Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (31 page)

When I was a child, I
had this fantasy of what my life would be like. I imagined there would be the
perfect white wedding dress, a prince charming that’d carry me to some huge
castle with a dragon
who
guarded me at night. I
remember believing in all the magically mythical beings that were scripted in
those stories.

I believed all that
shit was true with every fiber of my being. I was a kid. But eventually I grew
up and one day I realized the stories were full of shit. Actually, Charlie
informed me all that was just bullshit. Fairytales don’t exist. But when you’re
a little girl who grew up without a mom, it’s hard to let go of that fairytale
entirely because I still believed that maybe it would come true for me. I hoped
something in my little world would go my way.

Believing in something
is a funny thing because when you’re least expecting it, it shows up in ways
you never imagined it would.

The castle turns out to
be an unfinished house and the prince charming turns out to be a dirty heathen
with anger issues.

Happily ever after
isn’t important.

What’s in front of you
is. Happy right now it what’s important.

Before we could make it
inside the house on Lake Norman, I was suddenly whirled and pressed against the
door by a very intense Jameson. His eyes burned into mine as he pressed against
me, his hips strong,
his
hands wildly impatient. One
wild hand slid down my leg, grasped my thigh and hitched it around his hip. I
moaned at his touch, overwhelmed. Once inside our unfinished house, I was
speechless.

Like I said, in a
simple gesture, sometimes people can take your breath away.   

The living room had
been transformed into something out of a fairytale. The empty house was ablaze
with candles, bathing the dark room in a soft warm glow. The windows and French
doors were open, allowing the warm summer night air to swirl throughout the
house. The smells of fresh cut grass, flowers and my Jameson next to me flooded
my senses making me light headed. If I listened closely, I could hear the
rippling of the lake and the water slapping the deck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I let him go as slowly
as he wanted, patiently watching him with a small smile when he got to my
midsection and carefully explored the hard, subtle bulge with his lips and
hands, rubbing it tenderly. And just as I’d hoped, our little spaz nudged
Jameson’s hand.

His head shot up, his
eyes widening.

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

Tears slipped down my
cheeks, “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

I felt like squealing
with excitement.

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it.”

“Yes Jameson Riley, I
will marry you.”

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

My
happy right now.

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

10.
        
Dry
Slick – Sway

Dry Slick – This is a
term given to a dirt track when all the moisture is gone and the track has
dried out creating a condition where the cars are loose. In turn drivers will
describe the sensation as driving on ice.

“I want to be a pit
lizard.”

“No, dad, you’ve got
that term confused.” My attention drifted back to the track as we watched
qualifying for the truck race on Thursday afternoon.

“I don’t? I want to be
a groupie and have fun.”

“That’s not a pit
lizard. That’s, well, it’s complicated.”

“Well uncomplicated it
for me,” he said as he poured whiskey from a flask into his plastic cup of
coffee. I had a feeling grandpa Casten was behind the flask. “What is a pit
lizard?”

I explained the
difference. He understood or at least he pretended to with lots of nodding.

But then he replied
with, “Well I’m not that easy and I won’t follow one of those kids around. But
I will follow those
RedBull
girls.” He took
off in the other direction with who I thought I’d never see here at a NASCAR
track, grandpa Casten.

Right about the time I
was going to sneak back to the driver’s compound and make a sandwich, Spencer
rolled up in the golf cart. “Have you seen Jameson?”

I pointed toward the
track and kept walking. Though the golf carts were nice with how spread out
these tracks were, my fat ass needed some exercise.

“Oh well shit, let’s go
squirt.” He motioned with a nod for me to get in with him by patting the seat.

“Where are we going?”

“Food,” Spencer’s
eyebrow arched, his blue eyes amused. “Don’t tell me you’re not hungry?”

I couldn’t lie. I was
starving.

We planned on just
grabbing some track food but when Jameson was done qualifying, Charlie and
grandpa Casten had gotten kicked out of the garage area for wearing sandals so
we were all starving. So we left and decided to get dinner in downtown Atlanta.

