The Champion (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  “Uh, she tried first when she stabbed me.”

  “Are you ever going to let her live that down?”

  He looked back down at the lap top. “No, probably not.”

  Later than night, Jameson showed me just how much he loved those curves and comfy seat I had when he attacked me in the kitchen after the kids had gone to bed. He also showed me that he had no problems with his camshaft and matching me stroke for stroke.

  “Fuck honey,” his eyes darkened and I knew it was over. “get those sexy fucking legs up here.”

  I did. He was on his knees on the kitchen floor with me spread out before him like the pit lizard days. Watching his muscles flex, he positioned my legs on each one of his broad shoulders. His hands slipped to my ass and squeezed.

  “Don’t ever lose this.” He growled squeezing harder. It was a good thing my ass cheeks were real or they would have popped right then.

  “Oh I’ve tried. It’s not going anywhere.”

  “Good.”

  And those were the last words spoken before I was trying to control my screams on our tile floor. It seemed inappropriate to be align boring on the kitchen floor but then again, why did we put in heated floors if not to hump on them occasionally?

  Air Wrench – Jameson

  I never really thought about how I would feel heading into my tenth season in the NASCAR Sprint Cup series. Over time rules changed, drivers changed, owners changed but one thing that remained all these years was my support system.

  My team pretty much the same as it was when I started, aside from a few crew-members who shuffled back and forth between teams.

  Our family still traveled with us. On any given weekend at some point you’d find my wife, my kids, my parents and my siblings somewhere at the track. We were all part of this. I think that’s why I was still in this sport was because of my family. Without them, I honestly don’t think I could do this each week.

  My sponsor remained the same and over the winter we signed another 5-year contract.

  When I signed with Simplex, I had no idea they’d support me throughout my entire career. Let’s face it, sponsors come and go but I had a relationship with Marcus and Melissa now. We understood each other and they trusted our team.

  What didn’t change were the obsessed fans and pit lizards.

  It never failed—the women were everywhere at a NASCAR race. So many times, I wished this wasn’t part of it but it was. Never wanting Sway to get hurt, I never told her how many times I had to kick them out of my motor coach or how many times they found my hotel room and showed up naked.

  She didn’t need to hear that shit. Hell, I didn’t want to hear it, but it was reality for me.

  Dana Sloan finally moved on from stalking me to stalking Shelby, I was pleased with this and Shelby seemed to enjoy it.

  These days there was new pit lizards stalking me, and a few of the old, Ashley being one of them.

  When we were back in Daytona just before the Budweiser shootout, she took it too far when she asked when she could go for a ride again, in front of my daughter.

  That was not okay with me.

  Arie looked up at me with wide curious eyes as to why another woman was flirting with her daddy. She may have only been seven but she was fairly perceptive to this sort of thing. It happened that often.

  “Don’t you ever say that to me again,” I warned and tightened my grip on her arm pulling her away from Arie. “I don’t remember a goddamn thing from that night. I was drunk. I woke up in a Safeway parking lot. You need to get over the fact that it will never happen.”

  I watched her expression carefully, my glare never wavering. She needed to understand how serious I was about this.

  “You’ll give in eventually Jameson, they all do.” she stepped closer, her breath blowing across my face. “Just ask Bobby.”

  Was she fucking serious?

  I’d known Bobby since I started in cup ten years ago and I never once thought he’d give into Ashley, of all women. Not to mention he was married and had been for the last three years.

  “I don’t give a shit what Bobby does, that’s not me Ashley.” I told her firmly.

  “Whatever Jameson,” She rolled her eyes.

  “No, not whatever. You need to understand right now that it will never happen. Stop coming on to me. Stop calling my wife, stopping talking to my kids. Stop,” my voice continued to rise until I was nearly yelling at her in the middle of the paddock with other team and media personnel walking around.

  “Fine,” she huffed stepping back. “I’ll leave you alone. Just admit you had a good time.”

