Flat Spot – If a driver locks the tires up when stopping he’ll grind a flat spot on the surface of the tire. When back on the track, a flat spot can cause a vibration that makes the car almost un-drivable.

 

I wanted to tell Jameson what had changed between us, but I hadn’t. Thinking if I held out, I wouldn’t have to tell him the change even occurred. My body betrayed my mind and, instead, it showed in every move.

The storm was losing strength outside, aside from the occasional crack of thunder and the steady pattering of the rain from the growling clouds. The ocean waves pounded against the rocks. With the French doors leading out to the open balcony, the occasional gust of wind whipped through the room.

For the second time tonight, the power was down. The only light in the entire condominium was coming from the candle lit beside the bed, flickering with the wind.

The candle cast a soft orange glow throughout the room as the glistening reflections of light caught the highlights in Jameson’s hair; he hovered above me, making it shimmer in the darkness.

The surprise impromptu vacation destination was a condo he rented on the beach in Savannah, Georgia. The only problem was that a tropical storm was blowing through.

I had to admit, though, that it had made our few days there fun. There wasn’t anything to do but stay in bed; something we were good at.

So, there we were in bed again, but this time Jameson was different.

This was different as he moved languidly against me, his hips meeting mine with slow passionate movements. His kisses were different, slow, deep, and adoring.

We were different. Something had changed.

This wasn’t about sex anymore. It wasn’t just friends with benefits. What started out as simple three weeks ago was complicated as hell now. When I looked into his ardent green eyes, I knew he saw it, too. There was no denying the change.

I was savoring the warm sensation of his body moving with mine as the heat between us was creating a sheen of sweat as we slid against one another.

Despite the fact I was burning up, my entire body was trembling.

Jameson bent down to kiss my forehead and then leaned back to look at me, his features holding an emotion I couldn’t decipher. His mouth opened as though he was about to say something and then his brow furrowed. Without finishing his words again, he pulled my mouth to his.

Here’s the thing—the really shitty thing—I loved this man so damn much that it literally hurt inside, and yet I couldn’t even tell him; I just couldn’t.

I wanted to, but the words wouldn’t form or when they would, my lips wouldn’t speak them. What was I going to do, tell him the truth?

No, that was just ridiculous.

There were times when he had tried to tell me something as well but didn’t, his words or thoughts falling short.

Jameson’s mouth moved from my own, spreading kisses over my jaw and against my neck before he pulled back to look at me, his left hand moved from behind my knee to rest against my cheek. Unnerved by the tears forming in my eyes that this was going to end in less than three days, I turned away, watching the flickering of the candle.

How could I have let myself fall like this?

And, more importantly, where did the time go?

Those three weeks, well they were days now. And soon these days were going to be hours followed quickly by minutes, then seconds, and, before I knew it, my time in this fairytale I’d been living would be over.

And then what? What would any of this mean to him?

“Sway... honey,” his low timbre drew my attention toward him, his nose brushing over my jaw.

Slowly, I turned my head to meet his gaze.

When he noticed the tears streaming down my cheeks, he drew in a sudden intake of breath. Without saying the words, those tears told him exactly what I couldn’t.

They told him exactly how I felt.

They told him this wasn’t just friends with benefits for me anymore—it never was.

They told him what all these years as friends had been leading to. Those years and these last three weeks led up to this. I was in love and there was absolutely no way I could be “just friends” with him anymore.

I meant it when I said there was no going back.

As though he could hear the unspoken thoughts, he nodded his head once, his thumb sweeping over a tear, brushing it away.

I jumped in his arms when the thunder cracked, the wind picked up, pelting the window with rain. Just like the change occurring within us, the storm was changing, gaining speed.

“Please don’t cry,” he begged kissing my lips. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his hands trembling as they caressed me. The trembling reminded me of the first night together in Charlotte, though this was entirely different now. “I’m sorry... I’m so fucking sorry,” he said again, his hand moved down my body, his eyes still locked on mine.

I couldn’t look away; his eyes displayed for me what I thought I would never see.

It changed for him, too.

Leaning forward, his lips pressed to my neck, his warm breath flowing across my skin. “Non volevo cadere nel miele amore, mi dispiace,” he whispered.

I moaned and his mouth found the sensitive skin on my neck, biting harder than I was expecting.

