Arm Restraints – Straps attached to a driver’s arms to limit range of motion and keep the arms and hands inside the car in case of a flip.
On March thirteenth, because he didn’t want released on the fourteenth of anything, Jameson was released from the hospital forty-eight days after the accident.
Aside from his shoulder, the broken bones had healed. Along with breaking it, he had torn his rotator cuff and that seemed to be causing some discomfort for him so he wore a sling.
His pelvis was healing but he wasn’t allowed to have sex for another three weeks. You can probably imagine his mood. Though he didn’t give any inclination that he wanted to have sex other than a few heated kisses we shared, I think that sex was the last thing on his mind when he was released.
His head was also a concern. He got dizzy quickly, had headaches that would literally blind him momentarily and then there was the occasional slip and he would stumble when walking. That was a concern and he was sent him home with a cane to assist in his balance.
The night we came home, everyone came over and I made Jameson’s favorite, fried spaghetti, only to have him not be able to taste anything. Since his head injury he frequently told me food didn’t taste the same to him anymore.
After a week of having him home, more of the old Jameson began to come out and I saw the man I had fallen in love with.
I will say that having Jameson at home and not having to divide my time between his hospital bed and everywhere else was easier.
The only problem was that he was constantly sending me text messages. Not just any text messages. Dirty text messages. It was now the middle of March and although he had been released from the hospital, sexual activity was something else entirely.
After two weeks of being home, it was apparent sex was on his mind, a lot. I caught him staring more often, his touches lingering longer than before and the want radiated from everything he did.
It. Was. Fucking. Sexy.
He knew he was in no shape to be having sex though. We tried after they released him from the “no sex thing” and he actually stopped me because he was in too much pain. For Jameson to stop during sex meant he was in an extreme amount of pain. I did more micro polishing and piston stroking during the last month than I’ve ever done in my life. That he wasn’t too sore for.
Physically he was recovering and a full recovery looked promising. Emotionally, I would say he had taken the edge off the pain but it wasn’t gone. Not for any of us. And the fact that we still hadn’t had the funeral was the biggest obstacle. We all knew when we did, the pain would be just as real again.
The night before the funeral, I finally made it home around eight to find Jameson nowhere around after his physical therapy session. We now had a trainer coming to the house four times a week to get him back in physical condition.
I checked the gym and he wasn’t in there so I checked the movie room, the kitchen, and even the kids’ rooms. They weren’t home either so I went upstairs intending to find my phone to call him.
I walked inside our bedroom to find all the lights were on and the French doors leading out to our balcony overlooking our private lake open.
The draft coming in was a little too cold so I walked over to close them when Jameson said, “Don’t close that.”
“Oh—sorry!” Covering my heart with my hand, I jumped when I heard him speak. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
The room was a dark blush tint. He was sitting out on the balcony slouched in a chair. A cool breeze danced throughout, the curtains flowing with each shift.
He shrugged but didn’t say anything. He looked rough. The bruises had healed and his hair was growing back but he still didn’t look like himself. The distant cold demeanor took over most of the time but Jameson was there, underneath it. I hated seeing him like this but there wasn’t anything I could do for him right now.
After the accident, I wanted him to react the way he used to. I wanted him to feel the things he used to but he didn’t. So many times his anger would flare and he would simply walk away. I wanted him to punch something, throw a transmission, or fight us, but nothing. That was when I knew that he wasn’t okay. The Jameson I knew wouldn’t react like this but I also knew that he had a severe brain injury that he was recovering from and he had lost his dad. So much was still confusing to him and frustrating that his body wouldn’t respond as quickly as he wanted.
“I’m tired, honey,” he said softly watching the lake.
I glanced down at him as I stepped outside. “You should take a nap,” I said, coming into his line of sight. “Do you need more pain medicine?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” His fixated gaze turned to mine. “I’m mentally exhausted.”
I already knew that. I saw the warning signs even before the accident. I’d seen it before. You could only keep up with this type of a lifestyle for so long before it made you slow down.
“Do you want to talk?” I knelt down beside him only to have him shake his head and pat his lap indicating he wanted me to sit with him. Taking off my boots, I slipped onto his lap carefully.
