by Shey Stahl
“Brody was at that race.” Easton didn’t look away from me as he spoke, no, he couldn’t. He wanted to see my reaction to what he said next. “He saw you leave and you know, he was willing to tell his friend that his wife was with another man.”
Wife? Now he wants to call me his wife?
“It’s funny to me that you want to call me your wife now…with her here…” I put my hand on my hip and raised my other hand to tap my index finger to my lips. “But you know, it has me thinking…I guess sleeping with her wouldn’t classify as seeing her, huh?”
We were both accusing, neither one of us willing to take blame.
His face hardened, a flood of anger coming over him. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“Did I strike a nerve?” I shouted, my voice louder than I wanted. “I say we are doing this, right now.”
“Oh, really?” He raised his eyes to mine, coming closer to me in the small vicinity. His features turned to stone, his nostrils flaring. “Well, then, I could easily say the same to you, couldn’t I? Sleeping with him doesn’t classify as seeing him, does it?” There was a grim edge to his voice.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Right.” He laughed. “I’m always the asshole and you haven’t done one fucking thing wrong, have you?”
I angrily shook my head, refusing that as an answer.
I’ve heard people say divorce is ugly. I’ve heard them say it gets really bad before you come to an agreement.
I guess, if I had to speculate when our divorce turned ugly, I would say it was right then, in the confines of his motor coach, screaming at one another at the top of our lungs.
Blaming.
Accusing.
Avoiding.
This was our ugly.
He paused, his mouth twisting in a scowl delivered my way. His eyes were hard, lips parting as he spoke. “I’m curious, Arie. What’s the real reason you’re here? Problems with your boy?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I wanted to scream at him, but kept my voice even. “Just because you suddenly decided you cared, doesn’t mean shit. I’m not going to apologize for being with him. You are the one who decided you wanted a divorce.”
Staring at me with a tight jaw, his chest rising and falling, matching my own. “You keep saying that like you didn’t want it too.”
There was a pang of guilt that hit me because he had a point. I wanted it too.
I did.
THAT NIGHT BEFORE the Cup race, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Loudon and away from Easton. He was off doing press for the race, and who knows what else while I stayed back in his motor coach dressed in sweats and munching on junk food.
This weekend was turning into a disaster and I couldn’t even drink. The thoughts of not being able to drink lead me to thinking about the baby, and then Rager. Curious how the weekend went, and wondering why Rager hadn’t replied to any of my messages, I called Hayden when I knew she’d answer in between hot laps and qualifying Saturday night.
“How’s it going?” I asked, trying to decipher every tiny noise in the background to determine where she was.
Hayden sighed. “The good or the bad?
My heart pounded, sharp like a stab to the chest and then evening out. “What?”
“Rager punched some local guy.”
That didn’t surprise me. He was always hitting someone.
“Why?” Chewing on a piece of red rope licorice, I reached inside the refrigerator for a bottled water, and then sat back down on the couch.
“Who knows? They got into it on the track a few times and then the guy tried to explain. Rager apparently didn’t want to hear what he had to say.”
“Awesome.” I sighed staring at my feet, knowing I needed to get a pedicure soon. My toes were all chipped from the creek and camping last weekend. “How’s Dad taking that?
“Well, he’s not happy, but I think he understood why Rager hit the kid. I don’t know. They’re drinking now.” She laughed. “I gotta go though. I lost Gray in the merchandise hauler. Let’s hope we still have stickers for Lernerville.”
It wouldn’t have been the first time Gray had painted the walls of the merchandise hauler with the stickers. It’d be more like the fourth of fifth time.
“Oh, but hey.” She hesitated to hang up. “Guess what Bailey heard…”
“What?”
“Lily’s pregnant.”
“No way!” I shrieked, covering my mouth with my hand.
That meant…no wait. It couldn’t. Shane had a vasectomy.
“Yeah…well, at least that’s what she heard. But don’t say anything. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you. Bailey saw her and she had a little baby bump. Maybe she’s just gaining some weight.”
“Highly unlikely. Does Axel know?”
“Doubt it. They don’t even talk when she drops off the boys.”
If I thought my situation was fucked up, my brother’s was too. Here he saw his kids once a month at that, and his wife had filed for separation. And he refused to sign the papers. It was just a bit fucked on many levels. Each week he slipped a little further from reality. Sure, he was winning, but in the last year, everything in his life had went to shit. I had a feeling had he not been winning and leading the series points over Rager, he would have gone into depression.
WHEN SUNDAY AFTERNOON came along, I wasn’t exactly in the best of moods because I didn’t want to be there anymore and if I thought I hated being around the NASCAR circuit, I hated the grid even more. Not only did she hang all over Easton on the grid—that part didn’t bother me—I was forced to sit next to her for four hours.
I didn’t listen to the in-car audio like I usually would. Mostly because model girl wanted to sit on the box and get the full view of the race. Since this was an event Atry sponsored, she’d basically been able to have full access to anything she wanted, including sitting on the pit box.
Either that or she was sleeping with the driver.