The release and relief were intense with my body melting into him.

“Sway,” he whispered, lips urgent against mine.

Slowly his trembling fingertips found my cheek.

He was looking down at me, like he was really trying to concentrate on something, or gathering up the nerve to say something. I wasn’t sure but moaned and he shuddered in response, closing his eyes and rocking his hips against mine.

“Oh God, Sway.” His head fell against me just as he flexed forward. Running my hand down the long line of his back, his entire body seemed to react with more trembling. “I can’t ... I’m ...”

Again, he didn’t finish his goddamn words.

Despite my sedated feeling, it was really starting to irritate me that he wouldn’t finish his words. That and him speaking in Italian, knowing damn well I don’t speak Italian.

It took me four years to learn two words in Spanish so deciphering Italian wasn’t in my immediate future.

“Jesus Christ... the way you move.”

I understood that he was distracted, but Jesus, finish a fucking sentence.

I really wanted to punch him in the face right then, but I didn’t. That would probably ruin the moment. Remembering the mere days I had left, I didn’t want this moment to end.

When he threw himself into his movements, I was distracted from my thoughts of punching him.

There was no holding back any longer, his entire body jerking in time with his release, his head buried in my shoulder, holding my body tightly against his as though his life dependent on it.

His weight pressed into mine, his breath on my neck. My hands found their way to his back, stroking softly until he slid to the side, keeping me firmly against his.

Surprisingly, he was surprisingly good at cuddling.

We laid there quietly staring at each other, listening to the sounds of the wind and the occasional crack of thunder. The soft sounds of our breathing mixing with the sounds of the storm filled the salty air between us.

What was he sorry for? What did he say to me in Italian? I have to know, it’s driving me fucking mad.

“What did you say to me?” My words seemed to hang for a moment like the air between us seized.

“Huh?” His brow furrowed his gaze upon me, eyes guarded.

“In Italian, what did you say, and why do you never finish what you’re going to say to me when we’re...” I motioned between our bodies.

His breathing increased and then he swallowed as though it was difficult to say. With my chin resting on his chest I could feel his heart beat quicken. “I... uh...” He pushed me gently from his chest and rolled to his side looking at me, his green eyes burning into my own. “Is this... what is this between us?” he asked, his voice was different, low and anxious, wary even. His eyes searched my own for any indication he could get.

“Friends with benefits... I thought,” I responded quickly.

“Is that all it is to you?”

“Is that all it is to you?” I countered without answering.

He was quiet for an entire minute, believe me, I counted all excruciating sixty seconds.

I have rarely seen Jameson struggle for words. Until now.

When he spoke, I was surprised at how tense and unsteady his voice had now become. “No... it’s not.”

My heart was beating a million miles an hour, thudding loudly in my ears. The blood was rushing rapidly throughout my body spreading like a summer wildfire scorching my skin. “It’s not for me either,” I agreed. “What did you say to me in Italian?”

His eyes closed and then slowly opened as though he was giving himself a pep talk. “What do you feel for me?” he asked softly, damn near inaudible.

“What?” My eyes searched his.

Still, I couldn’t tell him.

He sighed softly.

“Sway, what is this for you? Don’t tell me you don’t feel something more for me. Don’t tell me this is just sex anymore, because it’s not Sway. I see it in your eyes. I feel it when you touch me. You feel something more for me.”

“It never was about sex for me, Jameson,” I stated as a tear slipped down my cheek. His palm reached for my face brushing it away with his thumb. I could feel the trembling in his hand return. “What did you say?”

“I said,” he blinked quickly, his gaze falling to his hands. When his eyes returned, they were lustrous. “I said... I didn’t mean to fall in love, honey.” The shock on my face must have registered with him because he raced to add. “I’m sorry.”

“You fell in love... with me?” I gasped.

I was expecting something along the lines of ‘I like you more than friends’ but not love!

He gave me a tentative, but uneasy smile.

“I did, I’m sorry.” His eyes dropped. “I know that I can’t be the man you need. I’m not good for you. I know that. I knew what I was getting myself into but I had to know. I had to know what it was like, to be like this with you, as though you were only mine; even if it was for only three weeks.”

“Huh?” I looked at him as if I had no idea what he said.