“This doesn’t hurt, does it?”
His head leaned into mine. “It’s fine. Just don’t smack my shoulder.” He let out a light chuckle, his body shaking mine.
“I miss you,” I said, knowing he understood what I meant.
“I know,” he whispered against my temple before kissing it softly. My head tucked under his chin sinking into him.
We spent a good hour out there before Jameson said he was tired and decided to take a shower before he went to bed.
The kids were with Spencer and Alley in Bristol watching the NASCAR race, which I was sure was part of Jameson’s mood swing as well.
Making my way downstairs, I heard the shower turn on and then I cried.
I must have sat in the kitchen for close to another hour when Van came by. He seemed concerned.
“Van,” I sighed handing him a cup of coffee. “I’m worried about him. I just want my husband back and right now he seems so distant.”
“Maybe after the funeral he will have some closure?” Van suggested. “When are they doing it?”
“Maybe. I guess that could help.” I said, taking a drink from my own coffee. “Axel, Spencer and Lane already spread the ashes on Grays Harbor Raceway but the funeral in Bloomington will be on Wednesday.”
We were quiet, when Van sensed I needed some advice. “I’ll tell you what I told you outside Jamestown in the hotel.” His eyes focused on me. “I don’t know if he will ever be the same. I hope that he can and I think that he will but I don’t know for sure.”
Nodding, I poured more coffee for us when Van cleared his throat. “There’s something that I need to speak to you about.”
“What?” His demeanor, his voice, the look in his dark eyes, all reminded me of the time he told me about his family and what Darrin had done to them. My blood ran cold thinking of what he could possibly need to tell me.
“It’s about Grady.” Van began, his eyes remained distant but he looked at the cup in his hands as he spoke slowly. “Jimi had come to me when the engine went missing and asked that Clint and I look into Grady. He seemed too familiar but I couldn’t place the face.” His eyes darted to mine, wide and weary. “I knew there was a connection, it was just too familiar not to be.”
“Oh God, Van!” I gasped moving away from the counter. “Please tell me he’s not related to him! Please tell me he’s not alive!”
Van caught me in his arms, his jaw clenched. “No, he’s not alive... but Grady is... his son.”
I couldn’t breathe.
The worst part, the sickening part, Jameson trusted him.
“How do you know?” My heart was pounding thinking of how close he was to our family, my kids, my husband; the place that we called home.
“Clint found his birth certificate and traced him back to Kannapolis where Darrin was from. Grady was born there to Leslie Andrews. From there, Clint found out that there was no biological father listed on his birth certificate but that Darrin had requested a paternity test on Grady Andrews three weeks before he went after you.”
“And he was the father?”
Van let go of me to lean against the counter. “Yes.”
“What are we going to do Van? What do we tell Jameson?”
“We tell him Grady was fired. We tell him I did it, he won’t question that... I don’t care what you tell him but you can’t tell him the truth right now.” Van dropped his head, his chin nearly touching his chest. “There’s more... and you might want to sit down for this.”
Right about then was when I nearly had a heart attack. Van told me everything that had been happening over the last two months. He told me that Grady had altered the welds on the roll cage in Jameson’s car and that he had intended for Jameson to get hurt. He claimed to have never touched Jimi’s car but none of us could be sure.
Van held me while I cried.
I cried for myself knowing I had nearly lost my husband. I cried for Van who had lost his family over Darrin so many years ago. I cried for Nancy having lost such a great man, a husband, a father, a legend. I cried for Jameson and him not knowing and how it would crush him to know this.
Van told me that Grady had admitted to everything and that he understood that charges were going to be pressed against him. And then he broke the last bit of news to me.
“He wants to tell Jameson himself.”
My eyes went wide. “Does he have a death wish?”
Van chuckled, his demeanor relaxing as he sat back on the stool in the kitchen. “That’s what I said but he knows what he’s done. He admitted everything as soon as Axel cornered him in the shop.”
“Axel knows?”
“Yeah, he and the boys were the first to find out when we did the inspection on Jameson’s car and found the partial welds.”
Running my hands over my face, I took in everything he was telling me and wishing it wasn’t true.
