by Shey Stahl
He knew that was true now.
When we were on the track and climbing off the four-wheeler, he stopped me, his hand on mine, fingers ghosting over the back of my hand. “You know where to find me if you want full throttle. I wouldn’t stop until my name was branded on your pussy.”
Say what?
Fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever said to me.
How could he do this to me? Make me shiver and shake with words, obsess over them until they were all I heard, wrapped around my brain to contemplate and wonder why I couldn’t get him off my mind.
That was his way of making me see there was way more to this than simply dirty talking, because anything he said was ingrained in every part of me, like the blood in my veins.
RAGER ENDED UP winning the feature event that night with Axel a close second. And though he was fresh off a win, I couldn’t forget his words earlier before the race. What I wouldn’t give to have his name on my pussy, as dirty as that sounded. Because when it came to Rager, I wanted anything he would give.
Though it was his birthday that night, Rager didn’t want to go out. He never wanted to celebrate his birthday. But I think the only reason he did was because the guys gave him so much shit over being old; he went out to prove them wrong. He certainly wasn’t old. But I think turning thirty next year was weighing on him.
“I got you something,” I told him in the confines of the hauler that night after they’d loaded everything up and I was looking for my hoodie.
“Why?” he asked, never looking at me, his eyes on his phone in his palm.
“It’s your birthday.”
“It’s just a day.”
I shook my head and handed him the helmet I had painted for him with the Bumble Bee Transformer on the back of it. The joke this year was his sprint car looked like a Transformer being black and yellow with the Solar Seals logo on it and the color scheme. Rager had always liked Transformers, maybe it was the kid in him, but the design stuck and Dad ended up securing the rights to use it with the paint scheme for ten races.
“Happy Birthday.”
Rager didn’t look at me—maybe in fear—when he reached for the helmet and stared at it. My eyes landed on my shaking hands, and when I looked up again, he was closer than I was expecting, almost touching me and looking at me with sad eyes.
“Why did you do this?” he asked. I felt the words in my fluttering stomach. His tone was rough like my present to him hurt.
How could I not? It didn’t matter that it cost money to do it, or that it was for him. It was that I gave him something. I showed him how much I cared.
“I care for you,” I told him quietly as I looked over his shoulder at nothing. Simple words that meant the world, but seemed silly to repeat to someone like him.
Rager moved his head, tipping it until he caught my sight within his. “Did you do it because you wanted to, or felt the need to?”
“Wanted to.”
His heated stare dropped to the helmet in his hand, knuckles that slowly ran over soft skin a few nights ago, tensed, white and waiting for this to change.
“You’re making this so much harder,” he said, turning his back on me, but taking the helmet with him.
Say something to him! Tell him you’re not with Easton. He won’t turn his back on you.
The thing was, if I told him and he didn’t say anything, then what?
AS THE DAYS past me by on the west coast, most people probably thought I was some kind of head case. Here I was, married, never saw said husband, and controlled by another in ways I couldn’t even begin to describe.
Days turned into weeks, and before I knew it, nothing had changed and here it was late May and I wasn’t sure I could make it another six months for the divorce to be final before I caved and told everyone. Especially Rager.
It was everything I could do to keep up the act.
After Calistoga, I flew to Tennessee to watch Easton at Bristol.
Being around him and everything that went with NASCAR wasn’t easy. It was clear that lifestyle wasn’t for me anymore. The more I was away, the more it didn't appeal to me. In reality, I was two different people.
The girl with cut-off shorts, dirt in her hair, and flip-flops one weekend, and the one wearing designer clothes and make-up the next.
And Easton, I hardly recognized him these days. He looked like he’d stepped off the cover of GQ and into the world of professional motor sports. Everything he wore looked expensive right along with his neatly trimmed beard and aviator sunglasses.
Around him was an endless swarm of women, regardless of my presence. Didn’t matter if his arm was around me, women flocked to him.
