by Shey Stahl
“There you go. Good as new,” Casten said, holding out his handy work of duct tape and a wooden spoon. “See, I won the championship this year and bam, I’m a fucking professional at everything.”
Caden glanced at it and smiled. “Looks good to me. The duct tape isn’t even that noticeable.”
It was true. Casten not only won his first Knoxville Nationals, but won the World of Outlaws championship this year. It made his head impossibly bigger.
“I can’t believe you let them tie you to a snowmobile,” Kinsley noted, digging through the bar to find what I assumed was something stronger than the White Claw’s she’d been sucking down earlier.
Her ring flashed under the orange glow of the fire. They’d only been married a week and Caden was already hurt again. Smiling, I pulled her in for a hug. “I have the perfect thing to take the edge off this holiday season.”
Kinsley unscrewed the cap to the vodka bottle she found. “I’m all ears.”
“A night out in downtown Vail.”
“I’ll drive!” Casten said, jumping up. “I can’t wait to get out of this place.”
“You’re not leaving me with all these kids,” Dad said, glancing at Spencer and Aiden who were playing pool with him in the den. Mom, Aunt Alley, and Emma were out doing last-minute Christmas shopping.
Grandma Nancy, who’d been reading books with the little girls, smiled. “I can watch them.”
Dad shook his head behind her, as if to say, no fucking way. Yesterday she went sledding with the kids and damn near broke her hip. This morning, she let Abigale do her hair, and now it was bright blue. It was safe to say Grandma should not be alone with the kids because she let them do whatever they wanted.
I also might point out she was a push over for Casten too. Who do you think was on the snow plow with Casten last year? After a bottle of wine, Grandma Nancy.
Lily reached for her coat. “Well, if you’re going, I’m going.”
“We can handle a bunch of kids, Jameson,” Aiden noted, clearly underestimating the situation. There were fourteen kids in the house. Sixteen if you counted Tommy and Willie, which I did, for obvious reasons.
Rosa walked by with her nanny pack on and a juice box that wasn’t juice. “I got this. You kids go have a good time.” She was shitfaced and no way I’d leave them with her.
Just as I was beginning to think going out might be a bad idea, Mom and my aunts came home. “Where are we going?” Kinsley asked once we were loaded into the van—all eight of us and Caden’s wheelchair.
Caden could stand and walk a little way, but hadn’t gained enough strength yet to be out of his wheelchair. Still, sadly, racing wasn’t in his future as of now. It didn’t stop him from having a good time though. He was up for anything.
“A bar with anything hard,” I noted, sitting on Rager’s lap because we didn’t have enough seats in the van to accommodate all of us into town. Dangerous yes, but I trusted Axel’s driving. Casten, not a chance, but at least Axel had enough sense to do the speed limit.
“I’ve got something hard for you,” Rager growled in my ear, tightening his hold around my waist.
Casten groaned. “I’m not going to sit next to you two if you’re going to start fucking.”
I scowled. “Shut up.”
Rager looked over at him and smiled. “Now I want to just to prove to him he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.”
“Oh, he knows,” Hayden added. “I have three shithead kids to prove it.”
“Only one is a shithead,” Casten added, scrolling through his phone. “Oh, look, there’s a bar with a tattoo parlor in it.” He held up his phone. “Let’s go there.”
“We should get tattoos,” someone said, and so it was decided. We ended up at a bar with a tattoo parlor. Worst idea ever.
It started with Rager wanting me to tattoo The Sweet Spot on my pussy. I declined the pussy idea and so did he when he realized the guy tattooing us had to check out my track layout to do that. I settled on The Sweet Spot on my hipbone, low enough I could still cover it up with my bikini if needed.
“I’m gonna get ‘handle with care’ right above my junk,” Caden told everyone within earshot. He’d had about ten tequila shots and volume control wasn’t his specialty.
“No, don’t.” Kinsley tried to reason with him. “And do you think getting a tattoo while drunk is a good idea?”
“No. It’s a horrible idea. But I’m gonna do it!” he yelled, wheeling himself over to the table and next to the guy with the tattoo gun in hand.