“So what happens now?”
“Well,” Van shifted his position on the chair, “now we decide if telling him ahead of time is in our best interest.”
“We can’t lie to him Van. He needs to know. If he found out from anyone besides us, it would destroy him more than it already has.”
“Okay, so we tell him tonight.” Van stood as if he was ready.
“Uh, hold up there big guy,” I held up my hand patting his overly large shoulder, “not tonight. He’s tired.”
“But we tell him soon... before Grady has a chance to.”
We agreed and Van left and I was left trying to figure out what the hell happened to our lives. Just when you think things are improving you get slapped in the goddamn face and it knocks you right on your ass again.
When I came to bed, Jameson was awake staring at the ceiling with the lights off. The broken clock next to the bed confirmed my theory that he had some reaction to his anger but just not around me.
He didn’t move when I slipped into bed, barely acknowledging I even came into the room.
The exhaustion got to me and I was asleep within a few minutes.
I woke up alone in the bed again. From my place in the bed, I could see Jameson was in the bathroom on the floor. Being as quiet as I could, I approached the bathroom for a closer look to make sure he was okay. He sat there in a pair of his boxer briefs and a bottle of Jack Daniels at his bare feet. His head rested against the tub with his legs outstretched. If I looked close enough, I could see the tears rolling down his cheeks.
It hurt me to see him in pain and that he had pushed us away because he thought we would understand. If anything, I understood completely. I may have had time to prepare when my dad was taken but it didn’t help with dealing with it.
Death wasn’t easy. It wasn’t meant to be.
I remembered feeling the way he was feeling after Charlie but I also had a new baby to take care of which was a welcome distraction. But don’t think I didn’t stay up late at night and cry for the loss that I felt.
I wanted to comfort him, take him in my arms and never let go but he didn’t want that right now. I wanted to tell him about Grady, but I couldn’t, not right now. I wanted to protect him, be his arm restraints and keep him from getting hurt.
I let him be as I always did these past few weeks because like I said, I didn’t want to push. The thing with Jameson was that if you pushed, the farther away he moved. You had to know when to say when and give him the time to say when.
The morning of Jimi’s funeral was tough. Everyone took another limo to the cemetery and Jameson and I were set to ride alone at his request.
I kept my steps light walking up the stairs knowing we had to leave soon.
And there, with his hands covering his face, sat my husband in the corner of our room next to the balcony. I saw it for the first time, something in all the years I have been by his side, that I’ve never seen before. Jameson was crying. I’ve seen tears before, but I’ve never seen him sobbing. It was hard to watch but harder to pry so I walked back into the hall and sat against the wall, crying myself.
Within a few minutes, I heard him walking across the room with his cane. He stopped in front of me eyeing me curiously, his eyes swollen and red. “Are you coming, honey?” His hand reached out for me as his chin quivered.
Nodding, I took his hand and together, though nothing was said, we dealt with the pain. We dealt with the suffering and the reality that we had to deal with. That was the hardest part. Dealing with it.
“Are you coming ...?” Lily looked down at me sitting on the floor of our apartment.
“Yes,” I whispered so my voice wouldn’t break. If she had sensed my emotion, she too might crumble as well. I had made the decision to be strong today and that I would be.
Her expression softened at the ache in my voice.
“Axel,” her fingertips traced lightly over the shape of my lips. “You don’t always have to be so strong.”
I smiled under her fingers and touched the side of her face and then her stomach. “I know. I want to be for him.”
Lily knew that today, of all days, I needed to be strong for my dad.
The rain began to fall, calming in its wet musky smell, when the limo pulled up the drive. I watched out of the corner of my eye to see the leaves dancing in the street with the subtle winds.
I sighed getting in. This was not what I wanted to be doing right now but I knew I’d be forced to attend. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. Without a shred of a doubt I wanted to pay respect to my grandpa. My problem was that I didn’t think I could handle it.
Outside of Ryder’s funeral, I had only been to three funerals in my life and I couldn’t tell you anything about them as I was too young to remember. Ryder’s funeral was different from this.
