The Legend

by Shey Stahl

  FOX Sports had approached her about documenting Jameson’s recovery and the progression of the season after coming back from such a horrific injury. Jameson declined the offer when FOX Sports originally proposed it. He also declined it when SPEED proposed it as well.

  Ed was going to attempt to persuade him.

  “We think that it would be beneficial for your fans to see your progress and the lifestyle that you live. It’s not every day a champion of their sport defeats all odds and returns to racing mere months after nearly being killed.”

  Jameson stared at the wall as he spoke. “My lifestyle is mine. I give this sport everything I have.” His head tipped to meet Ed’s stare. “In turn, I have sacrificed my personal life for years and beyond my comfort. I’m not doing it.”

  “Jameson, let’s—”

  “It’s not happening.” He snapped. And if the glare he offered didn’t speak volumes for his anger, the slamming door did.

  The problem was that Simplex, and every other business representative pushing him to do this, didn’t understand that our lives had been judged since our proposal in victory lane. Why would we want someone seeing the only privacy we had now?

  When Melissa pressed him to reconsider on the drive to Charlotte, he replied with, “If you can’t understand why I’m saying no, you obviously know nothing about me and shouldn’t be making business decisions for me.”

  It was a harsh choice of words for him to use with her, someone who looked out for his best interest but in reality, at this point, was she really looking out for his best interest if she thought publicizing his life more than what it already was, would be beneficial for him?

  To his defense, Jameson had gone with the flow for years but one thing remained the same. No media in the motor coach or our home. He allowed them all over our property, the dirt track, Grays Harbor, in both race shops and his office, but never in our personal sanctuaries.

  We got to the track around seven that night and situated in the motor coach. It was a strange feeling being back at the track after nearly six months away but it also comforting for here, surrounded by the only lifestyle we knew we could deal with the pain those last six months had left on us.

  It was strange not having Jimi stop by. Usually on race weekends we saw him Thursday night after we arrived at the track. Jameson felt it. I knew that he did by the way he kept an eye on the door anytime someone came inside.

  I watched Jameson carefully, as I always did these days, but he seemed comfortable around the boys. Most of the crew hadn’t arrived yet but Kyle and Spencer were the first to greet him. Spencer had moved from the jack man on the team to the car chief and gave the pit crew orders. It worked out well because Mason was now heading up the boys that were at the shop.

  Relaxing in the motor coach most of the evening, Kyle gave Jameson a rundown of the last few races and the changes Randy had made to the team. Randy and Jameson weren’t seeing eye-to-eye on the way he was running Riley-Simplex Racing and felt he was trying to turn it into something that it wasn’t. Jimi kept the team small for a reason. It was manageable that way. Randy had already talked of adding more cars and partnering with different sponsors. The problem was that Jameson, being partial owner of the team, had to agree to it. And he wouldn’t. He didn’t want more than three cars on the team and had no interest in partnering with another sponsor.

  Most of the time when we were at the track, Arie and Casten were with us and Axel was racing on the Outlaw tour. That hadn’t changed now that we were back at the track. Arie was here but spent little time with us as she was now working with Easton a little more and helping with promoting and what not. She was basically acting as his publicist but they hadn’t announced anything as she was only seventeen. Technically she couldn’t be his publicist. When Jameson was injured, everyone in our family stepped up and did everything they could to make what we had all worked so hard for over the years work. In turn Arie was learning about the business side and what it took getting your name out there and how to market yourself in a good way. It was a nice change from the rebellious tattooed spit fire we usually dealt with.

  Casten was being your typical instigating fifteen-year old shit the next morning before practice and I wasn’t thrilled. I had enough problems with trying to make sure Jameson was all right and I didn’t need my delinquent spaz child being a shit head. I mean, Christ, he was fifteen now. Was it appropriate to team up with the other hoodlums and let the air out of all the golf carts surrounding the drivers’ compound? No.

  Arie thought it was funny and left me alone to control him. Brat.

  Jameson looked up noticing my frustration and crooked a finger at Casten. “Get over here.”

  Casten pretended not to notice but yelled over his shoulder. “What?”

  Jameson glared kicking the flat tire to his own golf cart. “You heard me.”

  Casten came running. He knew when Jameson meant business and right then he did. When he was close enough, he just looked at him and that’s all that was needed.

  Casten knew he went too far. “I’ll be with Jake and Cole.”

  “Stay out of trouble.” Jameson said as he walked away with Jake, Tate’s only son that was racing in the Truck series this year. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to stay out of trouble.

  We also hadn’t sooner arrived here at Lowe’s Motor Speedway and they were already requesting a press conference. Alley noted it would be a good idea that Jameson spoke with the media in a controlled environment where she could field the questions if needed.

  Standing beside his car, I looked at Jameson when they asked the question. His defensive eyes squinted into the sun. He squeezed my hand before letting go to lean inside the car to grab his sunglasses.

  My gaze flickered to his and then back to the reporter. He took a deep breath before placing his sunglasses on. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  Jameson didn’t want to do a press conference but he knew it was necessary after everything.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” I asked as we went inside the hauler so he could change into his racing suit for practice. Then he needed to be in the media center.