More importantly, she flocked to him. The Victoria’s Secret model, Genevieve Paris, who Easton filmed the sunglass commercial with.
Her name sounded like an exotic island. And she looked like one too. Long dark legs, jet black hair with brown eyes, olive skin…I had absolutely nothing to compete with when it came to her. Why she was at a NASCAR race was a little concerning, too. Was she there to check out her stomping grounds? Was she there to be with Easton?
The way he looked at her made my stomach sick. It reminded me of seeing Rager with the blonde in Vegas and knowing I had no right to feel this way.
We wouldn’t be married much longer, and I had no say.
I watched them, the quick encounter where she hugged him and his arms snaked around her tiny waist as he pulled her to his chest. I breathed in and held his stare on her as lips I used to kiss twisted into a wide smile.
I couldn’t hear anything they were saying to each other as I was a good twenty feet away standing in the paddock with Kyle, but it seemed almost intimate.
Excusing myself, I offered Kyle a watery smile and took off back toward the drivers’ compound. I didn’t want to get emotional about seeing that, but it seemed I was constantly on the verge of tears.
I had stopped taking the ovulation pills in January when Easton and I separated. For some reason, I still felt like they were affecting me both emotionally and physically. Not only did I feel like crying a lot, ovulating wasn’t something I enjoyed. I seemed to have a week a month where it looked like someone blew their nose in my panties.
It wasn’t attractive if you asked me. It was disgusting.
I caught Lexi in her motor coach with Wyatt and Willow, looking at them like she just wished they’d sleep. Wyatt was walking around now, and Willow was lying in her little donut sucking on her own hand.
And Lexi, she looked exhausted.
“How’s mom life?” I asked as I sat down on the couch next to her.
“Exhausting,” she moaned, leaning back against the leather couch. “And so is being a sister to Cole.”
“What’s up with him?”
“He’s in a lot of trouble.”
Everyone knew Cole was fucking up lately, but none of us knew the extent. “He borrowed some money from the wrong people. But don’t tell him you know.”
“Okay…”
Assessing me, her perfectly tweezed eyebrows scrunched, I knew what was coming next. “Where have you been lately?”
“Do you think Easton has changed?” I asked, trying to avoid where I’d been. She didn’t need to know I’d spent the last few months with Rager and that Easton and I were separated. Lexi couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.
“Yes,” she said with no hesitation and reached for Willow when she started crying.
“So it’s not just me?”
“Nope. The moment they crowned him champion two years ago, he hasn’t been the same.”
I think Lexi understood more than I gave her credit for when she gave me the same look everyone else did. “Are you okay?”
I stood. “I’m fine. I’ll catch up with you in a little bit.”
She said nothing more as I walked out and across the drivers’ compound to where Easton had the motor coach parked. He was in there, alone, staring at his phone.
“Do you like her?” I wanted to know
, so I asked, and never indicated who I was referring to.
He let out a bitter laugh and set his phone on the space beside him. “I’m only doing a commercial with her.”
See, he knew who I was referring to. Didn’t even need to say her name.
Sitting across from him on the matching leather couch, I returned the same bitter laugh. “I don’t think that’s all.”
His brow rose as he licked his bottom lip, his focus on his phone again when it chirped with a message. With his attention back on me, he squinted, as if trying to make out the scene in front of him. “I don’t know what else to tell you, then.”
My vision threatened to blur with tears but I wouldn’t let it, blinking rapidly on the onset of the sting. I wouldn’t give in this time. Not over this. “Tell me the truth, Easton.”
He threw his hands up and stood in front of me. “When are you going to stop making me out to be the bad guy here?”
“When you stop acting like one.”
“Oh, spare me the fucking bullshit.” He snorted, annoyed. “And you know, this thing where we are constantly blaming the other one is getting really old.”
“Then accept the fact it’s both of us and not one or the other.”
