean into me.

After the National Anthem, a pair of F-16s flew over, and invocation was given. Sway and Emma said their goodbyes before heading to the pit box.

I glared at Emma but hugged her anyway when she wished me luck.

I laughed at Sway’s JAR Racing sweatshirt she put on to hide her bump and dragged her into a tight embrace.

Reaching up, she angled my face toward her to whisper in my ear.

“Prepare yourself. There’s going to be lots and lots of dirty sex for you tonight.”

“I could go for some dirty sex.” I shifted back to gaze at her face as her eyes opened and met mine. Warm emeralds with chocolate flakes.

Her lips met mine softly. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, honey,” I muttered clutching her torso to mine. The moment seemed intimate, maybe even the right moment.

Should I propose now? No, not in front of the entire world; she wouldn’t want that. Or would she?

I was moments away from pulling out the ring and dropping down to one knee when Logan and Lucas approached with Charlie.

“Dude, just do it already,” Logan whined, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You’re being a pu—” Charlie slapped the back of his head before he could say pussy.

“What’s he talking about?” Sway asked, eyeing me with suspicion.

I shrugged, finding the window net interesting. “Who knows?”

Charlie helped me out, throwing Logan over his shoulder. “Keep your mouth shut,” he told him as they walked toward the grandstands.

Sway laughed. “Good luck.” And then she was gone, and I was back to my thoughts—a place I didn’t care to be in that moment as none of them made any sense to me.

 

You could ask any race car driver why they decided to race, and they’ll usually all say the same thing. It was for the adrenaline rush and the thrill that came with winning.

Sure, there was that, but for me it was different. I did it because that was what was natural to me and where I was comfortable. Under the noise of the engine, I was at peace. When I was in that car, I was in control—for the most part—and it was my quiet place. My time.

Unfortunately, Aiden and Kyle rambling in my ear the entire race disrupted the quiet for me. I’d started on the pole and kept the lead as the laps fell into a rhythm.

Andy Crocket and I battled for fifth for a good ten laps when he pushed up and the Lady in Black bit him, bringing out the caution.

“Too fast entering, come back in, bud,” Kyle announced when I left pit road after.

“Oh my God!” I slammed my fist down on the wheel. “You have to be fucking kidding me? I lost ground to the twenty. How the fuck does that happen?”

“I don’t know,” he was just as annoyed. “Come back in.”

Fucking bullshit!

I knew damn well I wasn’t speeding.

Kyle sighed. “Flipping a NASCAR official off is not helping us out here, Jameson.”

“Helping us out would have been never getting the fucking penalty in the first place,” I snapped, waiting out our bullshit penalty on pit road, consequently putting us a lap down.

Times like this, I could see my dream for the championship slipping away. I know you’re thinking, “Christ kid, it’s one race.”

See, that was where you’re wrong. One race could make or break these championships. There was no room for error on my part or anyone else’s. Wedge adjustment, air pressure, camber, springs, fuel mileage, control, crew chiefs, car chiefs, crewmembers, officials, and drivers, all played parts that decided an outcome of one team on race day. They defined one team. Sometimes, it could be one thing that broke that glimmer of hope in a hungry team’s eye. So, yeah, it could be just one race.

“Just be optimistic,” Kyle urged when I pulled back on the track in forty-third position. “It’s still early. We can do this.”

My response was a grunt. I was glad he was so positive as I currently lacked that trait.

Nothing in racing goes the way you want. It’s always something too. A drive train breaks, an engine lets go. That temperature you kept an eye on all race overheats, the tires you felt vibrating wear down to cords. The gasket your team was sure was sealed breaks. A lug nut that was thought to be tight shakes loose. The loose handling gets the best of your ability, and you slap the wall. Wrong place, wrong position, a lap, a flag, all within five hundred miles. You turn thousands of times and brake just as much. You check gauges, get fuel, argue, apologize, strategize, and it all feels like you’re going in circles, because you are. It’s about commitment, and want, and desire, and sacrifice. But, most of all, how bad you want it.

“Come on, bud. You need to focus!” Kyle yelled back at me when I continued to rant about NASCAR’s latest call. “It’s not personal.”

Not personal?

