Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (75 page)

Window Net – This is a
woven mesh that hangs across the driver’s side window to prevent the driver’s
head and arms from being exposed during an accident.

Living with Jameson was
...
difficult.

The only person I’d ever
lived with was Charlie and those two couldn’t have been more different. Jameson
was constantly leaving his clothes everywhere, shoes in the oddest places and I
don’t think he understood where the garbage was or that we had one. I even went
as far as making a sign that said, “Hello, I’m the garbage can.”

Didn’t work, he still
set his empty beer bottles on the counter and trash on the counters. I didn’t
understand, even Lane, Jameson’s nephew, at three, put shit in the garbage but
my husband at twenty-three, couldn’t. Honestly though, Mr. Jangles kept his
litter box tidier than Jameson did our kitchen.

I’ve always wanted to
have a huge family dinner. Now clearly, I wasn’t rational when I had the idea
that this would all go smoothly. I must have been high as shit. What happened
that evening was hard to describe.

After we arrived home
from the small honeymoon and the NASCAR Championship awards banquet, Jameson,
my NASCAR Winston Cup series champion husband, assured me the real honeymoon
would come after the baby was born and we could really have some fun. The
naughty wizard in me, my new nickname for myself, was envisioning broken
furniture and clothes hanging from ceiling fans—the good ole Pit Lizard days
before I looked like a whale. Being eight months pregnant, I thought I would
never see my feet again let alone my size four jeans.

Once at our home on
Summit Lake, I decided I wanted everyone together for Christmas. I also decided
to have this whole Christmas dinner disaster without Jameson’s knowledge. Nancy,
Jameson’s mom, offered to help, as did Alley, his publicist and sister-in law.
So I thought no problem, right?

Wrong again.

It started when I
convinced Jameson we needed to drive to Olympia the day before Christmas Eve
and go to Bed Bath and
Beyond
so I could actually get
dishes for cooking with. That was one necessity our home was not stocked with.
We were currently eating off paper plates with plastic forks.

His response, “I don’t
think so. I have no desire to go to a Bed or Bath
...
or whatever else they sell. What the hell does the beyond
part stand for?”

Ignoring him, I
continued. “I need dishes.” I told him sitting next to him on the couch as he
flipped through the channels. “This house has nothing in it.”

“That’s not true,” he
took another drink of his beer, nodding his head toward the kitchen. “There are
paper plates in there.”

“I need dishes for
Christmas dinner.”

His head slowly turned
toward me, his facial expression was hard to read but it was something similar
to the time I told Charlie, my dad, to take a flying fuck when I was thirteen
because he wouldn’t let me pierce my nipples.

“Why?” he finally asked
with a sour edge.

“
EveryoneiscomingoverforChristmasdinner
,”
I blurted out as fast as I could and began to run away but was quickly stopped
by a death grip on my wrist.

“Come again, Sway?” his
eyes narrowed. “For a second there I thought you said everyone is coming over
for Christmas dinner.”

I swallowed. It was as
though I was trying to swallow over a boulder in my throat. “I did.”

He was silent. No
words, nothing, just stared at me, his expression tense, fixated and frankly,
it frightened me. I was also almost certain he wasn’t breathing.

I felt the need to
explain and then when that didn’t work
I
did what any
normal knocked up woman would do. I cried.

“
Shhh
...
shhh
...
it’s okay honey.” He soothed rubbing my
arm and then swiftly pulled me against his chest when it became apparent that
the tears wouldn’t end without some sort of physical assistance. “I just
...
don’t like my family that much. What would
make you think I would want them all at our house, at the same time?”

I cried some more. “I
just want everyone together before they aren’t anymore.” I wailed in a
childlike way.

That did him in. He knew
right then I meant Charlie and agreed to my plan, with a stipulation. “If those
fucking twins spill anything—I’m shutting the entire operation down.”

After my break down, we
made our way to town for materials and maybe even some drugs for my husband. I
wasn’t sure there was any other way to control him if we had both our families
together.

“What the fuck is
that?”

“It’s a
...
actually
...
I have no clue. Let’s go find the plates.” I begin walking
away from the kitchen gadgets and toward the dishes while Jameson threw his arm
around my shoulder.

We were shopping like a
normal husband and wife and it was nice. Aside from the occasional second
glance at Jameson, most everyone was leaving us alone. Having just won the
series championship in his rookie season, there was no shortage of recognition
anywhere we went.

“Plates
...
yes,” Jameson smiled. “
...
hey look
...
beds. How clever with the name and all,”

“Get off that, it’s for
show only.” I started to look around the store to see who was watching.

“No they’re not. Why
else would they put them out here but for testing?” His eyebrows waggled.

“I don’t think so
sport, get up.” He only sprawled out further. “They’re for show only.”

“Come over here.” His
voice was dripping with sex, sex that I desperately wanted. These last few days
I had turned him down just because I was so uncomfortable.

“No, I’m not getting
into trouble.” Even though the thought of a quick qualifying lap on that bed,
in public, was incredibly enticing, I did not want to go to jail and become
someone’s bitch. First-of-all, I didn’t need any more tattoos and second, I
wouldn’t look good with a buzz cut.

“
Wife
...
I think given the terms in which we are
here
...
you should be nicer to
me.” He hedged reaching for me.