When I got out of the car at the cemetery, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
In all my nineteen years, I had never seen my dad cry, ever. I never saw him cry when my mom left him. I never saw him cry when his team plane crashed and he lost friends. I never saw him cry when Ryder was killed mere months after that plane crash.
If he had cried, I had never seen it. I have only ever seen the strong confident father that he was to me. I saw the legend make his mark in history as the driver with the fiery disposition that could rattle even the toughest individuals.
But there, under a group of birch trees, he sat on the ground dressed in all black with his head against his arms as they rested on his knees, crying; his body shaking with the sobs for the entire world to see. My dad was always good at letting his family see one side of him while the rest of the world saw Jameson Riley, NASCAR driver. But right now, he was a broken man who’d lost his father.
I knew the dangers of racing, as did he, and grandpa—he knew as well. Even though we all knew, we’d never thought it would take grandpa’s life someday.
Mom was a mess. Grandma had yet to say a word to anyone today but offered her misty smile. Casten said nothing, just stared at his feet as Uncle Spencer prepared to give his speech.
With all this going on around me, nothing compared to seeing my dad crying, my hero, the unbreakable man I’d looked up to my entire life, crying, shaking in broken sobs. He thought this was his fault and just like everything else, he took all the weight on his shoulders.
He never came to the grave. Instead, he remained in the shadows of the birch trees while my mom and I watched him. I knew mom wanted to comfort him as did I, but there was no way for us to. He had lost the greatest man he’d ever known and he had lost his hero. Whether you’re made of steel or not, that will take its toll on you.
Nothing I could say would ever make that better. Nothing anyone said would make a difference to him right now. All we could do was try to let him know we were here for him. We would be his arm restraints if he needed.
It was stupid looking back on it. None of us should have been out there, especially not grandpa.
When the last words were spoken by Spencer, mom walked over to dad and collapsed beside him, pulling him into her arms. He clutched her tightly as though his reason for breathing was her, frantically needing her closer to him. His head slumped forward against her knees as she put her hands in his hair, comforting him in a way only she could.
Arie left with Aunt Emma while Casten and I sat near the grave, watching mom and dad. You never expect to see your parents break, but when you do I guarantee you it won’t be what you expected. You look up to your parents for guidance on how to act when challenging times occur but what happens when they react in a way you’re not expecting?
“Should we go?” Casten asked softly. “It feels wrong watching him cry.”
“Yeah,” I stood motioning with my head toward the car. “Everyone is back at our house.”
The media and fans gathered at the funeral home we used in town but no one knew he wasn’t actually buried there. It was a front on our part just because in sprint car racing, Jimi was more popular than Elvis. We had to take security measures.
Casten and I left my parents there and soon afterward they left when the media intruded upon them. When they pulled in the driveway, dad got out and walked down the road that led to the sprint car shop.
Mom walked inside to greet us.
“Where’s he going?” Arie asked walking out onto the front porch where we were standing.
“He said he wants to be alone when he sees it,” Mom said softly, tears spilled down her cheeks. She reached out to hug Casten who wrapped his arms around her. “We should give him some space for now.”
We left him alone for a few hours and then I decided to go check on him. I understood how scared and angry he was and he had every right to feel that way.
He’d been out there in the shop for hours before anyone braved walking in. We knew him well enough to know it was best to just leave him alone at times like this. Luckily his shoulder would prevent him from throwing a transmission through the wall this time like he did when Ryder was killed.
He looked tired, very tired. I knew how he felt. It was hard to sleep these days.
Dad hid it well but you could tell he still felt responsible for it. He’d never let on to others though, he just said, “It’s an accident,” but I don’t think he’d convinced himself of that just yet.
When he heard the shop door click shut behind me, he looked up.
His face was that of a guilty man. Once again, he took the brunt on his shoulders. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. This was my father, the unbreakable man, the legend... crying.
He quickly brushed away the tears and cleared his throat. “Did your mom send you after me?”
“No, I sent myself after you.”
“You didn’t have to.” He stood straightening out his jacket and tie he’d pulled away from his neck. For a moment, he stared at me. His silence was a loaded weapon and seemed to be a mask behind his indifference. “We should get back anyway.”
I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t going to talk about it right now. He closed himself off.