It was personal, and I knew Gordon, the Director of Competition, and Darrin’s uncle, had something to do with this. So far this year, I’d been penalized for speeding on pit road eight times. With everything that could happen in a race, we didn’t need outside forces aiding in that.

Let me tell you something here, pit road speed for Darlington was 30 mph. This meant if my RPMs were on 5600... I was going roughly 30 mph, give or take. We didn’t have speedometers so my theory wasn’t exact science but everything was based off your RPMs. NASCAR allowed a 5 mph leeway, which meant I would be within that.

It was personal.

“Oh, well, hell... that’s a relief, Kyle!” I shouted back at him because this was complete bullshit, and he knew it. “Not personal? It’s fucking personal to me, damn it!”

Like I said, it wasn’t just one thing that decided the outcome of a race. What they didn’t understand was how much want I had for this. I was not a man who settled for a taste. I wanted more. I wouldn’t settle for less. Even if it meant I wrecked trying, that was the type of racer I was. NASCAR wasn’t going to take this from me with some bullshit penalty. I wanted this too badly. With everything I sacrificed, I needed this to prove to myself that I wasn’t giving those things up for nothing.

Ever since I was little, my answer to my dad’s questions of, “Do you want this?” had always been yes. I did want this.

Around lap two hundred, I got my lap back with the help of the “lucky dog” rule (being the first car a lap down) and was running thirty-second. My mood hadn’t improved as I fought my way back through the traffic.

“Your lap times are—” Kyle began, but I cut him off.

“Don’t tell me lap times unless I ask.”

“Outside one... outside... at your rear... clear,” Aiden announced as I moved up to thirtieth position.

“I’m trying to help—”

“You know what would be really fucking helpful, Kyle?” I growled, nudging the back of Mike Tanner’s car that failed to yield to the blue flag.

“What?” he asked as annoyed with me as I was with him.

“Just stop talking, and let me drive.”

That shut him up. I knew I was being rude, but Kyle understood. He knew, too, what it took for us to get here. It wasn’t right nor was it respectful for me to treat him that way, but if you understood the pressures put upon us each week to win, you’d understand then how heated it gets.

By lap two hundred sixty-seven, I was twentieth and gaining quickly on Tate. I passed him, but when I got up to ninth, he caught me again and was looking for redemption.

“His brakes are really hot. He’s not going to make it, riding your ass like that.” Kyle chuckled when Tate bumped me from behind once again.

“I know.”

“You’re holding him on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I could pull away anytime I want. If I keep him here... he runs his tires and brakes up. Good for me, bad for him.”

As race car drivers, we lived our lives on the racetrack. We lived for each turn, each front stretch, and each backstretch. After a while, our ways of racing became our ways of life. Other drivers understood because, given the chance, they acted in the same way. We pushed our luck to gamble for the win. We played with fire until we got burned, and then, the following Sunday, went back to playing with that very same fire.

For a moment, I felt bad racing Tate like that, but I also knew he’d do the same thing. It was all or nothing. It had to be.

“How’s the car?” Kyle asked when the caution came out on lap three hundred twenty-nine.

“Sporty,” I replied, keeping focus.

“Huh?”

“Sporty.”

Kyle laughed, as did Aiden. “Do you want to make any changes?”

“No!” I barked. “Don’t touch a goddamn thing.”

The car really was perfect. I could drive in hard and pass high or low.

“How are your brakes?”

“Good, fans are on. They’re soft, but I think they’ll be fine.”

On lap three hundred eighty-four, I passed Bobby for the lead.

“All clear, go like hell. This is your race to win,” Aiden praised when I got around Bobby on the outside.

“You completed lap three hundred eighty-seven with a one-point-three second lead there, so keep focused. Clear by ten in front.”

I was focused because the next thing I heard was “Coming to the white flag next time by.”

My heartbeat thudded loudly in my ears making it almost impossible to hear anything else, until Kyle came back.

“NICE JOB!” Kyle yelled when I crossed the finish line. “Way to bounce back. You drove your ass off out there tonight.”

That was the fucking truth. I was exhausted.

The moment I took the checkered flag, I was relieved, but I couldn’t say anything over the radio. The pressure I put upon myself, my team, and my family was rewarded at times like this. All the hard work, all the late nights and early mornings, all the times away from Sway, all those personal sacrifices were veiled by the fact that I could come out here after an injury and still win. I could come back from a lap down and still win. I could drown out everything around me and win, for this team, for us.