“
Husband
,” I
yanked him up by his shirt. “We’re here for dishes.” We didn’t get up and
eventually started making out on the show bed.

“Excuse me,” a timid
voice whispered beside us. “I’m going to have to ask you to get off the bed.
It’s for display only.”

I looked over my
shoulder to see a tiny red haired girl smiling down at us, her innocence
radiating in her flushed appearance.

“See
...
I told you.” I muttered. Jameson gave
the young girl a lopsided grin, trying to earn her forgiveness with his looks.
I slapped him on the side of the head. “Let’s go champ.”

He groaned but
followed. Eventually we settled on some new dishes and cookware. It came in
handy to share a brain at times—it meant that we agreed on almost everything
that went into our house. I say almost because Jameson refused to let me paint
the baby’s room a soft blue. He seemed to think he needed something a little
more manly. We settled on a tan color.

“Now
...
I need to go to the grocery store.”

“I don’t think so.” He
told me putting the bags in the Expedition. “I hate grocery stores.
Too many people in them.”

“Fine,” I smiled. “I
can go by myself.”

“I don’t hate it that
much. “

Whew, I’m getting good
at this!

After the grocery
store, we picked up Lane so that Alley and Spencer, Jameson’s older brother,
could finish their Christmas shopping. I also think this was their plan to get
us some parenting experience. I didn’t feel the need to inform them of what
happened to Logan’s hamster Blubber. No one needed to know about that homicide
as I was never formally charged with anything. After all, the little fucker was
dead before I found him that way.

Lane never stopped
talking—I was actually a little worried that he hadn’t taken a breath on the
way home.

“I’m hungry.” He
announced when we walked into the house tossing his coat over his shoulder.

What should I feed him?

What does one feed a
three-year old? What do you even feed babies? I really need to do some
research.

I reached for Jameson’s
favorite, blueberry pop tarts. You can’t go wrong with pop tarts,
or
can you?

“What’s pop tart?” Lane
asked, appearing by my side.

Jameson lifted him up
onto the counter while we both stared at him, confused.

How could a kid not
know what a pop tart was?

“What’s a—” I was in
shock.
“You poor child!”
I pulled him into a hug. “What
kind of world are we living in when parents don’t feed their kids pop tarts?” I
grabbed his chubby little cheeks and squeezed, his adorable pink lips pushed
together. “Please tell me you’ve at least had ego waffles?”

I let go so he could
speak.

“Duh
...
uncle
Jay eats those all the
time.”

Jameson smiled ruffling
his hair. “They’re fucking delicious, that’s why.”

“Jameson!” I gasped. We
really needed to work on this language issue we were having. “You better hope he
doesn’t repeat that around Alley.” I whispered to Jameson handing the toasted
pop tart to Lane.

“You know
...
” Lane began, his eyes twinkling with
mischief. “I not say if you give me something.”

I still found it
adorable when he missed words.

“Wow,” Jameson laughed.
“He learned younger than Spencer and I did.” He then pulled out a dollar out of
his wallet. “Will that work?”

Lane’s eyes gleamed as
he took the said
dinero
from him. “Yep,” and then he
jumped off the counter, pop tart in hand.

A few hours later after
we got everything put away, Jameson was keeping Lane busy as I prepared
everything for tomorrow’s festivities when I heard our doorbell ring.

I was not at all
prepared for who was at the door.

“Look Jameson,” I swung
the door open both annoyed and concerned.  “
...
our
neighbors
came over to welcome us to the
neighborhood
.”

Jameson appeared around
the corner with Lane on his back.

“Oh really, who—” he
stopped mid step when he saw Dana Sloan, his harmless but peppy stalker fan,
standing there with Cooper Young, a guy I slept with in high school. Let’s just
say neither one of these people he wanted to see.
Ever.

“You have to be
shitting me?” Lane reached around Jameson’s shoulder and held his hand out.

“Nope, not shitting
you,” I smiled at Dana. “They made cookies. We can eat them later.”

He gave me a “hell no”
look but nodded.

“How long have you two
lived next door?” I asked, trying to mask my discomfort with the entire
situation.

“Oh, we just moved in
about a month ago.” Dana beamed. “We’re just renting for now but we’re hoping
to buy it now.” You couldn’t miss the meaning behind that.

“How long do you plan
on living here?” Dana asked and then began talking about something else and
then back to another one. She was all over the place. You couldn’t keep up with
the speed in which her mouth was moving. “You didn’t answer
...
how long do you plan to live here?”

“We didn’t say.”
Jameson replied. That was all he said.

We stood there in
awkward silence before I decided to fill it. “So we were just leaving.” I
hinted reaching for my coat.

Jameson had quickly
disappeared but Lane was now counting his money on the kitchen stool.

Goddamn him, he left me
alone with these assholes.

“Well, we were just
about to head out so
...
” my voice faded again
hoping they’d take the hint. We weren’t really going anywhere but I had to get
them to leave somehow.

“Okay
...
I made you some cookies.” Dana pushed a
plate of chocolate chip cookies toward me. “I know they’re Jameson’s favorite.”

They weren’t. Everyone
that knows Jameson knew that oatmeal raisin is his favorite cookie.

“
Mmm
...
yes
...
he can’t get enough of those
chocolate
chip cookies
.” I emphasized the chocolate chip cookies part rather loudly
for no particular reason at all.