  Alley walked inside to tell him something but immediately walked out when she saw Jameson turn to glare at her.

  Jameson covered his face and then dropped his hands and forced a smile. “I don’t care. If you want to go, go.”

  And then he did what I least expected in that moment. He hugged me. There’s something about a hug. Like I said, it has the ability to speak volumes and nothing at all.

  That hug made my decision, if there ever was a doubt, to attend the press conference.

  When we exited the hauler, we walked in silence to the media center. Jameson kept his eyes forward as he held my hand.

  Arie, Emma and Casten were waiting outside the doors with Spencer and Aiden inside standing in the back with Kyle. Jameson of course, went with Alley to the side and spoke with Russ Campbell.

  Casten smiled at me and kissed my cheek. “Hey mama,” squeezing my shoulders I knew he wanted something. “What my little delinquent spaz?”

  “Can I have money?”

  “Why?”

  “I saw something that I wanted to get someone.” Casten gave me a little shrug hiding his smile behind his hat he pulled down.

  Handing over money was something I found myself doing a lot on race weekends. I never had cash. My kids stole it before it was ever in my possession.

  Casten started to leave but I pulled him back by his t-shirt. “I don’t think so. Get back here.”

  He did and stayed by my side the entire time.

  Jostled, smashed, bumped, you name it, I was crammed inside the media center waiting for my husband to speak publicly for the first time since the accident. Though I hated being in there, I wanted to hear this.

  Eva, Tate’s wife found me before the press conference started. “How’s he doing?”

  We hadn’t seen each other since Jimi’s funeral and she’d missed a lot of the
drama that had gone on with him not passing the exams. “He’s doing good but still feeling…the loss.”

  “It’s only natural.” Eva hugged my side holding me a little longer than she usually would. Eva was a big hugger. “Tate still feels the loss of his dad and it’s been ten years.”

  She no sooner spoke the words and then covered her mouth as though she said the wrong thing. “I know of anyone, you understand that.” She said regretfully.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I assured her. “I know.”

  I think Eva understood I didn’t want to talk about it and stood beside as support.

  Watching the crowd, most of which consisted of reporters but there were a few drivers like Tate Harris, who was retired this year but still running his own team, and Jameson’s teammates Bobby Cole and Paul Leighty. Everyone wanted a glimpse into the mystic that made him Jameson Riley.

  Standing near Arie and Casten, Spencer wrapped his arm around me when Jameson came into my view.

  He walked in, Alley close behind him, with his head bent forward not looking at anyone.

  “How do you feel?” the first reporter asked him. “Do you have any setbacks since your injury?”

  Jameson nodded, his eyes focused on the microphone. You could feel it, if not see it, the significance behind his eyes in that moment. “I feel good. Sore at times but, I’ve recovered and I am ready to get back to racing.”

  A few more questions were asked regarding racing and the direction of Riley-Simplex Racing now that Jimi was gone when that same reporter Jameson always had problems with asked if he felt the loss of his father now that he was back.

  I wanted to lash out at the reporter and tell him to shove his tape recorder up his ass but I didn’t. What he didn’t realize was that now that he was back at the track, it was painfully real again that Jimi was gone.

  Jameson didn’t look up right away. Instead his eyes remained on the microphone as calloused fingers I knew the strength of ran over a Sharpie in his hand.

  Soon his gaze shifted from the reporter to me. We shared a moment and I winked, though he never responded, I knew that his mind was elsewhere.

  “Whether I want to or not, I get to deal with it.” The vulnerability in his voice was enough to make me want to cry, which I had done a lot lately. “Yeah, I miss him. That’s a stupid question.”

  Thankfully Alley stepped in. “There will be no more questions regarding Jimi. You may ask questions related to racing and that’s all. If anyone asks about his family, the interview is over.”

  Jameson leaned back appearing a little more comfortable. A grin appeared as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d listen to the lady. Don’t piss of Alley.”

  The media center was brought to life with chuckles. Alley smacked the side of his head as she walked back to her place against the wall.

  “See,” Jameson gestured to Alley. “She uses physical violence to control me.”

  Just like the man I always knew, his wit has the power to overcome the vulnerability he felt.

  “We’ve heard talk of a possible televised show to account for your progress and return to racing.” A reporter nearest to Jameson in the front asked holding a tape record high over her head. “Is there any truth to those rumors?”

  Jameson groaned revolted by the question. Slowly he looked up to meet the questioning eyes. “No. Those are rumors. I’ve declined all offers.”

  Wanting to show as much of his recovery as they could, the pried every day to get details and interviews. That first weekend back, they chose that race to have an in-car camera in his car. It was just another way to go about getting the story even if he wouldn’t agree to the show.

  “Any plans of racing in Knoxville Nationals?” that same shithead reporter asked.

  Looking back at the microphone, Jameson’s hands found his hat and he tugged on it lightly keeping his gaze down. “No. I have no plans of racing sprint cars again this year.”

  The pensive regret was easy to feel in each word.

  Fortunately, the press conference didn’t last long. There were only so many questions they could ask without getting too personal and pissing off Alley.