I didn’t have any idea what he said or at least I couldn’t comprehend it.

I think my plan wasn’t my plan at all and I was so confused that even thinking complicated this for me.

What just happened?

The confusion might have been because I was hyperventilating, and there was a serious lack of oxygen going to my brain once again.

“Are you okay?” he asked sitting up to look at me, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder.

“I... how...” I drew in a much needed breath fumbling over my words and thoughts. “How long have you... um... loved me?”

“A while,” he answered and placed a soft kiss on my shoulder. His fingertips danced lightly across the skin above my collarbone.

“How long?” I snapped.

“My grandpa used to tell me... you don’t give up what you know to get what you don’t know,” Jameson said softly, his eyes dropped to our hands. “I guess he isn’t always crazy. Sometimes he makes sense.”

Not understanding how that had anything to do with this, I asked again, “How long Jameson?”

“I couldn’t tell you, Sway.” He shook his head and his hand fell from my shoulder resting against the bed. “I’ve tried to look back and pinpoint a time but I think it happened, gradually. Way before this started.” He pulled me against his chest. “I think it started when we were kids and slowly developed over time. I avoided it for the longest time, pretending I didn’t feel that way, but it got to the point I couldn’t ignore it any longer. When I saw you in Charlotte, I knew I couldn’t... I just... had to know. It was hard enough letting you go after Daytona. I had to do something.”

“Jameson.” I lost it.

Falling against the mattress in a heap, I bawled like a goddamn baby with Jameson frantically trying to comfort me.

“Sway, oh God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I fucked this up.” He chided himself, “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What?” I sobbed scrambling to look up at him. “You shouldn’t have said anything? Christ Almighty, Jameson, are you blind?” I practically yelled causing his mouth to gape open.

“Huh?” It was his turn to look at me as if he had no idea what I said.

“Jameson,” I shook my head and sat up to lean against the headboard. “I’m not mad that you love me. I’m mad that we wasted all this time because neither one of us had the brass balls to say it.”

“Did you say brass balls and love in the same sentence?” he asked with a grin.

I slapped him across the face, not hard. “Pay attention.”

“Sorry, I got distracted by you saying balls,” he admitted with another grin.

“Seriously, you’re like a fucking child.”

He winked. “So you love me, too?”

“More than you can ever imagine.” My head slumped at my admission. “It’s the pathetic pretend to like the same flavor of ice cream or music, type of love. Break your heart type love.”

He looked away when I said break your heart.

“See, I’m not...” he paused. “We shouldn’t be together, Sway.”

“Why?”

“Because....” He half shouted in a strangled voice, the muscles in his jaw tight. “You need someone who will be there for you. Someone who can drop everything and run to you when you really need them... and you’re gonna need him,” he intoned, and by the look on his face, I had a feeling he meant something by that but he continued, “You need someone who can lay in bed with you on Sunday mornings. You deserve someone who can call in sick to work, only to stay in bed with you all day. I can’t be that guy. As much as I want to be and as much as I love you, I’m never gonna be that guy for you. I just... can’t be.”

“So this was really only about sex then,” I deduced with a nod. “You knew nothing was going to change your feelings for me, that you weren’t going to give us a real chance?”

“Well it sounds worse than it really is when you say it like that,” he replied, his voice hard, “But... yes. I know I can’t offer you anymore than what we have right now.”

Sometimes, honesty isn’t the best policy. He could have lied right then and I would have been okay with that.

“You know... don’t worry about it. Let’s just enjoy our last few days of the dream,” I told him with a pathetic excuse for a smile, staring off toward the candles on the dresser.

He wasn’t buying it but, eventually, he gave up trying and left me alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t try to get me to talk to him, but what would I say? He basically told me that there wasn’t an option.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, in some ways, it was if he used me for his own pleasure. Yeah, he supposedly loved me too, but he knew damn well he wasn’t going to offer me anything more than a friendship with him. I’d never be girlfriend status; I’d never be wife status. I’d always be this pit lizard with his determined benefits.

Really, though, how upset could I be about that when I used him for the same reason? I knew this wasn’t going to change anything and I fell anyway. I fell hard into this crazy-irrational-break-your-fucking-heart-logic.

Support group, here I come.

The next day it was back to reality and racing. I was thankful for the distraction the race weekend could provide.