“How often is she here?” I whispered to Kyle, somewhere between pit stops.
He leaned into me as he replied, pulling his headset away from his ear. “Three or four races?”
“Does she always sit on the box?”
“Nope.” He shook his head, his attention mostly on the screen in front of him. “First time.”
She asked the stupidest questions. Ones where I thought, no fucking way I was going to make it through this night without bitch slapping her for being so dumb. Then I had to remember, most women didn’t grow up around this sport like I did. In fact, it was rare to know the things I did.
What really had me laughing was when she stared at Kyle and asked, “Isn’t there some guy who has won like a ton of championships in this series and now races those things with the wings?”
Kyle chuckled. “Yeah, Jameson Riley.” And then he gestured to me with a nod. “That’s Arie’s dad. He owns this race team and the car E is in right now.”
If I could have taken a selfie of her and I right then, her with her I’m-that-dumb look and me with she-really-is-that-dumb look, I would have. Just to have on my phone for a laugh when I needed it.
Easton ended up winning that night, which surprised me because he came back from an entire lap down due to a pit stop penalty and still managed to win. It was rather impressive, but I wasn’t about to tell him that after this weekend.
To appease my dad and the media, I went down to victory lane.
When he saw me, his eyes were intent on mine as he removed himself from the car.
Maybe it was the high of the victory, or maybe just for the press. I tended to think I knew Easton a little better than that, and this was payback for my interactions with his model.
Right there, in the middle of victory lane, media surrounding every angle, Easton kissed me. It wasn’t just a victory lane kiss either, you know, the quick sweaty peck.
No, this was one where he laid into me, pressed me against the side of his car and cupped my check tenderly like it meant
something. Even slipped tongue in there.
Fucker.
He did it on purpose.
And though I so wanted to push him away, he smiled at me and whispered, “Thanks for being here, wife.”
Motherfucker was lucky I didn’t knee him in the balls right then.
DNQ – A failure to qualify or pre-qualify for a race. Most often because the driver was too slow to make it into a limited number of grid positions.
PISSED DIDN’T EVEN began to describe my feelings surrounding this.
Go further.
Rage.
Nope. Still didn’t.
Looks could be deceiving.
So could words uttered in the heat of passion, lies told and meant to be believed.
Bringing the remedy to my lips, I stared at the article on NASCAR’s website on my phone.
SPARKS FOR LEVI IGNITE VICTORY LANE WITH HIS WIFE
My stomach clenched with the spike of adrenaline through it. What really bothered me more, the kiss, or the word wife?
Both.
They both fucking bothered me. Revulsion flowed through my veins that I believed anything she told me, my nerves sailing out of control.
There were a lot of things I should have been in that moment. Furious. Devastated. All would have been justified. And I was all of those things.
But what I thought about was her reaction. Her. Always fucking her. Like I had any goddamn sense to care about myself for once.
From my point of view, she kissed him and he kissed her back. Or whatever.
Either way, those were my lips.
Memories flashed in my eyes and I saw Arie on the creek bed, staring up at me when the sun dipped down below the water. She looked up at me as though I was her answer. I wanted to be. I could be. But I wasn’t. All these years, I was never the answer.
I had to let her go. She didn’t love me. But could anything prepare me for the fall?
No, nothing would have prepared me for that. I spent the last ten years hopelessly devoted to one girl. The only girl.
And every chance I had with her was taken from me. It was like losing a race on the last lap, in the last turn, when you could easily see the checkered flag in hand and someone pulled a slide job on you.
That was me.
I didn’t want to love Arie. It was bad news. If anyone could fuck with your head, it was her. One night she was flirty and gave me the looks I wanted, the next, she was spouting some shit about needing to leave and be with Easton.
I knew it was wrong to sleep with her, but I had denied myself the pleasure of her for so long I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
For the longest time, I told myself he was the better guy. I did. I believed it too. But he wasn’t. Because if she were mine, I wouldn’t have let her ever doubt where she belonged. And he did that. He let her believe she could do better.
And deep down, he knew where he went wrong.
You don’t give a girl like Arie a chance to think about that sorta thing.
As I paced my property, an empty 24-pack at my feet, I had the bright idea that in my misery, I would burn branches from the trees I’d cleared a few weeks back.
My biggest mistake was lighting a bonfire when I was pissed off. When the fire raged in response to the gasoline I poured on it, I didn’t take into account how dry the summer had been. When the flames reached the framed house where I told her I loved her, I didn’t do anything to stop it.
I wanted the memory gone. The memory of her, in that house, loving her.
Let the motherfucker burn for all I cared.
Tip Plates - Tip Plates or Side Boards are used on sprint car wings to ensure that the high air pressure area moving over the top surface of the wing is not allowed to spill over the sides into the low pressure area under the wing and vice versa. If this is allowed to occur it produces a whirling vortex which affects the efficiency of the wing by reducing downforce, increasing drag and in some circumstances causing lift.
SPARKS FOR LEVI IGNITE VICTORY LANE WITH HIS WIFE
WELL, IF MY dad wanted a different spin on the regular stories being printed, he had it. Now it seemed everyone thought we were together. Again.
