by Shey Stahl
Running back and forth between the pits and the merchandise haulers, I saw Lily walking away, her face flushed, and by the set pursed lips, I knew she was pissed. While Axel and her had spent the week at Disney World with the boys, they came back for the start of Dirt Car Nationals.
Lily and I hadn’t been very close since Jack died. Up until then, we had been. We talked all the time.
I knew where she was heading when I saw her stomping away. So I felt the need to say something, like usual.
“Don’t hurt Axel any more than he’s already been hurt.”
Lily spun around to face me, the set scowl turned, her eyes darting around the pits, never landing on mine. “I really think you just need to mind your own business.”
At first, I was taken back by what she said, shocked really, because Lily and I had always been close. And now she was pissed at me for sticking up for my brother?
I went back to the merchandise haulers where I knew I wouldn’t get myself in trouble.
Hundreds of patrons filed in and out of the concession stands, hot dogs, beer, and nachos in hand. Some stopped by the haulers to purchase hoodies, stickers, or anything to add to their experience of attending a World of Outlaws race. Sometimes I forgot what this series meant to others because it’d been my life for years. Nothing like a hyped NASCAR race, it was more laid back, the hometown heroes making it big in a way.
Around seven that night, I needed to get some food and then check on the line-ups for the feature. My phone never left my hand that night. I finally saw Hayden and flagged her down.
“Hey! Help me out for a little while. I gotta check the line-ups.”
While Hayden took over in the Outlaws merchandise hauler and Bailey running the JAR Racing one, Hayden asked where I was going—despite what I had just said—because Hayden saw through everyone’s bullshit.
At our feet, Gray tottered around tearing shirts and stickers out from the boxes like it was Christmas morning. I tried like hell to keep my focus on that and not Hayden’s questioning stare.
“You going to check on the bad boy?” Hayden asked, turning the music from the rock they had on to country and her favorite, Chase Rice. “He’s sick.”
“Who?” I didn’t know why I asked, because I knew who she was referring to. She liked to refer to Rager as the bad boy.
“The bad boy. You know who.” Hayden gave me that look with one eyebrow arched. “The boy who always tells everyone off, but stares at your ass all night. Tell him I said hello.” She winked at me, and then frowned at Gray at her feet. “Damn you, pretty girl.”
Smiling at Gray, who rolled her eyes at me and swatted my hand away from her head, I laughed lightly. “He’s sick?”
In all the time I’d known Rager, I’d never seen him sick. Not even a cold.
“Apparently, he got that stomach bug Abigale had a few days ago. He puked inside the hauler and Tommy had to clean it up.”
I didn’t say anything, but I knew that meant I’d be getting it, too.
“Yuck.”
Hayden made a revolted face. “I know, but serves Tommy right.”
“Why?”
“Because he put a snake in a truck and I got bit by it.”
Laughing, I rubbed the side of her silky black hair. “You hold grudges, don’t you?”
“Yes…”
When I made my way to the pits, dust kicked up over me in clouds, swirling in the air with each gust of wind as cars went past. My black combat boots that my stone washed jeans were tucked into had a thick layer of dust on them.
As I approached the line of JAR Racing haulers, bursts of shiny red, yellow, blue, black and green, the commotion around the pit was insane, given they’d just finished up with the heats and dash.
Beyond that, there was an intensity in the air you could literally feel. Aggression. Resentment. In front of me was my brother screaming at Shane—his best friend—and being held back by Casten.
When I approached them, with a hesitated step, I stood beside Tommy and Willie. “What happened?”
Tommy shook his head, saddened by what was happening around him and then turned to limp away. “Shane and Lily…”
Watching Tommy walk reminded me of why he limped these days. When Jack was killed, Tommy broke his leg trying to save him only to have the sprint car’s rear tire crush his leg.
“This isn’t over, asshole!” Axel screamed at Shane.
I caught onto what they were saying and the situation. “Wow.”
