Fresh Rubber – Slang for a new set of tires.

 

I woke up to the soft sounds of Jameson playing his piano. I hadn’t heard him play in years and, at first, I thought I was dreaming. Propping myself up on my elbows, I looked at the piano situated in the far right corner of his massive gray bedroom.

I had to laugh at his décor. Everything in the room was white, gray, or black.

Total man pad.

He even had an intake manifold in the corner of his room.

When my eyes found him, I sighed contentedly and was reminded of how happy I was that this dirty heathen was my Chachi.

And my Chachi was currently serenading me.

His head bowed as if in submission to what he was doing, his long masculine fingers glided over the ivory keys. I was entranced by how he moved on the bench, his head bent barely looking up. It was a beautiful combination with dulcet tones of the piano.

He’d memorized “Shame On The Moon” over the years. It was one of his favorites and Jimi’s. Who didn’t love a little Bob Segar though?

There are no words to describe how Jameson played. I envied his talent. His eyes were closed, and it was easy to see how much passion he had for playing, as he did for racing. I could feel it in my bones.

After a few moments, he began singing in that low, rich voice.

His fingers picked up pace when the song went into a climb, his head leaned back, belting out the lyrics, and I could feel my eyes stinging with tears.

Listening to the words, I could tell why he chose this particular song.

He was telling me he was scared but ready.

Jameson played the chorus for a good ten minutes while I observed in admiration that someone could have that much natural talent in everything he did.

When he began to sing again, his voice was lower than before, almost a whisper, drawing me in. When he finished, his head hung, and he sat there running his fingers gently over the keys. His hands stilled on the keys, a discordant cadence echoing in the room.

Without wearing a damn thing, I strutted my no-longer-pit-lizard bare ass over to him, to show him a thing or two about talent.

I wonder what I would call myself now since I couldn’t really be considered his pit lizard. Clearly, I was way more now.

Pit lizard girlfriend... Joanie girlfriend... pigizzle... ha, ha, ha... good one Sway.

You’re now a pigizzle. I told myself.

Jameson’s head remained down, but when he heard me giggle at my pigizzle-self, I saw the corners of his mouth twist into a smile. Placing both my hands on his bare shoulders, I ran my fingers softly over the ridges in his defined shoulders, feeling his muscles flex as his hands caressed my legs.

Turning on the bench, he looked up at me through his long dark lashes, his green eyes burning. It wasn’t hard to see the change that occurred in us ... in him. His once nervous eyes were now filled with love and adoration.

He loved me, you see.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Jameson whispered against my stomach, trailing kisses from the prominent ridge of my hip, over my belly button and along the other hipbone. Sweeping his tongue up toward my rib cage, he nipped at the skin as he did so.

My entire body trembled despite my demand for it not to, earning a chuckle from him in response. I hated the way my body was so responsive to him; I couldn’t hide anything.

With a wink, he picked me up, carrying me over to his large king-sized bed, lying me down. He pulled away, but only to remove his shorts, and he was back to worshiping my body, with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, and, of course... his glorious camshaft. There was no dirty heathen talking last night, but it returned this morning... ohhh, did it return.

What started out sweet and caring quickly turned minutes later when I told him it was great and all, but I wanted my dirty car-talking heathen, damn it. More importantly, I wanted to be fucked.

You asked and you received.

With another wicked smirk, he flipped me over so I was on my knees in front of him and wrapped his hand around my hair, gently pulling me back against his chest.

“Jameson...” I moaned as he pushed inside.

He took a firm grasp on my hip with the hand that wasn’t tangled in my hair bringing his soft wet lips down on my shoulder, biting and kissing his way along the top of my collarbone.

The teasing and biting continued for a few moments, but when I was starting to shake, I had to put an end to it. I needed this and I needed it now.

The moment he was inside of me, I never wanted it to end. It was like I couldn’t get enough of him. I knew being with him physically would be unlike anything we’d ever experienced together, but now it was so much more than before. His intensity was evident in every kiss, every touch, showing me this was different, showing me the love he had for me.

“Just fuck me already!” I blurted out when he continued with his slow movements.

“Are you ready for some align boring ‘cause I’m not holdin’ back any longer. These bearings need aligned, properly,” Jameson grunted, his hips meeting mine slowly at first, but I could feel a change coming.

“What does no holding back mean?” I asked slightly confused. I never thought Jameson held back anyway.

What will this mean?

In my head, I was envisioning whips and chains or some shit so I turned to look back at him with wide eyes. I’m all for the dirty talking and rough sex, but I was slightly terrified of any S & M. I once watched a porno that involved this and couldn’t sleep for a week thinking that shit was something only serial killers did.

“What I mean is”—he squeezed my ass—“there are times when I’m going to make sweet love to you... slowly and with more passion than you ever thought imaginable.” Jameson then moved my hair to the side kissing along my neck slowly. His hand tangled in my hair once more and he tugged with enough force to make me want to scream. “And there are times when I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

Why am I suddenly excited as hell to see which one I’m getting today?

Of course, my excitement must have shown on my face because Jameson suddenly chuckled, his laugh marred by his heavy breathing.

