by Shey Stahl
After seven weeks in the hospital, I was ready to leave. But no, they wouldn’t let me. They insisted I stay for nine weeks. I had other ideas and was contemplating just leaving if I could actually drive. But I couldn’t.
They had all these stipulations that had to be done before I could leave. I had to answer all these questions everyday about myself, then basic shit like what color grass was or what letter comes after C. I had to be able to walk, not only walk, but also they wanted me to climb stairs. They wanted me to be able to dress myself too.
Then there were the physical tests. When you have broken nearly every bone in your upper body, moving hurts. Hell, just breathing hurts. During the physical tests I had a nurse who would come in, was burlier than Spencer and wasn’t gentle. Most of the time I would jerk and wince from the pain but then usually I would end up trying to burn a hole through her with my glare.
Perhaps I was being unfair but I was certain that no one had ever had to go through so many hoops just to get released from the hospital.
This left me once again depending on others, mostly my mom and Sway.
Emma was there a lot to and most of the time she was there on business. I didn’t want to talk business. It was as if I was avoiding reality. Not knowing was okay with me and actually made the recovery easier. I wasn’t sure what I would have to come back to as far as my career and that scared me.
Would my sponsors support me?
Would my fans still cheer for me?
Would the other drivers treat me the same?
I still wasn’t entirely sure that I could race again. Would my body let me?
I was sure double vision at 200 mph wouldn’t be ideal and when it took me five minutes just to go to the bathroom, I was positive getting inside a race car wouldn’t be easy.
Another reason for my frequent visitors was from my threats to leave the hospital. It was as though I was now on hospital arrest. It was like a goddamn high security prison.
Emma was there the morning of the Fontana race that Easton, the kid driving my car, qualified for the pole.
“Do you need some help?” Emma asked when I moved myself to the edge of the bed.
“No, leave me alone.” I grumbled crutching my way to the bathroom. Those damn crutches were stupid but my pelvis was still healing and the less weight I put on my legs the easier it was.
“I was only trying to help your cranky ass.”
“Could have fooled me,” I yelled over my shoulder in Emma’s direction. She found the most entertainment in making fun of me and took way too many pictures of me crippled.
“Nice, asshole!” I heard the door slam behind her, thankful she finally decided to leave.
I sent Sway a message when the race began.
Thanks a lot for sending over my sister. I thought you loved me!
She replied instantly.
I do love you but you need to supervised mister. She’s the only one willing.
It was true. Most people wouldn’t come see me anymore because I usually kicked them out.
I was moody. It had nothing to do with anyone in particular. I was just moody. I guarantee if it were them spending nearly nine weeks in the hospital, they would be moody too. I also, well; I was starting to get my sex drive back. I wanted my wife. I wanted to be alone with her. I wanted to not have broken bones and blinding headaches and I want to show her how much I missed her. I wanted to kiss every inch of her, feel her sweat on me, watch her move above me as I filled her and pushed her to her limits. I wanted to hear her scream my name with her hands buried in my hair.
Fuck!
Those were the times I had to physically stop the reactions I was having. The first time I got hard since the accident was when Sway showed me her boobs one morning. God, I wanted her so bad that morning but simply kissing her was painful because I couldn’t stop, I wanted more. I wanted more so bad. It even got to the point where I tried to take care of the intense erections I would get when I was allowed to shower. I would get half way there and a nurse would check on me and then it would throw my concentration, or the mood, and I would be left with the desire. And then when I would get there and be able to feel some sort of release, it wouldn’t happen. I wanted my wife. I wanted the closeness that she provided and the warm comforting feeling of touching her skin against mine. It was torture of the worst kind both mentally and physically.
The nurses took the brunt of it but they deserved it with the stupid comments.
One afternoon, the one I despised the most, was not very nice with needles. I couldn’t understand why they needed so much blood from me anyway. Where they trying to clone me?
Well she came back after taking blood and missing my vein four times. I now had a huge hole the size of a dime in my goddamn arm.
“So it looks like you blood pressure is great.” She said with the same enthusiasm she used when she said. “Oh, look, we finally found the vein.”
I looked at Sway while the nurse smiled at me.
“Oh great Sway, I have a cracked pelvis. I can’t have sex for months. I see double vision, my entire body feels like someone beat the living shit out of me with a fucking bat and she says I have good blood pressure.” I took a deep breath. “Wow, I guess I have nothing to worry about.” I finished with a particular sour edge.
“Jameson!” Sway scolded with wide eyes as if I just committed murder. She turned to the nurse. “I’m sorry about him.”
“Don’t be...he told me to get the hell out earlier. I’m getting used to it.”
“Obviously not, you came back.” I added.
I wasn’t sure who wanted me to leave more, the hospital staff or me. Either way, I couldn’t wait for my time to be up here.
Visitors came and went but one person who stayed away was Spencer. He wasn’t dealing with the death very well. Hell, none of us were but Spencer had a lot going on with the Cup team and trying to keep everything going.