“Thanks guys, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I choked out. I wanted them to know how much I appreciated them, even though I didn’t exactly show them all the time.

“I’m so proud of you!” Sway screamed into the radio. It was rare for her to talk to me through the radio as we kept it strictly professional between the teams, but she must have ripped Kyle’s headset away.

“Thank you, honey.”

I pulled down on the apron of the finish line, grabbed the checkered flag from the official, and did my burn out, waving the flag around. There’s one thing I loved more than winning, and that was winning under the lights of a night race. It always brought me back to the days racing at Elma when I was a kid when I only raced under the lights.

When I finished my burnout, I got out of the car and climbed the fence giving those devoted fans a piece of the action. The swarm that gathered screamed and hollered, so I threw the flag into the crowd for them. They roared to life.

It was such an intense feeling being near all the fans after you won. These were the people who made this worth it. They believed in me just as much as my family did.

Eventually I made my way toward victory lane for the fifth time this season.

This win was different. I proved to myself and everyone else out there that I could do it. I could come back from Pocono and still be competitive. I could come back from being a lap down and win. Above all else, I was now in position to snag that championship and prove to Darrin I wasn’t the kid he pegged me to be. Just because my dad funded the team didn’t mean I couldn’t win.

The drive down pit road to victory lane was slow as all my fellow drivers congratulated me on the win. They understood because they felt the same way. I showed I could do it tonight, and nothing could stop me.

Every track had victory lane located in a different location. Usually it wasn’t hard to find—you followed the crowd, more or less. It was fenced in, authorized personnel only, and fairly well-landscaped for television.

Once in victory lane, my family had already gathered and was patiently waiting for me. It took me a while to get out of my car, mainly because I didn’t want the entire world seeing me so emotional. When I’d choked back my emotions, I pulled myself from the car, beating my fists on the roof, provoking my team into a frenzy. I laughed as they sprung to life shaking Pepsi, champagne, and whatever else they had over us.

Spencer and Mason were the first to my car, followed by Kyle and my dad.

Sway and the rest of my family lingered in the shadows letting the boys rough me up with their rowdy hugs and loud, raucous remarks. The media was in my face the next second asking me how it felt to get my fifth win on a night when we really needed it.

“My Simplex Ford was awesome all night. The penalty really put us back, but Kyle kept me focused, and we managed to pull it off despite the bad call.”

That provoked him.

“So you feel the penalty wasn’t justified.”

“No, I don’t.” I shook my head and wiped my face with a towel Alley had tossed my direction in the commotion. “I’ve been called for speeding eight times this year, and not once was I pulling away from any other cars on pit road. Kind of makes you think it’s not me, doesn’t it?”

Of course, he didn’t have a response and directed the conversation away from NASCAR.

Spencer interrupted, spraying the reporter and me with champagne. “We saw you gave the flag to the fans out there,” he hedged, wiping the champagne off the microphone.

My face and upper body were completely soaked now.

“I think I actually hit somebody with the checkered flag. Somebody got it, though; they deserve it. Without the fans this sport wouldn’t be what it is.”

I was trying my hardest to get away from the reporter. I wanted to celebrate with my family, but this was part of the game, I guess. Sacrifices, right?

 

With everything that happened this weekend, I didn’t know when the right moment would be to propose to Sway. My many attempts this week ended in complete disaster. But in that moment, with the cheering and adulation of the screaming fans, champagne spraying, the smells of burnt rubber, racing fuel, loutish calls of my teammates, and excitement swirling around through the air, I realized the moment was perfect—for us.

I had imagined proposing to Sway some place romantic, on the beach or surrounded by candles. A place, a moment, where I confessed my undying love for her, but that wasn’t us. Being at a race track, that was us. I’d been holding on to the fantasy that I could create the perfect proposal for the perfect woman. I failed to realize that wasn’t us.

My eyes focused on hers, warm emeralds gazing back at me with adoration, devotion, worship, love... I saw it all in that one glance. I watched her for a moment, her face flushed from the excitement of being in victory lane. Dancing around with my family, she was breathtaking. The camera flashes illuminated her skin in the summer night surrounding us. Covered in beer, sweat, champagne, I knew this was perfect because it balanced out everything we were when everything else was loose.