“Which service are you offering up today?” I arched my back against him, keeping my eyes locked with his.

Jameson smirked. His eyes were half-opened watching me. His gaze darkened, burning my skin as it ran over my body. “Guess which one...” he ground out through his clenched jaw as I swiveled my hips against him, causing him to moan.

The dirty talking tapered off as did any talking for that matter. Jameson’s third floor bedroom was filled with nothing but his grunts, my whore moaning, and sounds of Prince in the background.

We were starting to have an obsession with Prince.

Afterward, a few minutes passed as we lay there, until his phone started buzzing next to the bed.

He leaned forward, kissed my forehead, and then reached over me to his phone. “I’m sorry, I have to get up. I need to be in LA later today for a commercial for Simplex, and then I have to fly to Memphis to meet... my biggest fan.”

I looked at him, confused. He sat up running his hand through his mess of hair peeking back at me.

“Your biggest fan?” The dread in my voice present, I was praying this wasn’t some woman.

“Uh... yeah... he’s a five-year-old little boy who has leukemia,” he told me. “He’s being treated at St. Jude’s in Memphis and I was his wish.”

“His wish?”

His eyes dropped to his lap and his hand ran across the back of his neck. “Well, he has leukemia and well, he’s dying from it, and his wish was to meet me. He wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. St. Jude Children’s Hospital got in touch with Melissa and asked if I could come out to spend the day with him.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until Jameson brushed the tears away. “I never meant to make you cry,” he whispered.

I shrugged slightly, trying to avoid his questioning stare.

Gently, he tugged on my hand and my eyes meet his, sighing when I saw his eyebrows rise in question.

“No, it’s okay... I just... there’s always so much sadness around, you know? I hate that there are children out there who can’t even live to see their dreams come true or fall in love,” I said softly, my arms sliding around his neck, bringing his lips to meet mine. He responded and kissed me softly.

“I know what you mean, honey.” He cradled me against his chest. “I know what you mean.”

I was about to get up when he stopped me, tugging on my hand.

“You could come with me, if you want,” he suggested. “I’m sure Axle won’t mind.”

“His name is Axle?” I smiled, thinking how perfect of a name that was for a little guy who loved racing.

Jameson chuckled. “Yeah, it’s cute. He wanted to be a race car driver... it fits, huh?”

“It does.” Sitting on the edge of his bed, I nodded. “I don’t think I’m going to go.”

“But you—”

“No, his wish was to spend the day with you,” I shook my head in reassurance. “That’s what he deserves.”

“Thanks, Sway, for everything.” His eyes held mine intently. “For coming yesterday, for last night and this morning... just... thank you. I wish I could tell you how much it meant to me, but I don’t think I could without sounding trite,” he said with so much sincerity, it made me start crying again.

 

Jameson left for Los Angeles and then Memphis, so Emma and I flew back to Washington. Emma hadn’t been home to Washington since the last winter so she was enthused as hell to come along. Though I’d never admit this, I was excited to spend some girl time with her.

Alley was going to come along, as well, but Lane ended up getting the flu so she stayed home with him.

I wanted to be in Daytona this weekend with Jameson for his race, but his schedule was packed that weekend and wouldn’t allow much time for me anyway. So I decided to fly home when he left for California. It’d also be good for me to see Charlie again, and Emma was anxious to see the crazy guy, as well.

The only problem with Emma coming along was entertaining her in Elma, Washington. We didn’t have much there to offer a crazy shopaholic. No malls, no fancy department stores, hell, we barely had a grocery store. All of this meant I had to take Emma to the mall before we made it to Elma.

She insisted on the Tacoma Mall... I’m not sure why anyone would want to go to the Tacoma Mall but, alas, there we were walking into every goddamn store they had. She bought shoes, underwear, dresses, and God knows what else.

I had a hard time focusing on anything, between Emma whirling around me, texting Jameson, thinking of Jameson, missing Jameson, and wanting to be with Jameson. I didn’t get nearly enough alone time with him like I wanted. I was a pathetic pigizzle.

The thought of calling myself a pigizzle had me laughing while I enjoyed my iced mocha and followed Emma around, who was, once again, trying on another pair of god-awful red boots. Where she would wear those was a mystery to me. But when she said that Aiden had a fantasy with her in red boots, I ran away to the pretzel stand.

While quietly enjoying my buttery, salty goodness, Emma came skipping back with another bag from Macy’s and plopped down beside me on the bench.

“So.... I made us an appointment,” she whispered looking the other direction, avoiding eye contact.

There was one thing you needed to know about Emma, when she knew you’d disagree—she avoided eye contact.

Forcing the little shit to look at me, I grabbed her face. “What kind of appointment Emma?”

I had to ask because when we were in high school she once made an appointment for us to get our ... let’s just say they’re some things even close friends don’t do together, I don’t care how close you are with them. A line needs to be drawn. I now had a line, and Emma was sure to step a foot over it any time she saw an opportunity.

“Justwaxingthatsall,” she said quickly, her words scrambling together in her rush not to reveal.