“I hope he doesn’t kill him.”
Willie sighed. “I wouldn’t blame him if he did.”
“Just go back to the hotel!” Dad screamed at Axel, shoving him backward as Shane walked away, his head hung in shame.
It seemed to do nothing for Axel’s anger, but something flashed in his eyes knowing that was where Lily had more than likely disappeared.
Looking around, I didn’t see Rager. Wanting to check on him, I nonchalantly asked Willie, who was standing in the pits with cutoff jean shorts, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat on with a wrench in hand. He looked like the poster child for a redneck.
“Where’s this guy?” I gestured toward Rager’s car parked outside his hauler and held up the radio in my hand like I needed him for something. Only Rager hadn’t even registered for tonight’s race.
Play it cool.
Willie was too dumb to understand that though. Thankfully. Either that or he was still trying to figure out what the hell just happened with Axel and Lily.
“In his motor home. He’s a mess.”
I wasn’t sure what to say or do, so I went by the concession stand and picked up a bottle of water and Gatorade to take to him. Then I could pretend that was my real reason. Tell him something like Lane told me to bring this to you. Lane would go along with it, had Rager asked. I was sure of that.
As I approached his black and gray motor home with the white pinstripes down the sides, my steps seemed to grow hesitant, weighted with apprehension, and it seemed any time I saw him, I had that same feeling, wondering at what point would he push me away and say, not this year. It was coming someday, right?
Wiping my palms over my dark jeans, I knocked lightly on the door. I wasn’t sure he’d even answer if he was really that sick, and after a moment, I was right. He didn’t answer the door.
My hand shook as I reached for the handle, pulling it toward me to open it. Popping open with a jolt, I stepped up the three metal steps and into his motor home. When you first walked in, dark gray carpet graced the small entryway that led to passenger and driver’s captain chairs. To the left was a small dinette set and a couch. Just feet from that was the kitchen, followed by the bathroom and then the bedroom. With the dim lighting, I couldn’t see all that well, but the bathroom light was on and Rager was laying on his back in the small hallway, groaning.
“Go away,” he mumbled, his hands clutching his stomach. “If I smell food again, I’ll fuckin’ kick your ass, Willie.”
“I just came to check on you,” I said, softly, setting the water and Gatorade down on the dinette table.
At the sound of my voice, Rager’s head snapped up and then back down when he realized how that sudden movement made him feel. “I don’t like Abigale anymore,” he groaned.
Laughing, lightly, I sat down, trying to make him feel comfortable. “I’m sure I won’t here soon either,” I teased.
It was another five minutes of him lying on the floor all sprawled out and me pouring him a glass of water before he moved to a sitting position. It was then that I noticed he was barely wearing any clothes. He’d peeled himself out of his racing suit and basically down to his underwear. Not that I minded seeing him like that, but it was a definite distraction, one I didn’t need when I felt my phone vibrating.
Jerry was trying to find me before the start of the last chance qualifier.
“I better go,” I stood, and then pointed to the water. “Drink that when you can.”
He mumbled something that sounded like a t
hank you, but then he lunged for the bathroom and vomited.
I didn’t like the idea of puking, let alone hearing someone else do it, so I left.
Of course, Dave saw me coming out of his motor home and smiled widely. I punched him in the stomach before he could offer any of his stupid advice he always felt the need to give.
ONCE THE MAIN events were done and Rager hadn’t emerged that night, I felt like someone should check on him. After all, he was really sick, right? It was what any good friend would do, right?
Was that what we were though? Good friends?
This time when I went in, he’d made progress and was on his bed watching television, sipping water.
“You look slightly better.”
“No I don’t.” His eyes had that glassy appearance to them, cheeks flushed and red. “I look like hell.”
“Yeah,” I smiled, relaxing, “you kinda do.”
“Sexy, but still, like hell.”
“Don’t push it.”
“It’s okay. It’s just me.” His mouth tugged at the corners. “We both know you want me.”