The rest of the evening in Savannah and this morning, we never spoke about what happened that night. It was probably a good thing because if I heard him say he loved me again, I’d start bawling just as I did that night.

Jameson was racing in Sonoma, California, at Infineon Raceway, known to some as Sears Point. It is a two-and-a-half-mile road course with a series of twelve complex twists and turns that go up and down hill. The track was noted for turns two and three that were banked on the driver’s right, providing a challenge to the driver because ordinarily the turn would be on their left.

Jameson wasn’t particularly fond of the track, as with any road course, but he managed to get the pole for the race so he obviously figured something out.

On Sunday morning of my last day of the pit lizard’s crazy-irrational-break-your-heart dream, we were all sitting around eating breakfast outside the team’s hauler when Jameson’s phone beeped twice, letting him know that someone was calling him.

He glanced down at the screen turning his head sideways. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered to me and then walked inside the hauler to take the call in private.

All of us looked at each other in confusion and then went back to eating.

About twenty minutes later, Jameson stepped out with a calloused expression. Walking past Spencer at the door, he moved to sit next to me again.

I thought he’d continue eating because, let’s face it, the boy could eat. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his eyes fixated on his feet.

Concerned about the sudden change in his demeanor, I set my plate down on the table in front of me and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Who was that?”

He didn’t look away from his feet, only tilted his head in my direction and whispered back, “Charlie.”

Why would Charlie call Jameson?

I nodded because now was not the time to discuss this with his entire team and family nearby. I thought we would get a chance to be alone sometime throughout the day, but on race day, it wasn’t happening.

All the times I’d tried calling Charlie the last few days, he’d never pick up but yet he was calling Jameson?

Something was definitely going on. Even though I intended to find out, now just didn’t seem like the most appropriate time to do so.

Walking with Jameson to the drivers’ meeting, we couldn’t make it two feet without a fan wanting an autograph or a reporter seeking an interview.

It wasn’t like this was anything new, but Jameson seemed more annoyed with it this weekend than he had in the past. I constantly found myself wondering when I needed to interject before he snapped.

I stood outside the media center. Drivers, crew chiefs, and car owners were the only ones allowed inside for the drivers’ meeting.

Once the meeting ended, his mood hadn’t improved.

Just like the rest of the hounding media, the determined Ashley Conner caught up with him as we were walking back. I wanted to rip out her stupid black hair when she touched his arm to get his attention and I wanted to hump his leg when he cringed and quickly pulled his arm away from her.

“Hey, Jameson, how do you feel about today’s race? You got the pole for the eighth time this year. Can you pull off back-to-back wins?”

Jameson and I kept walking with her following closely, but Jameson offered his standard answer he’d given every other reporter this morning. “I think we have a chance. You have to have lots of forward drive here. You can’t be slippin’ the tires. The track’s gonna get slippery today, similar to yesterday during practice. We’ll see how we are on the long runs. Hopefully we can be in position at the end to pull off another win.”

Watching him today with all the demands reminded me of how much Jameson gave up for this dream of his and how much his words to me last night were true.

I’ve watched Jameson for the past eleven years doing what he loved: racing.

I don’t think anyone has ever realized how much of his childhood and now his adulthood that he’s given up to follow his dream not to mention his social life. Growing up, he never attended school functions or played sports. It was always racing, every weekend.

During the off-season, he was preparing for the next season and working for his dad at his sprint car shop. He was learning everything he could about race cars. There was never a time when I could honestly say he was a normal kid.

All of his hard work had led him here, to his dream come true. But that dream, at times, had come with some hefty sacrifices.

He had commitments that most twenty-two-year-old’s didn’t have.

Even with all this, there was one thing that never changed about Jameson over the years and that was Jameson. He knew exactly what he wanted. I doubted most of us could say that about ourselves.

He was never what people thought he should be or told him to be, he was always Jameson. Cocky, arrogant, determined, focused, or whatever you wanted to call him, he never changed.

He knew who he was. Sure, there was that restlessness and vulnerability beneath, but that was something created by the lifestyle rather than him. Underneath it all was authenticity and a magic of a man becoming a legend his own way and he never doubted that.

I think that was why I loved him so much.