“Come again?”

“Waxing,” Emma replied through squished lips and my firm hold on her.

“I don’t need any waxing ... my bits are nice and trim.”

“Vajazzling,” she blurted out flinching back like an abused dog.

“What?”

“It’s vajazzling. It makes the goods sparkle.”

“I don’t want the goods to sparkle.”

Yes, you do... admit it. You’re intrigued by this.

Who wouldn’t want their crankcase to sparkle?

“Yes, you do.” Her eyes were bright with excitement. She knew she was wearing me down. She now had a leg over my line. “It’ll be fun.”

“How does it sparkle?” Now I was avoiding eye contact.

Why have I never heard of this?

In my head, I was thinking of flashing lights or some shit like that. The thought of anything electric down there wasn’t comforting—unless, of course, I had control over it.

Emma smiled triumphantly. “You’ll see.” Her expression was something similar to... well... someone who’d just gotten her way.

Am I going to regret this?

Yes... it was Emma’s idea—it couldn’t be good.

“Look at that girl’s tattoo...” someone snickered behind us as we gathered our bags. “Jesus.”

Since Jimi and Nancy found out about Emma’s tattoo, she stopped hiding it and rebelled against everyone by showing it proudly.

In a blink of an eye, Emma grabbed my mocha and chucked it at the teenage girl who snickered at her Trash-R-Us token. She had horrible aim, so the cup only went a few feet and fell to the ground, spilling my five-dollar mocha all over the marble floor of the Tacoma Mall.

“Can you believe the nerve of her!” Emma shouted, not attempting to keep her voice down. “Some people!”

“Um—” I was about to say something when my phone vibrated.

It was a text from Jameson that read: Hey beautiful. Missing you right now. Axle says hello and I quote: She’s hot! Chachi

I laughed and sent one back.

S: Hello, handsome. Missing you too. Tell Axle thanks, I think. Joanie

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again with a media message of the cutest picture ever. Jameson was kneeling beside Axle. They both had helmets on, but what caught my eye was that they both had the biggest grins on their faces. Jameson appeared relaxed and content with him. Little Axle, with his huge brown eyes, was looking over at him with such veneration it made me start crying, again.

Thanks for making me cry!

Soon he replied with: Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to. Axle wanted you to see a picture of him. Gotta go race now, he thinks he can beat me. Love you.

My curiosity for vajazzling got the better of me. An hour later Emma and I were lying on the table, in separate rooms, getting vajazzled.

The entire process was strange and rather uncomfortable. Especially when the tiny Asian woman ripped out my beaver pelt and began adhering diamonds on it. When burning a hole in her forehead with my stare didn’t work, I spread my legs and went with it.

When she was finished, she handed me a mirror to observe her meticulous handy work.

I wasn’t sure what freaked me out more during the entire process, her wide grin when I’d scream, or the fact that my legs were now spread with a mirror between them.

Instead of worrying about that, I focused on the situation below.

Wow.

Examining my crankcase, she looked sparkly. She’d been turned into a shiny, sparkly, smooth, vajazzled crankcase, complete with a checkered flag and a number nine.

Hot damn if I didn’t look good.

I was tempted to click a picture and text Jameson, but I refrained. He was with children today. Then I thought I needed to reveal this Holy Grail extravagant masterpiece in person. Maybe even with fireworks.

When the tiny Asian left, carefully I put my clothes on. I didn’t want any diamonds to fall out in fear they would... get misplaced. The thought made me cringe of having anything sharp make its way inside my crankcase.

Emma was standing in the lobby waiting for me. Just as I was about to ask her what she got, she pulled me into the bathroom, dropped her pants and bared her goods to me.

“Christ Almighty, Emma; I didn’t need to see that!” I wailed, diverting my eyes away from her horseshoe she had designed on her girly pad. “You could have told me what you got. This isn’t show and tell.”

Pulling her jeans up, she reached for the button of my jeans. “Hey, I showed you, now you show me.”

“No way. Not happening.” Slapping at her, I backed away, “Never, No!” I shook my head violently. “Not in this life time.” It was becoming pretty obvious Emma was not concerned with my lack of show-n-tell.

“Sway, I showed you. That’s not fair,” she whined crossing her arms in front of her.

I wanted to back away farther, but I was now straddling the toilet in my attempts to escape.

“I do not care!” I shouted, sprinting from the bathroom with her trailing. “I never said this was an all-skate.”

“At least tell me what you got,” she insisted, catching me once I made it to the lobby doors.

I couldn’t help the smile that grazed my lips when I thought about my checkered flag crankcase. Fortunately, she couldn’t see it since I was running away from her. “A checkered flag with the number nine,” I answered quickly making my way through the parking lot.

My running didn’t last long; I was completely out of shape. Soon I was panting, wheezing, and holding my side in pain.

“Oh, that’s sweet. You should send him a picture.” Emma held up her phone. “I already sent one to Aiden.”

“I’m not sending him a picture,” I chided, helping Emma put the bags in the back of the red dragon. “He’s at St. Jude Children’s Hospital today. I’m not sending him a picture of that while he’s entertaining children. That’s gross.”