He looked confused at first, like I’d slapped him in the face. “I did!” His voice was sharp and accusing. “I told you that in the beginning.” His cold eyes, eyes I didn’t know, glowered at me, held my stare longer than I should have allowed him to.
“I can’t keep doing this with you,” I told him before I walked out.
You could only keep something to yourself for so long before you needed to say it. I wasn’t sure I ever intended on telling Rager about Easton and I being separated.
I would say if anything, it might come out by accident.
Tire Grooving - Another way to dissipate heat and improve a sprint car Tire's grip is by grooving the tires. Tires are grooved with special tools which heat up and slice their way through the tire’s tread. Large tread blocks can be grooved into smaller blocks, the more blocks the better the cooling efficiency of the tire as well as creating more edges for the tire to grip on. More tread blocks also assist with “tread cleaning,” meaning that any dirt that may build up on the tire is channeled out.
WORKING FULL-TIME with the Outlaws made the months pass in a blur. Literally. I felt like I looked around, blinked, and it was June.
Rumors started to fly after my outburst in Bristol because I didn’t stay for the race. Easton was left constantly defending our relationship to the media. After the commercial with him and Genevieve was released, it was evident he and the model had chemistry.
The first time I watched the commercial, I didn’t think much of it. Luckily, I hadn’t seen it on television but on YouTube when Casten showed it to me while we were at Knoxville in the middle of June, about a month after the commercial had been out. I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it, but my reality for wanting to keep this a secret was pretty much nonexistent after seeing it.
In the opening scenes of the minute long commercial, it had Easton driving an old Ford Mustang like my dad’s car, wearing those same aviator sunglasses he always wore supporting his sponsor. He looked good, hair slicked back artfully, set scowl under the glasses by the way his brows strained together, one hand on the wheel with the window down.
It cut to him getting out of the car and walking down a street. Then you saw the model, Genevieve, in a bathing suit looking like something out of those Victoria’s Secret swimsuit ads, near a pool and Easton watching her while drinking.
It was like some scene out of a movie as she went underwater with the glasses on and then came back out, all the while Easton watched her, his eyes focused on her. My heart was pounding thirty seconds into the commercial because now I had something to go on. Regardless of it being acted out, did he feel something for this girl? And then again, why did it bother me so much?
It then cut to a scene where Genevieve was walking away and Easton was following her, close behind like some kind of stalker, but she knew he was there, turning back every few moments to make sure he was following her. My heart gave me a punch when she reached back, their hands barely touching and then they parted, going separate ways.
It then went to the two of them getting dressed up, separately, still wearing the glasses and then her coming into his room as he was buttoning his shirt. He turned, looking over his shoulder, the gentle curve of his lips and the smile he gave her lit up her face.
And then it had them meeting together, finally kissing.
My heart sped at the sight, stabbing at my chest and sending a prickling sensation through my veins. His hands cupped her cheeks like they did when he kissed me. There was meaning behind the kiss no doubt. Easton wasn’t an actor. He had to have put a lot of himself into that to get that across, right?
The last scene in the commercial was them together, his arm around her in the same car he pulled up in with them driving away.
Seeing that was like a punch to my gut.
Our marriage was officially over, if I had doubt it before.
“Had you seen that before?” Casten asked, reaching for his helmet beside him.
I didn’t look up. “No.”
Easton and I hadn’t spoken much since Bristol, and part of me wanted to call him and tell him I’d finally watched the commercial. For the longest time, he would ask, “Have you watched it?”
I knew now he was testing me. He knew exactly what I would think about it.
Part of me didn’t care either. What I did wonder about was if this girl thought he was available. Had he told her we were getting a divorce?
I didn’t know much about Genevieve Paris, but after seeing the commercial, I googled her.
I had to.
As the cars went onto the track for hot laps, I sat in the pit bleachers with my sunglass down fucking googling a girl who was potentially sleeping with my husband.