On my way from Loudon to Sarver where the Outlaws were back at Lernerville and heading into Williams Grove this weekend for Summer Nationals, I made an appointment with an obstetrician. The appointment was rather boring, but they did give me pills that looked like something even a horse wouldn’t be able to swallow and a due date.
March ninth. I was six weeks pregnant. Officially.
The thrill it gave me had me glowing. I firmly believed that pregnant women had that glow now.
When I arrived in Sarver, I had a lot of catching up to do since I missed Eldora. Jerry understood I had some things to take care of and kindly had Katy step in to take care of things for me.
Making my way into the pits when they opened up and the haulers began to line the outer edge of the pits, I found Casten and Gray playing on the door to the hauler with toy sprint cars. “Did you hear about Rager’s house?”
“What house?” I knew which house, but I hadn’t heard anything. I didn’t even know where Rager was. He refused to answer any message I sent him and didn’t pick up when I called him earlier today. His hauler was parked next to Casten’s and it was taking everything I could not to go in there and demand he talk to me.
“The one he was building.”
“No…” My cheeks flushed remembering what we did in that house, up against those walls and on the floor.
“He destroyed it,” Casten said, almost conversationally. “Set it on fire last night.”
I left Casten standing there and found Rager inside his hauler, pulling on his driver’s suit.
“What the hell?” I slammed the door behind me. “You set your house on fire?”
Rager shrugged his back to me, turning to face me, as if this was no big deal at all. “Bonfire got outta control.”
It was a big deal. He’d spent years working on that house. And it had such sentimental value to it.
“Bullshit.”
He backed me against the wall, his hands beside my head. He blinked, expression shifting, smoke clouding his thoughts. “Why do you care?”
“Why did you burn down your house?” I asked again.
Shrugging, he was trying to blow me off. “Ask me after the race. Maybe I’ll be drunk enough to tell you. Then again, maybe not.”
My breaths were shaky, inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Is this about that kiss? It didn’t mean anything.”
Rager smirked bitterly. “Sure, it didn’t.” His eyes were cloudy, lost inside as he ran a shaking hand through his hair, stepping back. “Did you ever have any intention of getting a divorce?” His voice held a certain amount of despondent curiosity I couldn’t ignore.
“We filed for divorce, Rager. You know that.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t know that. I know what you’ve told me. But that could all be lies too. I tried so fucking hard not to jump to conclusions when I saw that fucking kiss but you’ve left me with no other way to see it.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Rager stared at me, clearly confused and stepping back even further, distance we both needed. He scrubbed his forehead roughly, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re pregnant?” His question was low, sending shivers from my veins.
I could literally see his thought process when I told him that, shock, denial, and then anger. It was easy to see in things like the widening of his eyes, the shake in his head, and finally, the white of his clenching fists.
The words hit him like a ton of bricks and he twisted, slamming his fist into the cabinet to my right. Gripping the sides, his knuckles swelling.
“Why?” he shouted, his voice breaking around the blistering words ringing in my ears. “Why couldn’t you have given me a fucking chance?”
And then he slammed the door behind him, leaving me with the harshness of his words.
“It’s yours…” I
whispered hoarsely to no one, because he was gone, leaving me alone.
He thought I went away with Easton that weekend because I was pregnant with his baby. I saw it in his eyes. And before I could correct him, he made his assumption.
I think Rager knew once there was a kid involved I would be tied to Easton in a way I wasn't to him.
But he was wrong. The baby was his and he wasn’t even considering it.
Contact with the wall - Drive a sprint car too hard into a turn and you could find yourself making contact with the wall. This usually happens when a car is driven too hard into a turn and drifts up to the wall on the loose dirt that has been thrown up there by the other cars. If you hit the wall with the front end of the car it can cause the right front tire to climb the wall, and before you know it, you’re upside down. If you hit the wall with the right rear tire, it can then transfer the car’s weight to the left, tipping the car over.
“SHE CHOSE HIM,” Rager mumbled to Axel, who I just informed I was pregnant. Only because he wanted me to drink.
She chose him. In my heart, I never chose him. Never.
Rager’s words swelled in my head like a bad hangover. It was times like this, hearing those words that made me feel like I was being punched in the heart, repeatedly, the dull sting present.
I despised the feeling in my veins and the ice water in front of me. I wanted to drown myself in tequila and not feel what I was feeling.
“I’m going to get more beer,” Axel said, and then found the rest of the boys by the pool table leaving me by myself.
Rager eyes were on mine as he asked the blonde to dance, no emotion on his face and never letting my stare go.
When she said yes, he smiled down at her, leading her to the dance floor by the hand. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. My eyes were drawn to them, like a magnetic pull, wanting his arms around me. I craved that smile he was giving her and the taste of his tongue on mine.
Rager’s hands were low, loose on her hips, and though it may have seemed he wasn’t into it, she still had what I was sure was mine. Scanning her, I assessed quickly that she wasn’t his type. Too skinny, and blonde hair. He had a thing for rusty brown.