“What’s he doing at St. Jude’s?”

“There’s a five year old boy, Axle, whose wish was to meet Jameson.”

“Oh.” I could tell it bothered her, as well. “Jameson donates a lot of money to that particular hospital. I can see why he’d want to spend some time there.”

Making my way through Tacoma traffic wasn’t the highlight of my day. When we got to Olympia, I headed for caffeine.

“Where are we going?” Emma asked.

“You threw my coffee away, so you’re buying me more.” I smiled. “You should think of getting some, too,” I hedged. She had no idea what she was in for with the Lucifer twins.

Rolling with my advice, Emma did get coffee and then we were cruising down 101 toward Elma country and cow shit.

With Emma’s dancing rocking the truck from side-to-side, I turned down the music once we were back on the freeway. “What do you think Chelsea, Darrin, and Mariah are up to?” I asked.

Emma was all keyed-up after that. She wanted to be a lawyer at one time, so solving a mystery was right up her alley. That and she watched entirely too much CSI. “Well,” she began with much exaggeration, “I think Darrin used Chelsea in an attempt to get Jameson in trouble. You know, trying to prove he’s like some sort of bad guy who goes around assaulting women.” Emma paused taking a drink of her mocha. “Darrin’s pissed that Jameson is one of the best drivers out there—he’s competition for Darrin. I really think all this is Darrin’s doing. It has to be. He’s hated Jameson from day one. I mean, you remember their USAC days together.”

“Do you think Tate is involved?”

“No, I don’t. I think Tate is in denial. He would never do that to Jameson purposely; he’s being fed lies by Chelsea—I’m sure of it.”

I was quiet for a few minutes merging onto Highway 8. Then it hit me ... if we found someone who was close to them maybe we could see what they’re up to. “Do you know anyone who’s friends with them?”

“The only person I know who hangs around them is Dana. I don’t know that she’s friends with them, though.” Emma took another drink of her mocha. “Dana doesn’t go to every race; she’s an obsessed fan. I don’t even think she has any family on the series.”

“I wonder if we could get her to, you know... help us.”

Emma giggled. “Jameson would kill us.”

“What he doesn’t know... won’t hurt him.” I waggled my eyebrows at her.

The last thing I wanted to do was cause additional stress for Jameson. He had enough already. If there was some way I could help him resolve this whole Darrin issue that would mean less stress for him and less stress for me.

When we arrived back at Charlie’s house, I was in the middle of putting my bag in my room when Emma came in with a grimy expression on her face. We’d only been there for five minutes, so I assumed this expression had something to do with the Lucifer twins.

I watched as she pulled the red boots she bought from a Nordstrom bag, only they weren’t red anymore. They were now charcoal and burnt.

My thoughts were confirmed. It was Satan’s spawn. Unless Aiden’s fantasy involved a fire fighter, those wouldn’t get him going.

“Ah, yes,” I grinned. “I see you met the Lucifer twins.”

“Met them?” Her eyes bugged out. “They set my boots on fire!”

“They’ve done worse... look at Mr. Jangles.” I pointed to his shaved ass. “He will never be the same.”

“I was wearing the boots when they set them on fire, Sway.” Emma tossed the boots on the floor. “Who the fuck are those hoodlums?”

“They’re Andrea’s twin boys.” I gave her a wide smile. “They live here.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“Nope, not shitting you.”

“I’m not staying here with them.” She placed her hand on her hip giving me a pointed glare. “I refuse.”

“Yes. You are,” I demanded. “If I have to stay here, you sure as shit have to.”

Mr. Jangles walked over to Emma and started rubbing himself up against her legs. She glanced down and then took a double take before jumping on my bed. “What the fuck is that?” she squealed in horror.

You’d think she saw the devil or something.

I looked around for the devil—I wanted to have a discussion with him about his children and their behavior.

“What is wrong with you guys?” I shouted a few octaves louder than necessary. I felt bad for poor Mr. Jangles—it’s not his fault he was overweight. “He’s a fucking cat!”

“What do you feed him, McDonald’s?”

I shook my head and laughed. “You are so much like Jameson.”

There was never a dull moment having Emma and the Lucifer twins around all under the same roof. On Wednesday, they shaved Mr. Jangles the rest of the way and made him look like a lion, keeping a ball of fur on his tail, fur on his feet, and then the long fur around his face. He looked like an overly obese lion.

Having no hair did nothing for his figure. The shaving combined with the safety pinned pierced ears, made him resemble some biker dude’s cat, not my fluffy, white, long-haired Mr. Jangles who loved me and his spaghetti. I half expected him to whip out his switchblade and shank me in my sleep.

Thankfully, he did not.

On Thursday, they filled balloons full of Hershey syrup and threw them at Emma and me while we lay in the sun. That same day, we also found out that the ceiling fan in the living room was not strong enough to hold a dog’s leash while Logan was attached to the end of it.

Although, it was strong enough to hold a can of red paint and spray it throughout the room, causing it to resemble some kind of scene out of the series, Dexter.