Sitting down on the side of the bed, I felt his forehead. “You have a fever.”
“Told you I was hot.”
“In a literal meaning, yes.”
“No, in every meaning.” His hands rubbed lazily over his bare, defined stomach. “You know it.” His hands raised to over his head and behind, supporting him as he looked at me now sitting on the end of his bed.
He was right. I did know it.
Fuck, stop staring at him.
I tried to remember if I’d ever been in this bed, and I hadn’t with him. I’d napped in here before, alone, but never laid down beside him. Right then, I wanted to. Call it the motherly hormones kicking in as I got older, but I wanted to take care of him and baby him. Make him soup and tea, and maybe bathe him. Okay, maybe just bathe him. I could totally be his nurse. Like outfit an all.
He seemed to have enough energy to tease, so that was a good thing. “Lane said Abigale was just sick for twenty-four hours. When did you come down with it?”
“About noon, I think. Right before we got to the track. I puked on Tommy.” His hand raised to high-five me. “Hayden said I was her hero. Can I be your hero, too?”
In some ways, you already are.
“Do you have a thermometer?”
He looked down and I should have clarified myself right then, but I didn’t because the fact that Rager had his hand on his junk was a sight I desperately wanted to see. “Here’s your thermometer. I’ll take your temperature, princess.”
I didn’t like it when Rager called me princess. It reminded me of him teasing me as a kid when everyone called me the Riley Princess.
Rager never did it to be spiteful, but the nickname princess was always thrown around. Now Abigale held the name Pretty Princess because she really was the new Riley Princess.
“Don’t call me that,” I said, smacking at his leg.
Though it was dark, the only light from the glow of the television and that ever present glow of Rager’s eyes, he knew I wasn't pleased by the nickname.
He shrugged, barely caring, or barely noticing my anger. With his hand on the remote, he turned the channel to ESPN where they had the highlights from the Nationwide race on. “So you're really missing that for this?”
My attention turned to the television. Had he done that on purpose?
“You mean missing the spotlight for something that makes me happy?”
“And what makes you happy?” He seemed honestly curious. There was some frustration to his tone, but he seemed like he was dying to know the answer as to what kept me coming back to something I’d never have. But what kept him coming back? He knew I was taken, but yet he never moved on either.
This was never just me.
“You make me happy. This place makes me happy. Is that so wrong?”
He didn’t answer me. Instead, he stared at me, the flickering of the television lighting up eyes that saw right through any bullshit line I gave him. He knew why I kept coming back to him. Because it was where I belonged all along and my heart knew that. It was drawing me toward the one thing it never wanted me to forget.
“As much as I don’t want to admit it…I’m glad you give me what you do.” Leaning forward, he bent at the waist, his hands resting on his bare knees.
Being this close to him while he was wearing nothing but his boxer briefs did nothing for my heart racing, thinking what he was going to do next.
His hands reached forward, grasping mine, and drew it forward to his leg and held it there. I thought he was going to be inappropriate, but he surprised me. “Now…can you get me that Gatorade?”
Laughing, I jerked my hand back. “Yes.”
“And what about taking my temperature? If you kissed me, you’d know if I was running a fever.”
“Then I’d get sick.” I walked into the kitchen area of his motor home and retrieved the Gatorade, bringing it back with me.
“Too late. You were with Abigale that day, too.”
“True, but I’m not as weak as you.”
Rager stopped mid-drink and stared at me. “I’m not weak.”
“When it comes to me you are.” I was only pointing out the obvious. We both were. Why else after ten years were we still dancing around the fact that the feelings we had for one another were so much more than we ever thought.
“I wouldn’t call that being weak. Moderation is for cowards.”
“What would you call it then?”