While most of us struggled throughout our teenage years to find our own identity or personality, Jameson never had to because he always knew himself. Since the moment I met him, he has been the same person. It didn’t matter now that women threw themselves at him, that he made more money in a year than the entire town of Elma, or that he was a famous race car driver. He was still the same arrogant little shit I met when I was eleven, but, more importantly, he was still Jameson.

 

I wasn’t sure what Jameson and Charlie talked about earlier, but since then, he was acting completely different. He always got a little strange on race day but this, his shifty sullen behavior, was a tad over-the-top if you asked me. During our summer traveling, I saw this side a lot, now it seemed fed by something else entirely. Back then, it was just trying to make it to the next race without breaking something, now it was trying to make it.

When I walked inside the hauler prior to the start of the race, his head was down. His elbows rested against his knees with his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. I’d never seen Jameson get nervous before a race but now he literally looked sick. His face was pale aside from the flushed cheeks, his right leg was bouncing nervously.

With a good amount of hesitation, I knocked lightly on the door before walking in.

The noise made him look up for a moment, but when he saw me he suddenly leaned out the side door and vomited all over the side of the number eighteen’s hauler.

Oh my.

When he stood, unstable, he leaned against the side of the wall for support, picked up a wrench off the counter and tossed it from hand to hand. His eyes passed swiftly over me, focusing on the wall.

“Are you okay?” Timidly, I stood near the door. I wasn’t sure if I should stay or leave.

Jameson didn’t answer and instead nodded. Grave and tense, his jaw flexed, the muscles coiling.

I had half a mind to call Charlie again and see what he said to Jameson to change his demeanor so drastically. This time I’d be leaving a message.

“I have drivers’ introductions,” he mumbled walking past me without another word, dropping the wrench on the counter.

And then he was gone, and I was left wondering what I did wrong.

I could feel our relationship slipping away. I could feel Jameson slipping away after that night in Savannah and this, his reactions, confirmed it was happening.

For the first time in eleven years, I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t know how to be around him. For so long it’d always been so easy for us, simple.

But now, I didn’t know where I stood in his life or if I even did anymore. This seemed like such a one-eighty from where we were a few nights ago when he told me he loved me.

How could he tell me he loved me and then act like this?

Jameson said little when I was standing at his car with him on the grid after introductions. Not knowing what else to say, I simply hugged him, wished him luck, and walked away.

From my place on the pit box, I watched as Chelsea Adams strutted her way over to his car with those long beautiful legs.

I almost vomited right there.

Jameson’s head was down when she approached, adjusting his belts. Chelsea bent over, shifting her weight to one leg, effectively sticking her ass out and leaned inside the car. His helmet was off, but I couldn’t see his expression when he looked up at her.

Kyle leaned into my shoulder. “Don’t pay her any mind.”

I wanted to listen to him, I told myself to listen, but when have I ever listened to myself?

Chelsea tilted her head to one side as though she was waiting for an answer from him.

After a moment, I could see Jameson nod his head once and then watched her strut away.

My eyes locked on the devastation. It was like a bad car accident I couldn’t look away from, fixated on the bloody carnage of my broken heart.

When Chelsea was out of sight, Jameson looked in my direction and then quickly looked back to his belts.

Suddenly his eyes returned, as though he hadn’t realized it was me that was looking at him.

In that moment, his eyes said it all.

Jameson was right; he would never be what I needed and I’d never be what he needed.

I never understood that part, until now. I wasn’t the only one he was referring to. He didn’t need some track promoter’s pit lizard daughter following him around. Sure, he needed me as a friend but he didn’t need the complication we now had.

My stupid emotions got the better of me.

Judging by Jameson’s tortured expression, I knew he saw the tears streaming down my face even from fifteen feet away.

Shaking his head slowly, his eyes fell closed.

I could see he was breathing heavy. After a moment, he continued his routine by placing his ear buds in, helmet, and then locking the steering wheel in place. Once he motioned for Spencer to raise the window net, I looked away.

I couldn’t believe how in one afternoon, everything between us had changed. Everything I felt for him was still there, but everything had changed in an everything type of way.

I also knew that anything that happened—didn’t matter.

Well it did, but still, he needed me, and I knew he did. He needed me because for the past eleven years, I was always there for him. I was there waiting to pick up the pieces should they fall apart. But the thing was, despite whatever happened, that wasn’t Jameson—he wouldn’t fall apart.

