Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (5 page)

Without thinking, I
slowly deepened the kiss. His right hand came up from between us, cupping the
back of my head. My mind was screaming for me to stop this. He was in no
condition to be making out right now but I couldn’t make myself do as such.

Jameson moaned softly,
his tongue dancing with my own. He tasted different, like medicine. His
movements were slow but I could tell he wanted more. I was moments away from
pulling away when he dropped his hand to mine, and then moved it to his
erection over the blanket. At least that wasn’t damaged, that would have been
fucking tragic.

Jameson groaned into my
mouth. “God Sway
...
I
need
you.”

“Jameson,” I whispered
pulling away with a grin of self-satisfaction that I could arouse him so
easily. “We can’t do that
...
in
here
...
” Thoughts of straddling him in a
hospital bed began flooding my perverted brain. Now I understood his
fascination when he was stabbed and wanting to do it in the hospital bed.

I could blame baby
hormones for that too, right?

I think he knew we
couldn’t but it didn’t stop the pout he gave me before he muttered an, “I
know.”

“Soon
...
I promise.” I pulled back away from him.
“You need to heal first.” I leaned in placing another chaste kiss on his lips.
He once again tried for more.

Both of us jumped when
the door to his room opened—Jameson winced in pain. “Fuck
...
”

“Now, now
...
that’s how you knocked her up in the
first place.” Spencer laughed at his weak joke before he and Alley barged in.

“Can’t you put him on
the do not let in list or something?” Jameson asked me quietly. His eyes
drooping even more, he was fighting to stay awake.

I realized how
inappropriate our position looked so I cautiously removed myself from the bed
albeit against Jameson’s struggles to keep me there. Eventually, he settled for
me holding his hand.

“We won’t stay long.”
Alley assured me. Jameson’s eyes were already closing. “We just wanted to say goodbye.
We have to go pick up Lane at my mom’s.”

Jameson’s eyes opened
briefly when Spencer leaned down and whispered in his ear. His mouth twisted
into a faint smile as Spencer ruffled his hair carefully.

Once they left, he fell
asleep quickly. I didn’t. I stayed vigilant of every breath, every movement and
every flicker of emotion.

When Jameson woke up
the next morning for surgery, he was grumpy.

Actually, he was
pissed. That was a better word to describe his mood. His pillows weren’t fluffy
enough, he was cold, he was uncomfortable and he was hungry. He was acting like
a goddamn child is what he was doing.

When the nurses left,
he admitted he was also incredibly horny and wanted to be alone with me, while
I gave him a sponge bath.

His words, not mine.

Believe me
...
after seeing the way pussycat doll ogled
his body during his physical exams, I was happy to be the one he was requesting
do his sponge baths.

Jameson’s biggest
concern was naturally, getting back to racing.

It was a huge relief to
hear his doctor say that he didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t be back to
racing in three weeks.

Once he heard that
news, it was all he could think about. He was anxious and impatient to get out
of here and prove he could still race after a crash like that. We were all
aware of the sheer amount of work it would take to get back out on the track
but I’d never met anyone as determined as Jameson.

When he wanted
something, he didn’t let anything stand in his way. The punctured lung
concerned him, but it was already healing nicely. He felt better when the
doctors told him that a number of professional athletes had collapsed lungs
during their careers and went on with no ill effect. The broken ribs caused him
untold amounts of pain though, especially since he couldn’t resist pushing his
limits. It was his nature.

That afternoon, after
his outburst for pretty much everything, his head turned toward me, sunlight
from the window sparking in his green eyes.

“I love you.” Jameson
whispered as I stood beside his bed. His good hand came up and touched my
stomach gently. He smiled. I ran my hand against his jaw, the clear light
coming in showed every bruise, bump and cut.

It also showed stress,
tension, and worry. His physical wounds were healing but there was something
hidden deep within him that I knew he wasn’t revealing to me or anyone. 

“I know you do.”

The days following
Jameson’s surgery for his wrist were for lack of a better description, a
cluster fuck.

It was now Wednesday
and the decision needed to be made who would step in for Jameson during the
Indianapolis race. Jameson wanted Justin West to step in. The only problem was
Justin could only make Indy without interfering with the World of Outlaws
schedule.

The doctors indicated the
hole in his lung was healing, which meant the air escaping was slowly
decreasing but he still wasn’t healed. This meant he needed to find a driver
for Michigan and possibly Bristol before he could pass the physical NASCAR
required.

His room was constantly
filled with doctors, the pussycat doll, reporters, and police detectives.
Melissa and Marcus, representatives with Simplex Shocks and
Springs
,
his sponsor in the cup series, made a visit to see how their driver was doing.
Hell even Randy, Jameson’s uncle even came by to check on his nephew.

All of this pissed
Jameson off. You’d think he would be happy all these people were there to see
him, but no, all my dirty heathen could think about was sex
...
and more importantly
...
sex with me.

Every time someone left
the room, he was back to molesting me with lingering touches, inappropriate
kisses, and constantly whispering all the naughty things he wanted to do to me.

I was in pigizzle
heaven. I was where a pigizzle went to die a blissful death, surrounded by my
dirty heathen.

I was afraid he was
going to hurt himself with the way he would pull me against him but that never
stopped him.