“Open wheel racing,” he spoke with intensity I never knew existed within him, eyes that marked me, claimed me in certain ways and controlled me and my thoughts. “It’s dangerous. We have some things on our side. Open brakes, cooled quickly. Lower weight, better performance. But then we have control issues. It’s like making contact with another open wheel car. Two treads moving opposite directions at the point of contact. And out power to weight ratio makes it damn near impossible to control our torque.” His hand touched the side of my face, cupping my cheek. “It’s a good thing we’re good wheelmen.”
I’d never considered our relationship in that way, in those terms, until now.
Standing, I knew I needed to leave or I would have curled up with him right then. Rager watched me. “You leaving?”
“I need to,” I said, never meeting his eyes again, the truth in his words still stunning me to the point where I knew, if I stayed, I might never leave.
Without another word, I moved to the front of his motor home, but hesitated at the door, looking back at him. He was still sitting up, watching me, the television flickering over his body. Sighing, he laid back down on the bed, his hands over his face.
Sometimes I wondered how I found myself in these situations. Now I knew.
Rager and I were completely different in most ways. I was a spitfire, full of life, tell-it-like-it-is kind of girl. I never let anyone walk all over me, and if I didn’t like you, you knew it immediately. I was also loyal, loved with all my heart I had to give.
Rager was reckless, indecisive, headstrong, slow-talking, and conservative at times. He was also an asshole who thought the world revolved around him, had a few friends and trusted one of them. Always suspicious, he said what he wanted and nothing else. He was also passionate, easy to love, had sloppy smiles and silly jokes that made me fall for him when I didn’t want to.
He also didn’t talk bullshit and never told you something just because he thought you wanted to hear it. And that was how I knew how I’d gotten myself into this mess.
Making my way back to the merchandise haulers to lock up, I saw my mom walking back from there with her phone in hand. “Where’d Axel go?”
Mom looked dejected, a slow shake to her head. Tired eyes spoke of exhaustion most would never know, but this woman handled every day of her life with poise. “Back to the hotel.”
“And Lily is there, too?”
She nodded. “I can’t believe she did that.”
> None of us could. Lily was the last person I thought would ever cheat on my brother, but then again, I’d never lost a child.
It was apparent now more than ever why Easton and I couldn’t announce the divorce.
I DIDN’T AGREE with what Lily did, and part of me knew what happened when she went into Shane’s hauler. Naturally, I was protective of my brother in a lot of ways.
Wanting to check on him when I saw him Saturday night, I waited until he was done with my dad, who he threw his helmet at.
As I approached Axel, I knew, I knew he was drunk by the flush to his cheeks and, well, the bottle he had in hand. When his hand raised to run through his hair, I saw the blood and bruises that covered his fists. He’d obviously hit a wall or two, and hopefully not Lily.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have blamed him for numbing the pain. He watched his son die. That wasn’t easy on anyone.
And his wife cheated on him last night. I understood, but he was risking his life here and that I didn’t understand.
I couldn’t believe he would jeopardize his career right now. “If Jerry sees you with alcohol in the pits, he’ll suspend you.”
“Shut up,” Axel grumbled, attempting to side step me.
Oh hell no. No one told me to shut up.
Grabbing his arm, I wasn’t going to allow that. “Stop being a dick and think. Just go back to the hotel and take the night off.”
“I don’t need your goddamn advice, Arie. You’re married.” Of course he went there. If anyone hated what was going on with me, it was Axel because now he was seeing it first-hand. Only he didn’t know a damn thing about Easton and I now. At this point, I was sure he wouldn’t have cared. “Have you forgotten that? I haven’t. He hasn’t.” Axel gave a nod to Rager, who had been watching all of this with a stone set glare on my brother. “But yet here you are hanging around a dirt track every night because you can’t make up your fucking mind on who you want, your husband or Rager’s dick,” Axel barked, in what felt like a rush of words with heavy breathing. Pausing, his hands rubbed over his face, blinking rapidly against the dryness of his eyes. “Stop fucking with his head.” He pointed in Rager’s direction, but I didn’t bother looking at him. “Don’t make him believe there’s something when there’s nothing.”