  “I don’t even remember it. That right there should tell you how good it was.” I knew I was hitting low but at this point, it was the only option.

  Tears pooled in her eyes and for a moment I thought she was joking until her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  “You’re an asshole.” She mumbled and walked away, finally walked away.

  You’re an asshole meant nothing these days. I heard it so often it barely phased me anymore.

  The following weekend, I caught up with Bobby just before we began driver introductions for the Daytona 500 and asked about his interactions with Ashley.

  “Ashley caught up with me last week...” my voice trailed off hoping he’d understand.

  “Let me guess...she told you.”

  I groaned. “Bobby, why would you do that?”

  Bobby leaned closer for privacy as we filed through the gates to the stage. “I don’t know why. It just sorta happened one night.”

  “Were you married then?”

  He didn’t say anything and that pretty much answered my question for me. I knew this happened with other drivers. The temptation was there and was readily available for us if we wanted it. Not once had I ever acted, or been tempted to act on it. Sway was everything to me. It just wasn’t an option for me. The fact that Bobby had cheated on Kelly was sickening to me.

  I always thought that eventually the nerves of standing on the grid of the Daytona 500 would fade, but no. I was fine all morning but when I stepped on pit road the morning of my tenth career Daytona 500, the nerves hit me.

  “Jameson, how are you feeling this morning?” a reporter with ESPN asked while I talked with Tate and Bobby by my car.

  “Oh...I’m feeling good.” I replied laughing at the joke Tate has just told.

  “I hear both your boys couldn’t be here today, racing huh?”

  “Yeah,” I hated talking to the media about my kids. It was none of their fucking business but it was part of the game. “They raced in the Duel in the Desert yesterday and won their divisions.” I smiled. “Casten is just getting started but he’s taken really well to it. Axel helps him along.”

  “Speaking of Axel, he’s really tearing it up in the quarter midget series. Heard he’s won two district Championships and a handful of Regional and track championships.”

  I laughed leaning back against my car. “He did,” I agreed. “He’s nine now and chomping at the bit to get into the full sized midgets but you have to be twelve these days.”

  Back when I started, age wasn’t enforced as much but after a few kids were killed in the series the age restrictions were strictly enforced. Hell, I was racing a full sized sprint car by the time I was twelve but looking at Axel’s size compared to a full size sprint car—I had no problem with the age enforcements now.

  “Hothead in the making I hear. Didn’t he throw his helmet at a USAC official last weekend?”

  Another laugh escaped. “Yeah, he’s worse than me at times. Doesn’t like to finish second,” I shrugged. I was considered calm on the track compared to Axel. After he threw the helmet at the official, he was suspended for a race. It took him being suspended to realize he had to control the temper or they wouldn’t let him race.

  Sound familiar?

  I’d cooled my jets these days, being a father humbles you and when you see their reaction to a fit you’d thrown on or off the track, it real
ly makes you think about that image you’re creating for them. Not only did you face the ramifications, but your kids had to as well.

  That’s not to say I didn’t have my fair share of drama at the track. Colin Shuman, Shelby Clausen and I had spent enough time in “the big red hauler” last season that we had assigned seats. Even with all the arguments and wrecks we got into, we usually ended up throwing back a few beers afterwards. That’s when I felt I grew up.

  “Well, good luck today.” The announcer said finally and left me to get ready.

  Once I was inside my car, the pre-race jitters were wearing off and I finally began to relax when I realized why I’d been so amped up this morning. Sway wasn’t here.

  She’d only missed three of my eight starts here and those were from having my babies but now she was with our babies. We made a rule early on that at least one parent had to be present when the boys raced. This usually meant Sway but occasionally I was able to attend when time permitted, not often, but every once in a while I could.

  Arie decided to come with me to Speedweeks and stayed for the 500 race. There my little angel was standing beside my car handing me a good luck charm she made me.