He was no longer on the pit crew, instead he took over as the car chief so Mason could be back at the shop ensuring all the mechanics there were done correctly. After the mishap in Homestead last year, we made a lot of changes back at the shop.
Our entire lives had shifted because of this one incident. It left little time for mourning but there were the occasional conversation of remembrance that took place. It took weeks before anyone would indulge on the details of the incident that I could remember. And when they did, it hit me just as hard.
Through it all, the needs, the wants, the changes, I was making ground. I was feeling better and getting the set-up that I needed. That right set-up that my family needed.
22. Arm Restraints – Sway
Arm Restraints – Straps attached to a driver’s arms to limit range of motion and keep the arms and hands inside the car in case of a flip.
Jameson was released from the hospital forty-eight days after the accident. The broken bones had healed aside from his shoulder. Along with breaking it, he tore his rotator cuff and that seemed to be causing some discomfort for him so he wore a sling.
The pelvis was healing but he wasn’t allowed to have sex for another three weeks. You can probably imagine his mood. Though he didn’t give any inclination that he wanted to have sex other than a few heated kisses we shared, I think that sex was the last thing on his mind when he was released.
His head was also a concern. He got dizzy quickly, had headaches that would literally take his eyesight away and then there was the occasional slip and he would stumble when walking. That was a concern and they sent him home with a cane to assist in his balance.
The night we came home, everyone came over and I made Jameson’s favorite fried spaghetti only to have him not be able to taste anything. Since his head injury he frequently told me food didn’t taste the same to him anymore.
After a week of having him home, more of Jameson began to come out and I saw the man I fell in love with.
I will say that having Jameson at home and not having to divide my time between his hospita
l bed and everywhere else was easier. Only problem was, he was constantly sending me text messages. Not just any text messages. Dirty text messages. It was now the middle of March and he had been released from the hospital but activity was something else entirely.
After two weeks of being home, it was apparent sex was on his mind, a lot. I caught him staring more often, his touches lingering longer than before and the want radiated from everything he did.
It. Was. Fucking. Sexy!
He knew he was in no shape to be having sex though. We tried after they released him from the “no sex thing” and he actually stopped me because he was in too much pain. For Jameson to stop during sex meant he was in an extreme amount of pain. I did more micro polishing and piston stroking during the last month than I’ve ever done in my life. That he wasn’t too sore for.
Physically he was recovering and a full recovery looked promising. Emotionally, I would say he had taken the edge off the pain but it wasn’t gone. Not for any of us. And the fact that we still hadn’t had the funeral was the biggest obstacle. We all knew when we did; the pain would be just as real again.
The night before the funeral, I finally made it home around eight to find Jameson nowhere around after his physical therapy session. We now had a trainer coming to the house four times a week to get him back in physical condition.
I checked the gym and he wasn’t in there so I checked the movie room, the kitchen, and even the kids’ rooms. They weren’t home either so I went upstairs intending to find my phone to call him.
I walked inside our bedroom to find all the lights were on and the French doors leading out to our balcony overlooking our private lake open.
The draft coming in was a little too cold so I walked over to close them when Jameson said, “Don’t close that.”
“Oh—sorry!” Covering my heart with my hand, I jumped when I heard him speak. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
The room was a dark blush tint. He was sitting slouched in a chair on the balcony. A cool breeze danced throughout, the curtains flowing with each shift.
He shrugged but didn’t say anything. He looked rough, the bruises had healed and his hair was growing back but he still didn’t look like himself. The distant cold demeanor took over most of the time but Jameson was there, underneath of it. I hated seeing him like this but there wasn’t anything I could do for him right now.
After the accident, I wanted him to react the way he used to. I wanted him to feel the things he used to but he didn’t. So many times his anger would flare and he would simply walk away. I wanted him to punch something, throw a transmission, and fight us but nothing. That’s when I knew that he wasn’t okay. The Jameson I knew wouldn’t react like this but I also knew that he had a severe brain injury that he was recovering from and he had lost his dad. So much was still confusing to him and frustrating that his body wouldn’t respond as quickly as he wanted.
“I’m tired honey.” He said softly watching the lake.
I glanced down at him as I stepped outside. “You should take a nap.” I said coming into his line of sight. “Do you need more pain medicine?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” His fixated gaze turned to mine. “I’m mentally exhausted.”
I already knew that. I saw the warning signs even before the accident. I’ve seen it before. There’s only so long that you can live a lifestyle like he had.
“Do you want to talk?” I knelt down beside him only to have him shake his head and pat his lap indicating he wanted me to sit with him. Taking off my boots, I slipped onto his lap carefully.
“This doesn’t hurt, does it?”
His head leaned into mine. “It’s fine. Just don’t smack my shoulder.” He let out a light chuckle, his body shaking mine.
“I miss you.” I said to him knowing he understood what I meant.
“I know.” He whispered against my temple before kissing it softly. My head tucked under his chin sinking into him.
We spent a good hour out there before Jameson said he was tired and decided to take a shower before he went to bed.
The kids were with Spencer and Alley in Bristol watching the NASCAR race, which I’m sure, was part of Jameson’s mood swing as well.