On Friday, Lucas put marbles in the red dragon’s gas tank causing her to make an extreme amount of noise while driving.

Logan also decided Mr. Jangles needed a bath.

After all, he was covered in red paint, so he put him in the washing machine on spin cycle.

There are two things you need to know about this. One, a normal cat will throw up twice their body weight... when dizzy. Two, a Mr. Jangles- sized cat will throw up roughly ten times his body weight... when dizzy... give or take an ounce.

Like I said, there was never a dull moment.

Soon it was Saturday, and I was getting a little jittery as to what the next few days would bring. The last two nights of racing at Elma were cancelled due to a summer storm blowing through.

Unfortunately, Daytona wasn’t having the same storm, so Jameson was racing while I was stuck with Emma and the Lucifer twins.

Charlie and Andrea snuck up to Lake Quinault for the weekend to spend some time together. Long story short, this left us alone with the devil’s spawn.

It wasn’t exactly pressured upon us to watch them or anything. Feeling bad for them, we volunteered to watch the shitheads, which was why we were now picking out movies and buying a shit load of junk food in hopes they would pass out in a sugar-induced coma. It worked on Lane.

Did that happen?

No, that would have been entirely too easy.

Emma and I were curled up in the chaise lounge in the living room, together, watching Poltergeist because Emma insisted we watch scary movies since it was stormy outside. I think her brothers dropped her on her head when she was a baby because this logic was stupid to me.

I was not enthusiastic about watching a scary movie to begin with. The last time I watched a scary movie was The Exorcist with Jameson, and I ended up sleeping with my bedroom light on for a goddamn month. And let’s not forget my phobia of preachers after that.

I hated clowns, too, and just a few minutes into this horrid movie, I really hated them.

By the time Carol Anne said, “They’re here,” Emma was sitting on top of me, viewing the movie through my fingers as they covered her eyes. I wasn’t doing any better with my baby blanket wrapped around my head.

Yes, I still had my first baby blankie... don’t judge me.

When Robbie was pulled under the bed by the clown, we screamed. But not nearly as loud as we screamed when the Lucifer twins coaxed Mr. Jangles into the room.

It was a suspenseful part of the movie; you knew something intense was coming any minute. All of a sudden, the shaved obese lion with safety pinned pierced ears, Mr. Jangles, came flying through the air landing on top of us.

We screamed bloody fucking murder.

I’m not gonna lie, I screamed as if I saw the devil himself.

I should have asked him to take his kids back.

After the screaming fit, the twins disappeared for good reason. I’m sure they gathered that their lives were in jeopardy.

The storm gained strength. Wind blew, power was lost, and it rained, a lot.

All this with Emma, the Lucifer twins, and me alone in the dark.

To say we were scared of the dark was an understatement... we were petrified of the dark. It might have something to do with the fact that we watched Poltergeist but that wasn’t important.

“What if it’s Carol Anne?” Emma whispered in my ear. She was close enough that her breath tickled my neck. She couldn’t have gotten much closer. After all, we were wrapped around each other.

“I fucking hate you for making me watch that movie,” I seethed through my teeth, scanning the dark room for any sign of the devil’s spawn. “Where in the hell are those Lucifer twins?”

All we heard were their evil giggles throughout the two-story house. If that wasn’t creepy, I don’t know what is.

Their giggles were quickly silenced when a loud crash came from outside, followed by heavy footsteps. The little creepers weren’t giggling anymore... nope, they were clinging to our legs like Gorilla Glue.

Whoever would be walking around outside in this weather was crazy. That confirmed my fears that it could be some kind of deeply troubled axe murder. No one in their right mind would be out in this.

“Sway, what was that?” Lucas whined and, even in the dark, I could see how wide his eyes were.

I honestly couldn’t say I felt sorry for the little shit, not after what he pulled during the movie with Mr. Jangles.

“It’s probably your father rising from Hell to teach you a goddamn lesson,” I snapped, prying him from my leg.

“Sway, that was a little harsh.” Emma punched my shoulder. “He’s just a child.”

“A child my ass.” I may have been a tad on the rude side right then, but I was, in fact, just as scared as that six-year-old. “Did you forget what they did to your boots?”

Another loud crash came from outside near the spooky tree that strangely resembled the one from the movie.

Tomorrow I would be cutting that down. I never noticed how scary it was until now. Or maybe it was the movie.

More banging followed, along with barking dogs that I didn’t know the neighborhood even had. The wind picked up and blew the back door open. I thought for sure that only happened in movies before the characters were gutted.

What did we do?

All of us screamed at once and ran in opposite directions.

Thankfully, Emma ran the direction of the gun cabinet.

But did she grab one? No, that would be too easy. Instead, she ran right past it to the kitchen. I ran after her, well wobbled. I had two of Satan’s spawns attached to my legs.

In my attempts, I smashed into Emma, knocking us all to the ground.

Glancing at the object she had a death grip on, I laughed. “A house full of guns and you grab a fork?”

“I panicked, all right...” her voice shuddered. “I panicked.”

“So you grab a fork? Why not a knife that was right beside it?”

Emma glared. “I panicked!”