At one point, I even
tried threatening him. “I’ll call the nurse and have you sedated if you can’t
settle down.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he
challenged looking toward my finger wavering over the call button.

“Behave then.”

Jameson groaned
dragging his hand through his hair. “Fuck Sway
...
it’s been two goddamn weeks since I had any sort of
stimulation down there. Three if you count anything other than my own hand.”
His eyes showed panic. “I’m going to go insane.”

I giggled. “You’re
adorable.”

“Shut up.” He snapped
and continued to pout picking at his cast. “I’d settle for some micro polishing
...
?” he suggested south with a lazy nod,
letting his voice get that particular drawl to it that he knew would leave me
weak.

“Jameson, no
...
you’re
injured
...
badly.” I objected with a slight smile.
“There’s no way I’m doing anything besides kiss you while you’re in this
hospital.”

“So
...
no chance of bleeding my pressure valve
either
...
?” he gave me the sad
puppy dog eyes attempting to seal the deal.

“Jesus
Christ
...
no!”

“This is ridiculous.
I’m injured.” He roughly pointed this out as though I didn’t know. “You should
be taking care of me.”

I made a firm rule that
he needed to be discharged from the hospital before we had sex. To say I was
horny as well was a fucking understatement. My surplus hormones were out of
control, I had an oil leak that needed a new filter, desperately. Don’t think I
wasn’t ready to ask nurse pussycat for a shot of valium, because I was.

I was also moments away
from climbing on top of him and riding the shit out of him, despite the broken
ribs and punctured lung.

What was satisfied
immensely was when Jameson showed absolutely no interest in the pussycat doll
or any other nurse that snuck in to try their luck with him. And there were
many.

Tommy however, was
madly in love with pussycat and asked her to marry him on more than one
occasional. She thought he was adorable and actually gave him her number.
Crazy lunatic.
She must have liked orange heads and men with
the mental maturity of an eight-year old.

Jameson was a cranky
jerk by the time Sunday rolled around and he was forced to watch the race on
television—something he’d never done
until
now.

I actually had to leave
the room a couple times and beg the nurses to sedate him, or me, when he was
yelling so profusely at the reporters that I honestly thought he was going to
give himself a heart attack.

Everyone in the NASCAR
garage knew exactly what happened and that Darrin intended on killing Jameson
that day in Pocono but the media painted a very different picture.

They went through every
possible scenario from maybe he was testing something out on his car; maybe he
didn’t realize Jameson was on the track; to maybe Jameson shouldn’t have still
been on the track.

Bullshit
...
all of it bullshit.

Darrin Torres knew
exactly what he was doing when he pulled off pit lane and hit Jameson’s car at
approximately one hundred and seventy miles per hour.

That was not a goddamn
fluke. It was intentional.

What shut Jameson up
completely that afternoon was when they replayed the accident and he watched it
for the first time.

He was quiet for a good
hour and I think the only reason he spoke after that was because I threw up
beside his bed after watching it.

It was sickening to
see. The video footage they had didn’t show Darrin coming but instead showed
Jameson doing his burnout with his arm out the window, and then you saw a
glimpse of Darrin’s car in the smoke
...
then
this horrible metal-to-metal thunderous noise.

When the smoke cleared,
Jameson’s car rested demolished against the outside wall, the camera focusing
on his body slumped over his steering wheel.

It was one of those
horrific accidents you see in movies where you can’t believe they walked away
from it; gut wrenching is what it was.

Jameson never did make
any remarks about the accident. And knowing this boy my entire life, he
wouldn’t.

By Monday morning, Emma
was prohibited from his room after she brought in a fluffy stuffed cougar that
was practically the size of Jameson.

His response, after
making me set the cougar outside his door, “You have to be shitting me?”

Nancy was dangerously
close to being banned as well when she brought me
Burger King
.

Jameson had to sit and
watch as I wolfed down two
Whoppers
and a milk shake.

He was not so amiable
after that since his doctor said he wasn’t allowed any greasy food while he was
in the hospital. He actually contemplated kicking me out but I suborned him
with another sponge bath—worked like a charm.

The week in the
hospital flew by.

Jameson was
...
driven. Pushing himself right to the
edge and balancing precariously along it, determined to recover in time for
Bristol. But the thing was, that’s what Jameson was good at, balancing on the
edge of control, determination, anything really.

He wasn’t able to do
much at first but as the days passed, he grew more confident and it was evident
that his body was responding. He had been in excellent physical condition
before the crash, his body honed to a point most people never saw in their
lifetime, and that made it possible for him to recover at a phenomenal rate.

I knew that soon he’d
be getting back behind the wheel of a race car. I was happy for him but the
other part of me
...
the part that wanted
the father of our child around for his or her birth, was scared shitless to
have him behind the wheel again.

I don’t think anyone
can ever understand the feeling you get when you watch someone you love almost
die, right before your eyes. It’s indescribable and something I never want to
experience again but I know it
will
happen.

Besides last Sunday,
the worst crash I ever saw him get into was one at Indy when he flipped a USAC
midget seven times and landed on the guardrail. He walked away from that one
and even laughed about it when he saw the video. He was the only one laughing.