In that moment, I didn’t care that the whole world was watching. I didn’t care that people surrounded us.

Sway noticed me leaning against the hood of my car, a familiar stance, watching her. She made her way through the crowd toward me, our eyes locked. When she finally reached me, she stopped, smiled, and wrapped her arms around my neck, her delicate body molding to mine as it always did.

Slowly, I reached up to take her face gently in my hands, kissing her softly. She didn’t hesitate to throw herself into the kiss. It didn’t matter to her that we were surrounded by people or that the entire world was watching.

I continued to kiss her for a moment and then pulled away with a chuckle. Suddenly I was nervous. Drawing in a deep ragged breath that probably sounded ridiculous, Sway glanced up at me, concern flashing over her features when she noticed my breathing had increased.

One of the first things we learned as kids was how to communicate with others through speaking. Seemed strange to me because as we got older it was harder to tell people how you really felt. After a while you begin to understand, or appreciate, that it’s not in your words any longer. You can show people how you feel just by a simple gesture.

Kids threw tantrums when they didn’t get what they wanted. Hell, I’d resorted to that tactic, too. I wasn’t saying that this was the best way to go about things. What I was saying was that, sometimes, actions were needed in order to get you noticed. To get my true feelings heard, the words that fluttered around in my head like a knocking engine, eluding diagnosed, always ended up expressed most effectively through my actions. Now wasn’t any different.

“Sway,” I breathed against her lips before looking into eyes that reflected all the love I had for her. “I’ve... been in love with you for longer than I can remember.” She smiled nervously, fumbling with the collar of my suit. “Now I know I’ve made some mistakes, but I will never hurt you like that again.” My head tipped, her gaze followed.

She looked at me, confused as to where I was going with this in the middle of victory lane and on national television, no less.

I smiled back, hoping to ease her confusion.

Surrounded by our family and friends, teammates and fans, I’d never seen our future as clearly as I did right then. I knew what I wanted and what I wanted to say. Finally taking her left hand in my trembling one, I slowly dropped down on one knee in front of her while she sat on the hood of my race car.

Sway gasped loudly, her eyes rimmed with tears and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my—”

She knew.

I shook my head, interrupting her, struggling with my own emotions. “Just... let me do this, please.”

“No, Jameson... this is for you.” She tried tugging on my arm. “This is your time to celebrate, don’t ...”

I grinned, shaking my head. “Don’t you see? It’s not, though, honey. It’s always been you and me since we were eleven. Without you, none of this would be possible. You were there for me when my career began, and I have no doubt you’ll be there when it ends. So this,” I motioned to victory lane, “is about you and me.”

Pounding heart, shaking hands and well, my breathing was a little ragged, too, but I managed to reach inside my racing suit and pull her grandmother’s ring out.

Her eyes dropped to my hand, widening when she took in the ring box.

Sway nodded, almost frantically for me to continue. By then, I noticed the party going on around us halted, and every eye in victory lane was now focused on Sway and me. Here we were, surrounded by the world, but I only saw her.

With shaking hands and pounding heart, slowly, I opened the black velvet box, revealing the ring, earning me yet another gasp and a great deal of tears from Sway.

“Sway Marie Reins...” I was embarrassed to say my voice cracked. “I promise to love you every moment of forever... will you marry me?”

Her eyes that were glued to the ring slowly met mine. For a moment, I thought she was going to say no.

But she surprised me, as she often did, by whispering an emotional, “Yes.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks before she quickly brushed them aside.

I smiled widely, kissed her hand I was holding, and slipped the ring on her finger.

It was no longer just Sway and me in the moment she said yes. It was the entire fucking world. Both our families were in our faces, the media was there, fans were screaming that they witnessed the proposal in person... it was a shit storm, but I didn’t regret it, or at least I didn’t in that moment.

Even with the swarm of people screaming around us, Sway reached for me as I reached for her. We let the world slip away once again and enjoyed the peace within our tiny bubble of perfection.

 

Some say a fairytale was only scripted in a children’s book or the movies. Never believing, never seeing, they also thought such happiness would never happen to them. I believed in making the fairytale and deciding for myself how it was scripted, when, how, and with who. You see, I believed in the fairytale, but I also believed in such a thing as happy right now. Maybe the complete fairytale was still being written, still being decided.