“Clearly.”

Lucas was trembling in my arms about the time Logan wrapped himself around Emma like a human scarf.

“Sway... w-w-what’s out t-t-there...?” Lucas asked.

It was at that moment that I actually started to feel a little bad for them. I mean, yes, they are shitheads, but they’re just as scared as we were, possibly more.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing—” I was cut off by yet another howl of wind and another loud crashing noise.

What the hell was out there?

Both boys clung tighter to us as we backed up against the wall in the kitchen behind the table. Somehow we felt safer with chairs in the way, creating a diversion, let’s just hope we didn’t die in this version.

What if it is Carol Anne? I thought to myself.

All my thoughts went back to my theory of needing a man around. As old fashioned as that sounded, I was a firm believer now. It was their job to protect and these six-year-olds with us were providing no protection. I didn’t have the heart to tell them, given their current state of terror, if they couldn’t “man up” at a time like this, there was no hope for them.

“Emma,” I whispered shakily, repulsed at how freaked out I’d become over a stupid movie. “Go see what’s out there.”

Emma did a ridiculous gasp-gulp thing that made me chuckle. “Me?” she asked pointing to herself with distress. “Why do I have to do it, why not you?”

“You have the fork,” I pointed out. “I clearly can’t protect myself as well. You, on the other hand, could fork ‘em.”

“That’s bullshit!”

Another loud crash came from the back of the house and someone stepped inside, the floor squeaking with each wet step they took.

Emma, driven by fear I assume, screamed like a little girl, held the fork up and ran for the perpetrator, all the while—still screaming.

There was squeaking from the water on the floor, screaming and more screaming. She crashed into the said perpetrator, knocking them both to the ground.

“What the fuck!” the man cried in pain, but I knew that voice. How could I not ... no one else had that rich raspy, but velvet, voice No one.

“Jameson?” I asked hesitantly, Logan and Lucas started giggling.

“Yes it’s me... what the hell?” he grunted in pain. “I think you hit bone ... goddamn it, Emma!” he continued to scream in pain on the floor.

I quickly scrambled over to him, and though I couldn’t see clearly with the lack of light, I could vaguely see the outline of Emma’s weapon, impaled in Jameson’s bloody right shoulder.

“Emma!” I screeched reaching for a flashlight. “You stabbed him.”

“Like I knew it was him,” Emma defended. “He should have said something!”

“Said something?” his voice took on a panicked edge but remained harsh. “Fuckkkkk... this hurts... damn you, Emma,” Jameson slammed his fist on the ground and then moaned in agony having jarred himself.

“Maybe we should take him to the hospital. I think I did hit his bone...” Emma admitted quietly, backing away from Jameson who was screaming again because Logan pushed on the fork.

“Get him away from me!” Jameson growled fiercely my direction. My arms instinctively reached out to Logan, fearing for his safety. “Stay away from me.”

“Why are you all wet and muddy?” I asked, examining his shoulder.

He winced as I pushed around his wound. It was bleeding, but not terribly—probably because the fork was still in there. Once it was pulled out, I was sure this would need stitches.

“If you haven’t noticed... it’s fucking raining out.”

I could tell he was pissed, but he didn’t need to be mean with me. I wasn’t the one who stabbed him.

“Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t stab you!”

Jameson gingerly rose from the floor using the wall for support, panting. “I’m sorry ... God, it hurts so fucking bad,” he groaned, holding up his forearm with his left arm, careful not to let the weight of it pull on his shoulder.

“I think we should pull it out,” Lucas suggested, jumping up in a chair he pulled over. “Can I do it?” he asked, bouncing, his eyes wide and excited. “Please, can I do it?”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Jameson seethed, backing away from him. “Don’t touch me!”

“Okay, both of you,” I motioned to the boys. “No one touches Jameson. He’s got...” Eyeing his protective injured stance, I settled on, “anger issues.”

Emma moved closer to Jameson, but he backed away. “Jameson, I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry. I thought you were Carol Anne.”

“Who the hell is Carol Anne?” he snarled, still not letting any of us close to him. He reminded me of an injured animal who wanted nothing to do with humans. I wondered, though briefly, if he’d crawl off to die alone.

“From Poltergeist,” said Emma with a careless, but still timid, shrug.

“That’s a fucking movie... it’s make-believe you shithead!” Jameson snapped. “I swear to God, Emma, if I can’t race... I’m stabbing you.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Emma replied.

“No one is doing any more stabbing!” I yelled, breaking up their silly fight and needing to collect my thoughts. I couldn’t focus with all this yelling and accusing. “Let’s go, Jameson. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, no, no... you’re not leaving me here alone with them!” Emma objected pointing at the Lucifer twins while they tormented Jameson.

“Fine,” I groaned. “All of you get in the car.”

“No!” Jameson interjected immediately. Just the very thought had made his face pale, or so I thought. “I’m not going anywhere with Stabberally over there... fuck no.” He shook his head violently. “No fucking way.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Emma smacked Jameson on the shoulder, the bad shoulder. “I didn’t mean to stab you!”