  After the press conference, Arie and Casten took off with Emma and went to lunch as practice started. Dressed in his racing suit, Jameson stood with me beside his car smiling at Kyle.

  Kyle rubbed the side of the car grinning as if he was presenting a trophy. “I brought your favorite girl.”

  Jameson threw his head back laughing.

  Over the years it had become a joke between Kyle and Jameson and naming the cars. They’d agree on a name during practice and then the boys would joke about it. It was all in good fun and another unity they had, and still had.

  When he got inside the car, I watched him closely and scrutinized his every move for any indication that he was in pain.

  Sitting on the pit box with Kyle and Spencer, I snuck on the headset.

  After his horrific crash in Pocono back in 2003, Jameson showed some concerns when he got inside the car for the first time after that. Now, he showed none. He never hesitated as he got inside. He never hesitated when he fired the car up and he never hesitated when he brought it up to full speed on the track. But he also never said a word on the radio until half way through the practice session.

  Mired in thirty-second during practice, Jameson wasn’t pleased. “We need to change this shit now!” he said speaking for the first time. “I can’t keep it out of the wall.”

  “Okay, well come in and let’s see if maybe a spring rubber might help.”

  “We’ve made those adjustments Kyle.” Jameson said annoyed. “It’s not helping!”

  “I know that, Jameson. We’re trying but you know as well as I do it’s hard to predict the changes the tracks going to make when the lights go out tomorrow. We have to set it up for that.”

  “Just give me a good car.” Jameson responded immediately. “That’s all I’m asking for!”

  Not more than two laps later, Jameson wadded the car up in turn two after he brushed the wall in one, the back end came around on him. My heart leaped into my chest at the force that he hit the wall. A thousand possibilities of different ways he could have been injured shot through me.

  The camera shot to Jameson’s in-car camera. I watched his breathing closely and the trembling of his gloved hands. He hit the kill switch with an agitated flip of his wrist and then ripped away his air hose. His head tipped back against the seat and then his hand rose to the wheel pounding it a few times in frustration.

  It was evident that he was beyond pissed when he got out of the car. The safety officials wanted him to ride back to the infield care center but he wasn’t having it and instead walked away to pit lane when they called an end to the practice session to clean up the mess. His car was destroyed.

  Making my way through the pits, I found Jameson back at the hauler standing outside of it signing autographs for a few young boys who had gathered.

  “Do you still got it or did you lose the fire?” Brody stirred nudging Jameson with a taunting edge to his tone when he walked past.

  Jameson’s eyes opened into a glare regarding Brody briefly.

  He stood from his kneeling positing by the boy at his feet, shoulders tense and baring a burden again as he handed the boy in front of him his t-shirt he’d just signed. Looking at the boy, he smiled. “Here buddy. Enjoy the race tomorrow.”

  When the boys were gone, Brody stood there in front of him trying to push a little more as did the media.

  “Jameson,” a young reporter jetted his microphone in Jameson’s face. “What happened out there?”

  I could tell by the huff Jameson let out and pushed the reporter back a few feet. “I’m not answering questions right now.”

  “Come on man,” the reporter sighed brushing his hair from his face clearly taken back by Jameson’s refusal. “Just one interview isn’t asking too much.”

  “You get that fucking camera out of my face!” Jameson snappe
d back at the reporter.

  “I’m—”

  “I mean it.” Jameson stepped toward throwing his hand up. “Get lost or I’ll break your fucking camera!”

  “Same guy you’ve always been.” The reporter mumbled and motioned to his camera man to walk away with him.

  Some may think Jameson is a jerk when it comes to the media or persistent fans but, they don’t see the side that Jameson deals with. All his life a camera has been in his face. As soon as he’s out of the car, he doesn’t have time to process what happened before he’s being asked to explain it in detail. Yes, that’s part of this sport, but to judge a driver for reacting emotionally or with anger isn’t right. You have no idea what he’s dealing with. They had no idea what he was dealing with. They may think they did but in actuality, they weren’t feeling what he was feeling.

  I followed Jameson inside the hauler. He stood facing the counter, his back to me. With his hand gripping the back of his neck, I noticed his breathing was labored.

  “Are you done running from me because there’s some things I need to say.” Kyle said to him coming inside the hauler behind me. “It’s only fair that you listen.”

  Turning sharply, Jameson caught my stare before darting his eyes to Kyle. He blinked the stunned expression away and the anger I saw earlier sparked.

  “I just need five minutes. Can you give me that? Five minutes?” Jameson hollered at Kyle.

  Kyle, knowing Jameson’s temper, turned and walked out immediately leaving us alone.

  I didn’t say anything because no words were necessary. He needed time and no one would give him it right now. Did they not see what his eyes were telling them?

  No. They couldn’t because other than his parents, no one understood those pensive glares and the surreptitious squinting he did.

  Jameson’s arms crossed over his chest, his head hung. Looking at him now I noticed that every day, his demeanor reminded me of Jimi. His calloused stance spoke volumes. I understood what Nancy meant when she said a part of Jimi would be forever with her because of Jameson.