Not like I could at least.

The race didn’t go well. Jameson said little throughout the race until the handling got so bad he couldn’t keep the car on the track.

At a track with twelve complex turns, that wasn’t a comforting feeling I’m sure.

“I’m slippin’ all over the place. I can’t keep it straight,” Jameson announced halfway through the race. “We gotta change something.”

“Other than the slipping, do you feel anything else?” Kyle asked looking over lap times with Mason. “Any adjustments you want made?”

“I don’t know what’s going to help,” Jameson told him. “It’s hot out here, the tires just slip. There’s no grip anywhere.”

Jameson’s car was extremely loose once the track heated up.

When the track heats up from the tires creating friction, it begins to feel slippery as oil is released from the asphalt as its temperature increased from the friction created. Two things happen at that point: you have no grip for one, and the tires become malleable as tiny pieces of rubber are torn away from all that friction. Eventually all that rubber laid down will counteract that but there was a period when nothing helped.

Only eighty laps into the race, he hit the wall coming out of the second turn.

“Heavy damage to right rear quarter panel,” Aiden announced.

Moments passed as they assessed the car on pit road until Kyle announced the news.

“Take it to the truck.”

Jameson hadn’t said anything yet on the radio and judging by his earlier mood, I didn’t think he would.

Stepping down from the pit box, the crew loaded up, and I made my way back to the hauler.

When Jameson pulled the car in, I could see the grim expression plastered across his face. He would take a huge hit in the points for this DNF, but I also knew that wasn’t his only concern at the moment. Whatever had been on his mind before the race was still there.

When he drew himself from the car, he threw his helmet across the hood and stomped inside the hauler without looking at anyone, slamming the door behind him.

What followed was a stream of loud, ear-splitting crashes.

Jameson was like a ticking time bomb at times, combined with his hasty personality, it could make for a deadly combination at times.

Kyle shook his head leaning against the car while the crashes dissipated, his arms folded over his chest. “He acts like a goddamn child at times.”

“I’ll talk to him,” I suggested leaving Emma and Kyle outside.

I peeked my head inside the door hesitantly, unsure if I would be hit with a flying object.

“Jameson?” I called out searching for him.

I found him slumped on the floor against the cabinets. With his head bent forward, his knees were raised, his hands resting on his knees with a piston in his right hand.

With his gaze fixated on the piston, he spoke, “You shouldn’t be in here right now, Sway.” His voice surprised me, he sounded irate, a tone he rarely used with me.

I didn’t listen though. Instead, I sunk down beside him on the floor, looking over the wreckage in the hauler.

Parts, paper, and tools were scattered across the tile floor in the aftermath. Water dripped from the counter where he’d smashed a gallon container that was sitting there.

Watching the water drip forming a puddle, I jumped when I heard the door open.

“Jameson?” a familiar nasally voice called out.

Seriously?

We both looked up to find Chelsea sticking her head inside.

I almost grabbed the piston from Jameson and threw it at her.

“Are you ready?” Chelsea asked looking at Jameson.

He hesitated for a brief moment before replying, “I’ll be... there in a minute.”

I looked over at him, on the verge of tears once again.

He stared back at me, his expression unreadable and then his eyes fell back to the piston.

That’s why he nodded? He agreed to go with her?

Chelsea smiled at Jameson again. “I’ll be waiting.” She turned and glared at me before walking out.

“I’ll let you get to... that,” I choked, tears threatening to overtake me. I felt as though my heart had been lynched right then.

Jameson closed his eyes, shaking his head, unable to answer. His breathing was heavy and uneven. Similar to earlier today, he looked as though he was going to vomit. He swept his trembling hand across the back of his slick neck. I could literally feel his body trembling next to me.

If I wasn’t so upset right now, I would be concerned about his physical condition, but no, I didn’t care. Well I did, but I didn’t.

Trying to hold on to some dignity, and telling myself not to cry, I rose from my place on the floor beside him.

His hand grasped mine when I started to walk away, his warm fingers grazed mine. “Sway,” his voice cracking as he tugged on my hand. “Don’t go, please, honey.”

Don’t go? Does he even understand what this means?

I couldn’t look at him. “Why? Why should I stay?” Emptiness was lingering, and I struggled not to fall to my knees before him.