Few people could get through to my dad … actually, only three and one was gone.
There was something that occurred to me, actually a few things, in the shop that afternoon as I sat inside his sprint car, the metal jagged mess of the car wasn’t easy to sit in. For one, after looking at my car, I knew that I was lucky to be alive.
But there was something I couldn’t bring myself to admit for a long time. It had been brewing since Ryder’s death. I was scared. And it wasn’t that I was scared on the track, the speed didn’t bother me. Neither did a wreck. What scared me was leaving my family.
That meant one thing.
I hated that, too. This wasn’t me but, then again, it wasn’t about me any longer and I finally realized that. This was about my entire family.
I steered clear of everyone inside the house, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I respected the way others dealt with death by discussing Jimi’s life but that wasn’t me. I didn’t want to talk about it.
So instead of saying something disrespectful to someone who tried to push their thoughts in my face, I made my way up to our bedroom.
Soon Sway came looking for me only to find me sitting out on the balcony drinking a beer. I had forgot how good they tasted.
“You shouldn’t be drinking with your pain pills,” Sway said stepping out onto the balcony. She smiled leaning against the railing.
I smiled back at her. “I know... but it takes the edge off.”
“Are you doing all right?”
Was I?
No, the pain of his death was real again and inside I still hadn’t gotten over it. I felt like it was my fault that he was racing that night. He shouldn’t have been. When he came to me and asked that I get a car ready, I jumped at the chance to race with my dad again.
“Talk to me, baby,” she pleaded kneeling down in front of me. Her small hands reached out for mine. “I need to know that you’re going to be okay. It’s killing me seeing you like this.”
My tearful glassy eyes met hers. “I’ve tried to forget.” I choked. “I have. But I can’t.”
“And you shouldn’t.” She looked at me, really looked at me. “But you need to realize it’s not your fault.”
When I had allowed a few people to ask about the crash, they had all asked the same question. “Do you remember?”
For the most part, my answer to that question is no. I don’t remember.
But late at night, drenched in sweat, in the flash of darkness overtaken by a restless night, I heard the accident and the blistering screech of metal on metal. I smell methanol, the sound of a sharp growl of a sprint car running lean and then the pop of it lifting. I hear yelling, by who I don’t know.
So yeah, there were times I had to forcefully stop the memory. I couldn’t take it. Mostly, it was that I didn’t want to remember. I took comfort in knowing that my mind was blocking the memories for a reason. I did understand that it wasn’t my fault.
“I know it’s not my fault, honey, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I see the crash. When I sleep, I see it. It’s just a constant reminder.”
“Like you did with Darrin?”
“Yes... exactly. It’s the same thing.”
“You moved on from Darrin... do you think you can move on from this?”
“I’m not sure but I know I have to or I’ll never get inside a car again.”
Sway didn’t say anything, just listened as she always did.
“I never imagined it would feel this way.”
“Neither did I.” She agreed climbing onto my lap, her tears wetting the side of my face.
It wasn’t just me hurting here. Everyone was suffering and if anyone understood how I was feeling, it was my wife. The woman who knew me better than anyone, the woman who protected me and kept me safe.
We ended up staying up in our room the rest of the night. It may have been rude but everyone understood. This wasn’t easy for us.
That night in bed, Sway’s hands carefully roamed over my body. Kissing along the scar I had now that ran vertically up my abdomen, she whispered against my stomach. “You’re thinking of retiring, aren’t you?”
My eyes closed. I hadn’t admitted it to anyone yet as I was still undecided. This wasn’t easy for me.
Her soft touches moved from my stomach to my left arm. “This scar here... is from when you broke your arm in Skagit.” Her voice remained soft and low as her hand moved to my arm to the three-inch long scar across my shoulder. “This one is from your shoulder surgery when you were twenty-four.”
I laid there watching her but said nothing.
“This one here,” her fingertips touched a two-inch scar above my eyebrow. “Is from when Aiden smacked you with a brake caliper six years ago for pushing him into the lake,” she laughed lightly hovering over me on her hands and knees. “And this one,” her lips touched my scalp where you could easily feel the scar from the head injury. “Is from when I nearly lost you ...” she pulled back and looked down at me, tears fell down her cheeks.