Making my way downstairs, I heard the shower turn-on and then I cried.
I must have sat in the kitchen for close to another hour when Van came by. He seemed concerned.
“Van,” I sighed handing him a cup of coffee. “I’m worried about him. I just want my husband back and right now he seems so distant.”
“Maybe after the funeral he will have some closure?” Van suggested. “When are they doing it?”
“Maybe. I guess that could help.” I said taking a drink from my own coffee. “Axel, Spencer and Lane already spread the ashes on Grays Harbor Raceway but the funeral in Bloomington will be on Wednesday.”
We were quiet, when Van sensed I needed some advice. “I’ll tell you what I told you outside Jamestown in the hotel.” His eyes focused on me. “I don’t know if he will ever be the same. I hope that he can and I think that he will but I don’t know for sure.”
Nodding, I poured more coffee for us when Van cleared his throat. “There’s something that I need to speak to you about.”
“What?” His demeanor, his voice, the look in his dark eyes, all reminded me the time he told me about his family and what Darrin had done to them. My blood ran cold thinking of what he could possibly need to tell me.
“It’s about Grady.” Van began, his eyes remained cold but he looked at the cup in his hands as he spoke slowly. “Jimi had come to me when the engine went missing and asked that Clint and I look into Grady. He seemed too familiar but I couldn’t place the face.” His eyes darted to mine, wide and weary. “I knew there was a connection, it was just too familiar not to be.”
“Oh god Van!” I gasped moving away from the counter. “Please tell me he’s not related to him! Please tell me he’s not alive!”
Van caught me in his arms, his jaw clenched. “No, he’s not alive...but Grady is...his son.”
I couldn’t breathe. The worst part, the sickening part, was that Jameson trusted him.
“How do you know?” My heart was pounding thinking of how close he was to our family, my kids, my husband, a place where we called home.
“Clint found his birth certificate and traced him back to Kannapolis where Darrin was from. Grady was born there to Leslie Andrews. From there Clint found out that there was no biological father listed on his birth certificate but that Darrin had requested a paternity test of Grady Andrew’s three weeks before he went after you.”
“And he was the father?”
Van let go of me backing away from me to lean against the counter. “Yes.”
“What are we going to do Van? What do we tell Jameson?”
“We tell him Grady was fired. Tell him I did it...I don’t care but you can’t tell him...shit,” Van dropped his head, his chin nearly touching his chest. “There’s more...and you might want to sit down for this.”
It was about that time that I nearly had a heart attack. Van told me everything that had been happening over the last two month. He told that Grady had altered the welds on the roll cage in Jameson’s car and that he intended for Jameson to get hurt. He claimed to have never touched Jimi’s car but none of us could be sure.
Van held me while I cried. I cried for myself, I nearly lost my husband. I cried for Van who had lost his family over Darrin so many years ago. I cried for Nancy having lost such a great man. I cried for Jameson and him not knowing and how it would crush him to know this.
Van told me that Grady had admitted to everything and that he understood that charges were going to be pressed against him. And then he broke the last bit of news to me.
“He wants to tell Jameson himself.”
My eyes went wide. “Does he have a death wish?”
Van chuckled, his demeanor relaxing as he sat back on the stool in the kitchen. “That’s what I said but he
knows what he’s done. He admitted everything as soon as Axel cornered him in the shop.”
“Axel knows?”
“Yeah, he and the boys were the first to find out when we did the inspection on Jameson’s car and found the partial welds.”
Running my hands over my face, I took in everything he was telling me and wishing it wasn’t true.
“So what happens now?”
“Well,” Van shifted his position on the chair, “now we decide if telling him ahead of time is in our best interest.”
“We can’t lie to him Van. He needs to know. If he found out from anyone besides us, it would destroy him more than it already has.”
“Okay, so we tell him tonight.” Van stood as if he was ready.
“Uh, hold up there big guy,” I held up my hand patting his overly large shoulder, “not tonight. He’s tired.”
“But we tell him soon...before Grady has a chance to.”
We agreed and Van left and I was left trying to figure out what the hell happened to our lives. Just when you think things are improving you get slapped in the goddamn face and it knocks you right on your ass again.
When I came to bed, Jameson was awake staring at the ceiling, the lights off. The broken clock next to the bed confirmed my theory that he had some reactions to anger, just not around me.
He didn’t move when I slipped into bed, barely acknowledging I even came into the room.
The exhaustion got to me and I was asleep within a few minutes.
I woke up alone in the bed again. From my place in the bed, I could see Jameson was in the bathroom on the floor. Being as quiet as I could, I approached the bathroom for a closer look to make sure he was okay. He sat there in a pair of his boxer briefs and a bottle of Jack Daniels at his bare feet. His head was rested against the tub with his legs outstretched. If I looked close enough, I could see the tears rolling down his cheeks.
It hurt me to see him in pain, to push us away because he didn’t think we would understand. If anything, I understood completely. I may have had time to prepare when my dad was taken but it didn’t help with dealing with it.