“I... don’t want you to go. Not like this.”

Still refusing to look his direction, teetering on the edge of control, I maneuvered my hand away from him to lean against the counter with my back to him. My head fell forward against the cabinets. “Why, Jameson?”

A silence spread throughout the hauler waiting for him to answer. The only sounds were my silent sobs and Jameson’s heavy breathing behind me.

What surprised me, the piston he was holding flying across the hauler striking the wall beside me, the metal wall indented on impact?

“Fuck, Sway,” his voice was harsh with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “What do you want me to say? Just fucking tell me what you want to hear and I’ll say it. I’ll say whatever you want me to!” he pleaded in a desperate but brusque tone.

That statement right there brought me back to reality. And though I wanted to hear he loved me and wanted me to stay, that wasn’t going to happen. It wouldn’t mean anything if I had to tell him to say it.

“That’s the problem, Jameson.” My eyes fell closed. “I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

I couldn’t stop the sob that broke through. He tried to reach for me again but I shook him off and made my way out of the hauler, stepping over the piston lying at my feet.

It hurt every muscle in my body to walk away.

It was unnatural for me, something my muscle memory for him was against, forced even. When I reached the door, I could feel the burn of his anguished eyes on me.

Once the door closed behind me a string of loud profanities followed by another loud crash of tools hitting the walls of the hauler.

It wasn’t a few tools—he was destroying everything that was left of it. All you heard was deafening cracks of metal hitting metal while he ripped everything apart. That ticking time bomb had detonated.

Do you ever wonder when the exact moment was that your life turned to shit? I did.

I was certain I was in that moment right then.

Aside from the time I lost my virginity in the back of a truck at a dirt track, this was what I referred to as “rock bottom.”

Crying uncontrollably like the broken-hearted pit lizard that I was, I stumbled across the paddock toward the drivers’ compound and Jameson’s motor coach.

I walked past Kyle on the way there, so now he was tagging along behind me trying to convince me to let him give me a ride to the airport.

Fighting the nausea and panic, they seemed to be balancing each other out and keeping the other from overtaking me completely.

When I realized I had no way of getting to the airport by myself, I agreed to let Kyle take me. After all, I could hardly navigate walking right then, driving didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Are you okay, Sway?” Kyle’s eyes looked over me, searching for any sign of damage. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. I’m fine,” I tried to speak calmly, but I swayed in place. I couldn’t tell him that physically I was fine, emotionally, not so much. “I need to leave.”

I stepped outside the motor coach after getting my bags to see Darrin walk past and linger near the Expedition, waiting.

Kyle was already inside the truck so I had to pass by Darrin, alone, to get to the vehicle.

This day just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?

Right before I was about to open the door, I heard his dark vexing laughter. “You didn’t think he’d want you around with Chelsea around, did you?”

Without thinking, my dirt-track-raised-instincts shined like I was the center of the solar system. I didn’t hesitate for one second. I stomped over to him, dropped my bags at his feet, grabbed him by the shoulders and brought my knee hard between his legs, and I think his balls crunched.

Good!

“You didn’t think you’d be able to use that dick forever, did you?” I countered, laughing the same dark vexing laughter and trotting my brokenhearted pit lizard ass back to the car leaving him moaning on the ground.

When I got inside the car, Kyle was laughing so hard he could barely speak. Eventually he strung together, “That was awesome,” and then followed up with a concerned gaze and, “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Pulling through the gates, I saw Jameson getting into a black SUV with Chelsea. Not that I really gave it much effort, but I couldn’t help the sobs that broke through when he glanced back at me. I knew he couldn’t see me behind the blacked out windows, but I saw him and that alone was enough.

I felt bad for Kyle, having to drive me to the airport while I cried like a baby, but he was a trooper and let me be. Every time he tried to help or comfort me, I sobbed harder so he finally gave up and just let me cry it out.

I had no idea this would feel so horrible when I decided that night in Charlotte to do whatever this was. The pain, the regret, and the sadness inside me was overwhelming.

The most compelling part about it was that given the chance, I’d do it all over again right now if he asked me to.

I hated how he consumed my thoughts. I hated how every decision I made was with him in mind. If you’d never had someone control you this way, without knowing, you couldn’t understand how I felt and how much it bothered me to feel that way.