Her dark hair fell from her shoulders and onto my chest when her body pressed against mine carefully. My bones had healed but it was still uncomfortable at times. I would take the pain though, anything to feel closer to her.
“So like I know your body, I know you.”
She didn’t have to say anymore. I knew that she meant she knew I was thinking of retirement.
Gently and with extreme caution, I rolled us over so I was hovering over her. My left hand reached out to touch her neck and then slide along her jaw. My thumb traced her lower lip before I pressed my lips to hers.
“I know you do, honey.”
After the funeral and gathering at our house, we left for Elma for the memorial race. It was nice being back in Elma and around the place we called home for so many years but it was also sad.
Standing there looking over a track that had made so many racers’ lives comes true, took a few, and created legends, I knew the change that was happening in my husband.
Jameson shook his head wistfully, the twinkle in his eyes that I had always known was present as we watched Axel and his buddy Shane take a few warm up laps.
Looking at Jameson now I saw that eighteen-year-old kid fighting his way to the Triple Crown with a love for racing and a passion for a sport that he knew better than anyone ever could, including me.
You see, this was where he was comfortable. This was where Jameson was himself. And now, after Knoxville, I wasn’t so sure that connection was there any longer.
His head tipped toward the sprint cars rumbling down the backstretch.
“Those were the days that made racing what it is. Not this shit where they attempt to control outcomes, reality TV and overpowering media attention.” His eyes glanced to a cameraman not far from us. “This is where it began. It’s the reason I still race.” A frown settled over his features. “Or at least why I still want to race,”
His hand raked over the stubble of hair that had grown back, his face adapting a grave edge. “It was about the noise.” His voice faded out, a pensive protected look returned but faltered as he mumbled a phrase I knew well. “Where the clay meets the rubber,” He gave the track a regretful glance before shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walked to the pits.
Hearing him utter his father’s words of wisdom was difficult but I loved that saying. For a moment, I could actually picture Jimi, clad in his famous black racing suit, his blue eyes sparkling with aliveness when he would say to us: “Where the clay meets the rubber is where a love was formed for the Riley family.”
Now, looking at Jameson, I wasn’t sure that love survived Knoxville.
Though he wouldn’t say it, I also knew retirement was heavy on his mind.
“I think you should run the memorial lap,” I told Axel after he’d finished his heat race.
“But you’re supposed to,” he said, removing his helmet and pulling himself from his car.
I nodded with my hands remained buried in my pockets. “I know but I think you should.”
Axel didn’t question me again, he knew me well enough to know that it wasn’t up for negotiation. I didn’t feel comfortable doing it.
Over four hundred cars showed up for a two-night feature. The final night, Saturday, we did the memorial where we spread the last portion of his ashes over the track before the A-Main event.
Originally, they wanted me to make the memorial lap but I opted out of it and had Axel do it. I wasn’t sure when I would get back inside a sprint car. I knew eventually I would, but right now, tonight, it seemed fitting to have Axel do it.
Instead, I stood with our family in the infield and watched.
The double zero sprint car my dad had raced his entire career made a slow memorial lap prior to the main with Axel holding the canister of his ashes out the side of his car and then came to a rest in front of the flag stand.
Immediately it reminded me of the first memorial we had for Charlie some twenty years ago when I did this very same thing for him. Sway started crying beside me and I reached for her knowing she was thinking the same thing.
Losing your parents never gets easier.
Axel pulled the coupler out, the engine revved until the gas ran out and the car died. The crowd was completely silent as Axel sat inside the car for a few moments before loosening his belts and climbed from the car. Standing on the rear tires, he climbed on the wing and waved to the crowd.
I honestly don’t think there was a dry eye in the stands that night.
The strangest part for me was not racing. I was just as comfortable holding my mom’s hand while she finally cried. My dad had passed away nearly three months to the day and the night of his memorial was the night she finally cried for him.
And I was there to hold her.
Sometimes you have to disengage from reality just to deal with the pain because the loss is that great. Eventually though, you realize that your family, your safety net and arm restraints are there for you, holding you together when you least expected it.