“Oh, son of a bitch!” Jameson screamed dropping to the floor. “Get the fuck away from me, Emma! I will pull this out right now and stab you with it if you touch me again.”

“Why are you being so mean to me?” she asked, getting in his face again. “I said I didn’t do it intentionally.”

Jameson stepped forward as though he was actually going to take revenge on his little sister.

“Enough!” Stepping between them, I motioned for everyone to get out of the house. “We are all going to the hospital. Now get in the car, right now.”

At this point, I assumed that I looked a little like the Exorcist or something similar because no one questioned me again. We all piled in Charlie’s Expedition and began our journey to Grays Harbor Community Hospital.

Jameson moaned the entire way about how bad it hurt, as the kids and Emma egged him on. I wanted to warn him that this was probably the best part of it. Just imagine how he’s going to feel sitting at Grays Harbor Community Hospital for hours waiting for them to pull their heads out of their asses long enough to help us, but I didn’t.

I could only handle one bad situation at a time.

Around three in the morning, we finally arrived at the hospital and the Lucifer twins were out cold in the back seat, along with Emma, so we left them in the car.

Jameson was pleased.

He insisted I go inside with him, so I did. He insisted I stay right beside him because he was convinced he was going to be attacked somehow, so I did. He insisted I go back with him when the triage nurse was looking over him, so I did. But when he insisted that I go to the vending machines to get him Skittles, I drew the line. Not that I wouldn’t get him Skittles but he was being a huge baby about this entire situation. It was just a fork. If it was a knife, I may be a little more sympathetic. Maybe.

Jameson sat there complaining about Emma stabbing him, the kid next to him sneezing on him, and the avid NASCAR fan who grabbed every brochure from around the hospital and had him sign it.

“How long does it take to get seen?” Jameson grumbled as he adjusted himself in the chair next to me again. “This is unacceptable. We have been here for three hours. My God, I’ve been stabbed, how is that not an emergency?”

“Try four. It’s Grays Harbor Community Hospital, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know...” He laid his head on my shoulder. “It hurts.”

“You’re such a baby.” It might have been rude, but I went ahead and said it anyway. “It’s a fork, not a knife.”

“Let me stab you with a fork and then we’ll see how much of a baby you are,” he retorted glaring and then his expression softened as that familiar smirk appeared. “You know ... I’ve always wanted to do it on an exam table,” he told me, waggling his eyebrows at me. “Wanna be my naughty nurse?”

“No,” I stated firmly, even though this image was already present. “We are not doing it in here. How does your mood change so fast? I think you may be bi-polar or something.”

He grinned wider at his attempt to soften me.

I was not softening.

“No!” I shook my head at him trying not to reveal my own smirk.

The avid NASCAR fan returned with yet another brochure for him, and Jameson snapped. “Dude, come on. Seriously? You can’t see that I’m injured and signing autographs is slightly difficult?” He motioned with his head toward the fork still sticking out of his shoulder.

The man shrugged, handing Jameson the brochure.

He reminded me of a taller version of Jack Black, only he was not funny. If anything, he was annoying. I mean really, did he honestly think this was an appropriate time to be asking for an autograph?

“Jameson Riley?” a nurse called out, a folder tucked under her arm.

The man walked away when Jameson pushed the brochure back at him and said, “Go away.”

All things considered, I couldn’t blame him for denying the autograph.

“See, we can’t do it, they’re calling your name,” I smiled and kissed his cheek.

Helping him up, we walked behind the counter to the nurse who smiled at Jameson. “Hello, I’m Debbie Sloan, your nurse.” She reached out and touched his forearm. “So what are you here for?” Debbie asked once we got inside the room, adjusting her stethoscope around her neck and clicking her pen.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Jameson asked, not amused.

Debbie giggled, clicking obsessively.

“Yes, sweetie. I’m kidding.” She opened his chart. “So let’s see, you’re Jameson Riley... wait...” Comprehension quickly followed. “As in the race car driver?”

Jameson, who had been staring at the exam table, imagining God knows what, met my eyes for a moment and then went back to Debbie. I could tell by that quick glance, he was a little apprehensive about answering.

Shifting in the chair, he answered with a nervous chuckle. “Um... yeah, I’m him.”

“Oh, wow. How exciting! My daughter would kill me if she knew we were treating Jameson Riley.” Debbie reached for her notepad. “Can you sign this for her?”

Poor guy, he could never escape this.

I could tell he was irritated that he couldn’t even get treatment without people bothering him for an autograph.

“Yeah, sure,” Jameson reached for the paper. “What’s her name?”

“Dana, she’s obsessed with you. She’s been to like seven races this season.” Debbie giggled. “Now that I’ve seen you in person... I see the attraction.” She honestly appeared to be undressing him with her eyes.

It wasn’t lost on Jameson that was for sure.

He stood backing against the door.

“You... um... what’s your daughter look like?”

Does he think he knows her?

“Here,” Debbie shoved a picture forward.

One glimpse at it and Jameson was out the door running to the car all the while muttering, “No fucking way... nope... not happening.” He looked back to make sure I was following him. “Let’s go, Sway. I’m not being molested at a damn hospital.”