“Triple header this
weekend, Jay?”

Jameson paused by the
Expedition when we saw his grandpa smiling at him. “Is grandpa coming?”

“Yeah,
why?”
I pushed him forward by kicking his ass with my knee. “Let’s go, I’m hungry!”

“I’m not going if he’s
going,” was his immediate response.

“Hey jerk, I’m standing
here.” Casten kicked his shin.

“Is it too late to ask
him not to come?”

“Yep,” Casten clapped
his hands together with a smile that I recognized as trouble. “You’re stuck
with me kid.”

“Great,” was Jameson’s
final, but annoyed,
answer.

Grandpa Casten wasn’t
exactly the best company in a public restaurant but I was willing to risk it
for food at that point. It wasn’t hard to get Jameson in the car once I told
him I’d offer a little micro polishing once back at the track. 

I had a feeling that,
after lunch with his grandpa, and on a triple header weekend, he was going to
keep me to my promises.

Dry Slick – Jameson

Sway and I didn’t have
time to celebrate our proposal nor did I have much time to focus on anything
other than racing the following weekend in Richmond.

Richmond International
Raceway was a ¾ mile D shaped track located in Henrico County Virginia.

I decided I needed more
seat time to get back in the groove of racing, or maybe it was to take my mind
off everything. Regardless of the reasoning, I took Tate up on his offer to
race his truck in the NASCAR Craftsman truck series on Thursday night and his
Busch car on Friday followed by the usual cup race on Sunday. I barely had time
to breath.

That weekend was the
first time I’d raced a truck though. They were extremely different from the
stock cars in their weight, body style, and horsepower. They weighed 3400
pounds, without driver and fuel; had four speed manual transmissions and around
650 to 700 horsepower.

I had a blast in it and
would probably be begging Tate to get in it again.

The only problem I had
with the triple header, besides the obvious lack of time with my new fiancée
and lack of sleep, was not being around my usual team.

Tate already had a crew
for both teams so I was basically a driver for hire. Aiden spotted for me
though. I didn’t know Chris
Leddy
well enough to
trust him when he said, “All clear.”

Every time I turned
around that weekend, I was inside a car. For a guy like me, that was awesome,
but it was draining as well.

The truck race went
good and I was impressed to see that I finished third.

Then came the Busch
race, and that went well too with a second place finish.

But when Sunday rolled
around, the shit hit the fan again.

“Cautions
out,” Aiden announced about a hundred laps into the Chevy Rock & Roll 400.

The sun had finally set
leaving the track lit by lights. It was the second night race in the last two
weeks and tempers were flaring. And I wasn’t the only one amped up tonight.

Tate and Andy, two
teammates, were battling for the lead when Andy pushed up the track on him. It
sent Tate into the wall coming into four. He wasn’t happy and made that known
which brought out this last caution.

“What changes do you
want?” Kyle asked.

I thought for a moment.
We qualified eighth for the race and we were currently running fifth but
something seemed to be missing.

“I’ve got good grip but
it’s loose in three and four at times.”

We ended up taking four
tires, a wedge adjustment and changed the splitter.

“Watch that hose!”
Masen called out gesturing toward Ethan in front of the car trying to catch the
tire that rolled from Brady
Hewbert
, our front tire
changer.

Brady slipped on the
hose and then yanked it backwards slapping the official in our pit with it.

“Shit,” Kyle barked
tossing the clipboard. “Pay attention!” he yelled toward the crew and then gave
me the go ahead.

I battled for position
off pit road with Steve Vander and Bobby.

“Come back in.” Kyle
told me as the pace car led us down the backstretch. “They called a stop and go
on us.”

They nailed us not only
for the hose but a tire violation too after Brady rolled the right front to the
wall instead of carrying it. That sent us to the rear on the re-start.

“Jesus, we can’t catch
a break,” was all I said in relation to the call.

I’m sure Kyle didn’t
need me adding to the noise already going on between him, Mason, and my dad.