“Fuck,” she sighed, standing next to me. “This is a bad idea.”
“No, it’s a great idea.” Drunk me clearly underestimated what a good idea meant.
“MOMMY? WAKE UP!” And that followed with a smack right to my face and a blinding headache. Or maybe I had one to begin with. Probably the latter.
I peered one eye open to find Pace sitting on my stomach. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Cool,” I mumbled, trying to pry him off me.
He refused to move. “You make waffles on Christmas Eve, remember?”
“Right now?” I groaned, regretting all that tequila from last night. “It’s too early for that.”
Rager stirred beside me and pressed his lips to my shoulder. “It’s noon, babe.”
Shit.
Half asleep, Rager and I made our way downstairs to make waffles with the kids. Everyone was up aside from Casten, who had passed out in the van last night and no one moved him.
“Do you think it’s too cold out there for him?” Hayden asked, sipping on what I could only imagine was very strong coffee.
“I hope he freezes his balls off,” Kinsley added, staring at her wrist.
I stared at her. “What’s wrong?”
“This is what’s wrong.” She pushed up the sleeve of her shirt. “I specifically said no tattoos for me, and Casten gave me a Jäger shot and I did this!”
On Kinsley’s wrist were the words Pressure relief valve.
“What does that even mean?” I looked at her, and then Rager, who’s shoulders were shaking as laughter rolled through him. “What? Why are you laughing?”
He waited until Pace was out of the room and made a jerking off motion.
Kinsley dropped her hand and rolled down the sleeve on her hoodie. “Like I said, I hope he freezes to death.”
Aunt Emma wrapped her arm around Kinsley’s shoulder. “Me and you are going to be good friends.”
Dad and Mom, who’d been watching our interaction, smiled. “I feel like life has officially come full circle for us,” Mom said, leaning into Dad.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, smiling. “That it has, honey.”
THE FUCKING END
Oh my God, it can’t be the end! Is that what you’re thinking too? Gah! Excuse me while I bawl like a baby.
This book was so incredibly hard to write. Which is probably why it’s taken me three years to do it. I had no idea where I wanted to go with it. Or even where to start for that matter. And then fucking COVID hit and I was really all out of sorts. As was everyone for that matter.
I don’t think I can put into words what this series means to me. And I don’t think I can put into words what it means to you guys, the ones who’ve read every word of their journey and fell in love with the Riley family over and over again. Excuse me while I have a breakdown. I didn’t want to type the end. I didn’t think I could. How can a writer let go of a family that in many ways is their family?
It’s not easy, but I honestly feel like I’ve given this family justice and I can finally move on. Not that I want to, but that I can.
And I know, the book is probably shorter than you wanted, but the entire series is over a million words! Can you believe it? It’s actually more like 1.3 million words written for this family that consumed my thoughts for ten years. How perfect is that from the day I started writing them,
Thank you so much to everyone who has helped with this series. My BETA team, Hot Tree E
diting, Tracy, my family… there are so many I need to thank but most of all, my readers, for sticking with me for eleven books of the Riley family. It’s because of you that we made it this far. Thank you for always wanting more and giving the word “Stay” its true meaning.
I can move on from them knowing they will always be at a dirt track.
Oh, but wait, there’s more. There will be one more book of outtakes (Behind the Wheel) I’ve written over the years for this family and a peek at the JAR Racing Rugrats. Stay tuned!
Shey Stahl is a USA Today and Amazon best-selling author. Rom-coms and sports romances with a unique writing style are her lady jam.
Her books have been translated into several languages, and if you haven’t laughed, cried, and cursed in the same book, you’re reading the wrong author. Shey lives in Washington State with her adrenaline-addicted husband, a moody preteen daughter, and their asshole cat.
In her spare time, she enjoys pretending to be Joanna Gains while remodeling her house, iced coffee (only the good nugget ice), hiking in the mountains of the PNW, and hanging out at the local dirt tracks.
Follow her crazy life adventures on Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/sheystahl99/