Running after him, I caught up about the time he reached the car. “Jameson... what about the fork?”

He stopped suddenly, took a few deep breaths in preparation, and then reached over and yanked it out. Then fell to the pavement, screaming in pain.

Though blood was pouring from his shoulder, I completely lost it in a fit of inappropriate piss-yourself laughter. I laughed because this headstrong, cocky man, who could handle anything, couldn’t handle this obsessed fan or her nurse of a mother, so he resorted to extracting the fork himself.

“Why didn’t you do that in the first place?” Lucas grumbled rolling down the window. “I could have slept in my own bed, jerk.”

Still giggling, Emma rolled down the other window enough for her head to peek through. “What’s going on, are we leaving?”

“Jameson was afraid of the nurse, so he pulled the fork out.” I motioned to Jameson who was still sprawled out on the pavement. “See.”

He looked like he was about to vomit. He looked like an injured animal, his face completely white, his brow furrowed, scowling with his jaw clenched tightly as he curled into himself.

“I wasn’t scared of the nurse...” he moaned loudly bringing himself to his feet. “That’s Dana’s mom!” he pointed at the hospital. “No fucking way I’m letting her touch me.”

Emma pointed toward him laughing hysterically, and the Lucifer twins looked at us as if we’re all crazy.

The entire ride back to my house Jameson sulked. Emma randomly started laughing every now and then, and the Lucifer twins continued to poke at Jameson’s shoulder, asking him repeatedly if it hurt when they touched it.

He ignored them for a while, but after twenty minutes, Jameson finally turned in his seat, glaring at them. “I don’t care if you’re six years old. When this fucking car stops, I’m getting out and I will rip your tiny little arms off! Then what? Huh?”

Neither said a word as they gaped back with wide panic-stricken eyes. So did I.

I never thought anything would make those little shits speechless, but that was what Jameson was going for.

Jameson sighed heavily and turned around to stare out the windshield.

There wasn’t a sound the rest of the trip.

When the car stopped in the driveway, the Lucifer twins ripped their seatbelts off and ran in different directions toward the house, followed by Emma. I was tempted to run with them, but didn’t.

Jameson and I remained inside the Expedition. After that tantrum, I wasn’t about to be the first to speak.

Slowly, he tilted his head at me. “Was that harsh?”

“Yes. I’m terrified of you now.” I looked over at him for the first time since his temper tantrum. “So are they.”

“Good. Little fuckers.”

“Oh calm down. It’s not that bad.” I remembered his previous words to me when he first met the Lucifer twins. Surely, his perception of them had now changed.

“Not that bad?” he asked incredulously. “You have to be fucking kidding me! First, my engine blows up ending the race for me after only fifty laps. Then I fly six hours to see my girlfriend, in a fucking wind storm that puts Hurricane Ike to shame.”

I sighed dramatically.

“Okay, well it’s not nearly that bad, but you get my point.” He waved his good arm around. “Then I come to rescue her like her a knight in shining armor, like she wanted, and my fucking sister stabs me with a fork. Then, the nurse at the fucking hospital is Dana’s mom. Yes, that’s right. Dana, the stalker’s, mom!” He threw his bottle of water across the inside of the truck. “I have a fucking right to be harsh.”

It was now time for drastic measures.

“If I show you my boobs, will you calm down?” I offered.

He was silent for a good thirty seconds. “Maybe,” he motioned with his hand for me to lift my shirt. “Show me and let’s see.”

Flipping up my sweatshirt, it worked as it always did.

When Jameson started to drag me onto his lap, I had to stop things. “No, we are not doing it in my dad’s car and you’re bleeding.”

He chuckled lightly but continued to molest me. “So many rules now—no exam tables, no cars—what happened? You never had rules before.”

“I don’t have rules. There are just some things I won’t do. One is not having sex in my dad’s car and two is not having sex while you have a fork stuck in your shoulder in a hospital.”

“How about we continue this in your room?” Jameson suggested, pushing his hips to meet my hand that he’d placed directly on his camshaft. “I’m injured, I need care.”

“We need to get a bandage on that.”

My thoughts shifted to some good tender loving care I was sure I could provide him. Suddenly, I was nervous about the reveal of my crankcase’s wax and shine, so I blurted out the first thing that I could come up with.

“Are you sure you can get it up? I mean, you were stabbed with a fork ...”  My mouth, similar to my crankcase at times, was making all kinds of justifications as to why I couldn’t have sex with him when honestly, it came down to my bling pad.

How exactly do you reveal this?

His eyebrows rose in question. “I was stabbed in the shoulder, not the dick, Sway.”

“Prove it. I don’t think you can,” I challenged. “You could have a lifter problem now?”

What the hell? What happened to your justification?

“Are you questioning my ability here?”

I tapped my finger to my lips, “Yes.”

“That’s it!” He grabbed me by the ass swinging the door open. With no doubt a good amount of pain, he carried me all the way to my room, threw me down on the bed, and covered my body with his own.

His hand under my chin forced me to look at him. “You’re in for a long day.”