  “Here daddy, I made this for you.” Arie beamed handing me a beaded bracelet she made.

  “You did,” I looked down at her wide and excited emerald green eyes thinking of Sway. “I’m sure I’ll win now.”

  “You will.” That’s one trait my little angel possessed. She believed in her daddy and if anyone told her differently, well she told her big brother and when that happened, it was over.

  My kids were definitely Riley kids, Axel and Arie more so than Casten. Axel would do just about anything to prove you wrong and his determination never wavered when it came to protecting his family’s name, as did Arie. But with Axel, he seemed to be a mixture of Sway and me together. He could be cocky, arrogant and indomitable but he could also be relaxed, amiable, and blasé. The kid was wise beyond his years and a force to be reckoned with. By the time he was four it became apparent Sway and I were in over our heads.

  Now Casten, he was in it for fun. If he wasn’t having fun, he didn’t do it. He was blithely carefree and loved everyone, just like Sway. You rarely saw that kid without a huge smile. Even when he was sleeping, he was smiling and he had the negotiation skills of a politician, no lie.

  Arie listened to my in-car audio on the pit box and provided her own commentary on the race and her thoughts. Much to my surprise but not hers, I did win. After ten years of trying, I finally won the Daytona 500.

  Arie was there to greet me in victory lane along with her brothers and my wife who must have shown up sometime throughout the race.

  I smirked when I saw Sway jumping up and down with the same excitement our kids showed owing that their father was a Daytona 500 winner.

  “I knew you could do it.” Sway whispered in my ear when I pulled her hard against my chest. With our schedules, it’d been weeks since I last seen her. “You behave dirty heathen.”

  I winked. “I love you honey.” I whispered back before our kids were climbing on us.

  All those times away; the late nights, the early rises and the sacrifices were rewarded at times like this.

  The only thing I ever hoped for out of all this was that those who helped me along the way understood they were a part of what I do and always would be. When I won a race or a championship, it’s not just for me or my dad as the car owner or even Simplex as my sponsor. It’s for everyone and I hoped that they felt the same excitement I felt winning. I’m sure no one felt like I did but I sure hoped they realized what they meant to me to have that support. Yeah, I was a 6-time NASCAR Sprint cup Champion and had won 113-cup races, but I owed to everyone else.

  My tenth season in the cup series was by far my best year yet. Not only did I win the Daytona 500, but I also won the All-Star race and managed to pull off my seventh Cup championship.

  It was a good year.

  One of the most closely guarded secrets in NASCAR, besides the rulebook, is how much each driver is paid. You see it with the NFL, NBA, NBL; most nationally recognized sports flaunt what a particular athlete is paid each year, aside from NASCAR.

  Word gets out on occasion but you’ll never see a driver say, I made “this” amount. Not only do we receive a base salary from our owner/sponsor, but we also get outside money from prize money, contingency awards and endorsement contracts. It’s not uncommon to see a veteran driver raking in around $15-25 million in a season.

  Without a doubt this seemed to be one of the best years of my career with a record number of poles and wins and the championship title once again. Financially, I was also on top of the sport. Along with my $900,000 salary from Riley Simplex Racing, I received 40 percent of my winnings and then my endorsement deals from clothing companies, safety gear, shock companies, the list went on and on. Then you account for my owner profit for JAR Racing and the twenty percent I took home from each time Justin, Cody or Tyler pulled into victory lane, I really wasn’t hurting for money.

  But all that didn’t matter. Sure it was nice but I wasn’t in it for the money. I was in it to race and you know what happened because of that?

  I became the best driver in the series.

  20. Back Out – Sway

  Back Out – When a driver takes his foot off the gas pedal (all the way or part way) he “back out” or “lifts” the throttle.

  Despite my sanity, I agreed to let Logan and Lucas come out for the fourth of July the summer of 2013. Why they wanted to come out here was beyond me. They were sixteen. Didn’t they have more appealing things to do?