While I believed all that fairytale romance was true with every fiber of my being, I was a child and didn’t know the ways of the world. Eventually, Charlie informed me all that was bullshit. Fairytales didn’t exist. But when you’re a little girl who grew up without a mom, it was hard to let go of that fairytale entirely because I still believed that maybe it would come true for me.

Believing in something magical in itself because when you were least expect it, it showed up in ways you never imagined it would. Like the castle that turned out to be an unfinished house, and the prince charming who turned out to be a dirty heathen race car driver with anger issues.

I was beginning to understand happily ever after wasn’t important. What was in front of you was. Happy right now was important.

Before we could make it inside the house on Lake Norman, I was whirled and pressed against the door by a very intense Jameson. His eyes burned into mine as he pressed against me, his hips strong, and his hands wildly impatient.

We didn’t last long out there and once inside, the living room had been transformed into something out of a fairytale. The empty house was ablaze with candles, bathing the dark room in a soft warm glow. The windows and French doors were open, allowing the warm summer night air to swirl throughout the house. The smells of fresh cut grass, flowers, and my Jameson next to me flooded my senses making me light headed. If I listened closely, I could hear the rippling of the lake and the water slapping the deck.

And there, leaning against the wall, with a smirk on his face, resembling something out of a James Dean movie was my dirty heathen, my prince charming, my knight in shining armor. His hair was messy, body strong, his white dress shirt unbuttoned all the way down, thanks to me, and his black tie loosened around his neck. The way the cathedral candle monstrosity danced across his skin it made him, well, he sparkled, and his rusty hair glistened. His hands were tucked into his pockets, leaving his jacket pinned between his forearm and side.

“When did you do this?” I asked curiously, watching him as he walked toward me with a slow gait, his hands remaining in his pockets.

We had arrived in Mooresville less than an hour ago, and I was sure he wouldn’t have had time to do this, having been with him the entire time since he proposed.

A smirk ghosted across his lips, his hands came up to cup my cheeks.

“Emma owed me a favor.” He bent down and picked me up bridal style, carrying me up the grand staircase toward the bedroom. More candles were placed on each wooden step, lighting the path throughout the upstairs, leading to the master suite.

Laid across the king size bed placed in the center of the bedroom, he kissed every patch of skin, worshipping with his warm fingers.

I didn’t stop him, especially when he kissed my stomach, rubbing the small bulge tenderly.

And, as I’d hoped, our little spaz nudged Jameson’s hand.

His head shot up, his eyes widening.

“Sway,” he gasped. “Was that...” his voice faded out, looking down at the bulge again.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. “Yes.”

I watched as one of his hands trailed up over my belly, rubbing gently over the spot where the baby kicked.

“God, you are so beautiful.” He looked down at me with lust-darkened eyes, through long dark beautiful lashes. He ran his hands down my neck, between my breasts. “Ti amerò per sempre la mia, Sway,” he murmured against my neck.

Oh, God, he knew exactly what to do to send me over the edge. I had no idea what he said to me, but I loved it when he spoke Italian.

He worshipped me with his hands and mouth. He was showing me all the love he was feeling for me in that moment—all the love he’d felt for me our entire lives together. So much had been leading up to this point that, at times, it seemed we’d never be together, yet here we were together, in the most intimate way, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.

I wanted to squeal with excitement.

Feeling his heavy and hot breath on my neck, he whispered, “I love you,” bringing me back to the moment with him hovering over me.

“I love you, too,” I gently whispered, resting my head in the crook of his neck.

He sighed contently, moving his fingers lightly over my naked body. His hand reached down and grasped my left hand, bringing the ring to his lips.

“Thank you, honey,” he whispered and took our joined hands and placed them on my stomach over our child. He chuckled. “You really said yes?”

“Yeah,” I laughed, too, watching our shadows dance on the wall as he moved to hover over me, his body covering mine. “I did.”

“Say it.”

“Yes, Jameson Riley, I will marry you.”

The candles, the words, the moment, it all balanced what we were, what we’d so perfectly become.

My happy right now.

Now if only there was a way to get a sprint car rumbling in the background.