So my crazy-irrational-break-your-heart-logic was crazy-irrational-break-your-heart-logic after all. It was one hell of a vacation, too. My crankcase had seen more align boring and press forging in those three weeks than ever before. I couldn’t say I regretted doing any of it because I didn’t. I don’t regret anything that happened, it was the best three weeks I could have imagined. I wished he would see that I was enough for him and that he didn’t have to ask me to stay. I would have stayed just to be with him, but I wasn’t what he needed.

Maybe Chelsea was what he needed, someone without obligations back home—someone who could be there for him every weekend.

Damn you crazy-irrational-break-your-heart-logic. Damn you.

Now I needed to go find that support group for pit lizards who got their hearts broken because this one, currently crying her eyes out on a plane back to Washington, was broken-hearted.

I didn’t care that the entire plane was staring at me like I’d lost my mind because really, I could give a flying fuck what they thought.

When the passengers next to me started putting in their headphones, I really wanted to stand up and shout something completely inappropriate like, “Jesus Christ, I have crabs, give a girl and break!” But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat there and sobbed my broken heart out, occasionally blowing my nose really hard and asking the woman next to me to hold my snotty tissues.

That was what she deserved for putting headphones on and acting like I didn’t exist.

Once I arrived back at the Sea-Tac Airport, I was walking to get my bags when I passed by a sports bar with highlights of today’s NASCAR race.

Naturally, I stopped, broken-hearted or not, I wanted a glimpse of him.

I caught the last half of the highlights. “While Bobby Cole went on to win the race, his hot-headed teammate, ‘Rowdy Riley,’ didn’t fair so well in the race or the hit he took in the race for the championship. FOX Sports tried to catch up with Jameson after the race but a representative for the team said that he declined any interviews.”

They cut to a view of his hauler. “It appears this hot-headed rookie took his frustrations with today’s DNF rather hard and out on his team’s equipment. It was reported that Jameson destroyed the team’s hauler not more than fifteen minutes after this afternoon’s race when he wrecked in turn two, causing some thirty thousand dollars of damage in equipment.”

Knowing I was behind the temperament, I stopped listening after that. I also knew my heart was in about a million pieces right then, but I couldn’t help but want to be there with him.

It had only been four hours since I last saw him and I was already tempted to fly back to him and tell him I’d be anything he wanted me to be as long as I was with him.

You’re pathetic Sway, absolutely fucking pathetic. Go find your support group.

Back in the state of constant rain, I hardly noticed the steady rain with the steady stream of my own waterworks.

I found my truck quickly. After all, it was the only 1979 primer red Ford pickup in a lot full of Lexus’ and Mercedes’. My poor little red dragon had been sitting here for three weeks. I was actually surprised she even started.

I turned on the radio, hoping music would relax me, but it didn’t, because the first thing that came on was, once again, ESPN news. What was even more surprising and had me moments away from calling Jimi was their breaking news.

“This just in, after Jameson Riley reportedly destroyed his team hauler and personal motor coach in a fit of anger after this afternoon’s race, he didn’t stop at that. He was apparently arrested prior to getting on his private jet in California to return to his hometown of Elma, Washington.”

Say what?

“The charges haven’t been released but it’s been rumored that he was arrested for suspicion of sexual assault against a young woman, Chelsea Adams, a former high school sweetheart of his.”

Immediately I called Emma, who answered on the first ring, more than likely waiting for my call.

“What the fuck happened since I left?” I shouted before she even had a chance to finish her greeting.

“Sway?”

“Yes, it’s Sway.” I wasted no time throwing out the questions. “What happened? Why was he arrested?”

“He was arrested,” she stated in a soft voice, sounding frightened.

“For fuck’s sake, Emma, I know he was arrested!” I shouted. “What’s the matter, what happened?”

Emma was quiet for a moment. “We don’t know what happened.” She sighed. “Chelsea and Jameson left the track together. None of us saw him for about three hours. When Ethan dropped him off at the jet, the police showed up and said he was under arrest for sexual assault. Jameson didn’t say anything to us but by the look on his face, I’m not sure what he did. I’ve never seen him like that, he wasn’t Jameson.”

“Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“Was he coming to Elma?’

“Yes.”