My first search came up with a Wikipedia article on her along with a picture of her strutting down a runway.
Paris was born on October 11, 2007 in Los Angeles, California and grew up with her parents, actor Lonny Paris and Playmate of the month, Ava Andie.
Okay…so she was from money and younger than me. Jesus. Funny thing was, though I was obsessing over this, did I really care that much?
Not like I thought I would.
WHEN WE LEFT Knoxville, everyone flew home until Thursday when we needed to leave for Grand Forks, Michigan.
As soon as I arrived back at our house in Mooresville, I searched through Easton’s stuff like the nosy wife I felt like. I was looking for any indication that he was seeing her. It was clear he wasn’t at home much given the lack of clothes in his closet.
When I couldn’t find anything, I watched the video again and immediately thought of Rager. The entire commercial was directly related to a man obsessing over a girl he couldn’t have, watching her, and then finally taking her.
Rager and I avoided one another most of the time. We both knew where it would lead, had we not. The last real conversation we had was that night in Vegas. The last time I kissed him was in Vegas too. I wasn’t lying when I said the dynamic of everything in and around racing had changed for our family. The tension, the guilt, regrets, lack of words, it seemed to all come to a head that summer.
Axel had finally apologized to me for his remarks and it seemed we were on the mends. Only I wasn’t inside because here I was living a lie while my family was coming clean and healing.
Sitting back on the couch, I looked up at the ceiling. “Now what?”
Now what?
Call my mom?
Cry?
Drink?
Yes. Excellent idea. Drink. It was the answer for any Riley family member. We drank pain away.
Sighing, I laid back against the couch and grabbed the remote with the tequila from the liquor cabinet. Didn’t need limes or salt.
As I sat there, my phone chirped. Part of me wondered if it was Easton knowin
g I’d seen the commercial when I sent him the link in a message that said: Interesting.
That was two days ago, and he had yet to reply. He knew all right.
It wasn’t Easton, though. It was Bailey.
Bailey: Come over. I'm bored and the kids are asleep. Keep me company.
Me: Ok. Coming over.
Strolling through my messages, I opened the one I sent Easton and saw that he did reply, this morning and I must have missed it.
Easton: It was just a commercial.
Me: Didn’t appear that way. I sent back, still pissed over the video I saw.
He replied instantly, seeming to have his phone right beside him. At least I knew his hands weren’t busy tonight.
Easton: We were just acting. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.
Me: Well then…you’re a great actor. Maybe you should give up racing.
Easton: It’s over between us. I don’t know why you keep bringing this shit up.
Me: You’re absolutely right. It is over!
Throwing on a tank top and jean shorts instead of my bra and underwear, I made the half-mile walk up the road to Lane and Bailey’s house. It was nice living on my parent’s property. Didn't have to worry about someone kidnapping me, because who the hell would break into this place? No sane person for sure.
Lights lined their stone driveway leading up a long path to their bright red door that stood out against the modest light gray home.
It seemed a lot of us lived on my parent’s property now, cousins, aunts, uncles, hell even Tommy. Everyone but Axel. Since Jack passed away, I wasn't sure he would stay away much longer. It had to be hard to live in a house where Jack had grown up.
The wind picked up a little more by the time I was on the porch, the smell of rain and humidity in the air. The weather report was calling for severe thunderstorms, later, but so far it was clear.
When I reached the front door with the galvanized metal “R” on the front, Bailey opened it immediately, having seen me approach on their security camera. “Don’t knock. You’ll wake Sawyer.”
Laughing, I stepped inside and tiptoed across the entryway to their family room. Lane and Bailey’s house was modern with sleek features. Lots of black and gray with black furniture and stainless steel appliances. It was comfortable and cozy. Thick light gray carpet wrapped around the darker; textured tile of the entryway and kitchen. Though the color scheme was dark, everything felt open and light with large floor to ceiling windows lining the wall that overlooked their pool.