  I just knew having sixteen-year old half-brothers around my spaz children was a bad idea.

  Their plane got in the night before we were set to leave for Daytona’s night race.

  When Spencer to get them from the airport, I was relieved that Lucas had stayed home. I could handle one of them.

  “We’re here!” Spencer announced slamming the door behind him. Jameson wasn’t home yet from the shop as they were apparently making some changes to Justin’s sprint car before it headed to Dodge City Kansas tomorrow morning.

  “Sway—you in here?” Spencer’s booming voice echoed throughout the downstairs.

  “Yeah,” I sighed removing the cookies from the oven. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why I decided to make cookies. It wasn’t like I wanted Logan to feel welcomed and want to stay. “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Spencer and Logan came around the corner, standing next to the island. Logan laughed. “Since when do you bake?”

  “I bake a lot asshole.” I shot back throwing a cookie at him.

  “Really, judging by the number of kids in the movie room fighting over a movie...I’d say you do other things in your free time.”

  I noticed the kids came into the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about.

  “Where the hell is Jameson?” Logan asked looking around.

  “He’s at the shop. He’ll be home later.”

  Logan shrugged eating the cookie. “Well aren’t you happy to see me or are you pissed Luke didn’t come?”

  “Although he’s the normal one of the two of you, no, I’m not pissed. And yes, I guess I’m happy to see you.” Logan stood and wrapped his long arms around me. I laughed at how tall he was. “Geez, you’re tall these days.”

  Spencer plopped down on a stool. “He’s barely 5’6, Sway.”

  “Hey—I’m 5’7 now.”

  “It’s pissed a bad word?” Casten asked Axel. I didn’t even know they had come into the room yet. “If it is, I’m up to ten bucks now.”

  I grabbed Casten and headed for the island setting him on the stool. He held his hands up in defense. “I was only kidding.”

  I hugged him tightly.

  “I’m warning you two now,” I looked over at Axel and I would have told Arie but she wasn’t in ear shot. “Don’t listen to that Logan. He’s riding the crazy train and collecting passengers.”


  “We don’t want to be passengers?” Casten asked innocently.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Geez Sway,” Logan sighed. “you act like I’m some kind of delinquent.”

  “You are.”

  He ignored me altogether and went in for the kill, “Hey Axel, how’s it going little man?”

  Axel just stared at him, probably wondering how in the hell he was related to something like Logan.

  Logan had the power of persuasion down to a fine art just like my kids. This was going to be tough and I knew my kids were in danger of corruption. They’re like sponges.

  Logan looked up at me. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I have to feed you too?” I asked in horror. I don’t remember Andrea telling me anything about feeding him. “And what the hell is up with your hair?” What used to be brown was now black and had red streaks in it.

  “I let my girlfriend do my hair.” He shrugged. “She’s is beauty school.”

  “Looks like she’s doing well,”

  “So what is for dinner?”

  “Jameson is bringing pizza home.” All the kids, Logan and Spencer included lit up with excitement. I decided now was time to tell Logan my rules. “Listen dude, I have rules.”

  “Great,” Logan moaned leaning back in the chair. “Let’s hear these so called rules. They may be deal breakers.”

  “No smoking, no drinking, and no cursing in front of the kids unless you want to lose all your money. If you get arrested for any of your bright ideas, you’re on your own. I’m not bailing you out.”

  Logan looked confused staring at all the kids now in the room. “Did you pop out another kid?”

  “They’re not all mine.” I pointed to each kid. “Those three are mine. That one is Lane. You’ve met him before dumbass. And in the other room is Lily, Justin’s daughter and I think Lexi, Cole and Noah are in the movie room somewhere. Charlie is with Aiden getting some groceries for tonight.”

  “Tonight,” Logan looked more confused. “What’s tonight?”

  “We’re having a little get together since Lexi’s birthday is on Wednesday and we’ll be at the track. You’re just in time for an eleven-year old’s birthday.”