Trading Paint

by Shey Stahl

  The girl smiled when my eyes focused on hers and she was pretty but was not who I wanted. Returning the smile, I turned away from her silently letting her know I wasn’t interested.

  Next thing I knew, her arm snaked around my waist as she leaned against my side.

  “You’re Jameson Riley, that NASCAR driver...right?”

  “Last time I checked.” Giving her another half-smile, I shifted away from her embrace.

  “So are you sticking around after the race?”

  “Nope,” I answered vaguely.

  When I looked back at her and her friend, it dawned on me just then who the other woman with her was.

  It was Ami, as in Justin’s Ami.

  “All Outlaw drivers need to report to their cars.” The intercom system announced throughout the pits.

  Thank god! I thought to myself. It was getting harder and harder to get away from these pit lizards.

  Our cars were pushed onto the front stretch and then we walked through the grandstands and down toward the flag stand where they introduced us by our qualifying order. Justin walked past me so I nudged his shoulder.

  “Was that Ami?”

  “Yeah,” He grinned widely. “I saw her about a month ago when I made it out to Elma for that Modified Nationals with Tate.”

  “So are you guys...”

  “Not sure...but she’s here...that has to be a good sign, right?”

  “Clearly, you’re asking the wrong guy on that.” I chuckled adjusting my hat. “Have you not seen me around Sway?”

  “Oh I have.” Justin nodded. “But you didn’t fuck up the way I did. I broke her heart and now...well...I couldn’t live with myself if I did it again.”

  “Don’t then.” I ventured.

  He snorted as we filed in beside the stage they set up for us to walk across. “Nice advice.”

  I didn’t get a chance before the roar of the fans and fireworks drowned us out.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, you wanted the best you’ve got em’ here. Let’s introduce your starting line-up for the Outlaw Showdown, the heavy hitters of the World of Outlaws!” the announcer drew out in a deep enthusiastic voice. “Starting on the inside of row one, we have the King, your very own, fourteen time champion...Jimi Riley!”

  “Starting on the outside...the son of the King and NASCAR’s Rowdy Riley, none other than Jameson Riley!”

  Tipping my head at the crowd, I smiled when they roared to life. Dad turned around, glaring. I’d clearly gotten more cheers than him. He threw his hands up in the air at the crowd before they admired their champion.

  Laughing, he pulled me into a headlock.

  Like I said, it was nice to be around my dirt buddies. I considered them my family, yes my dad technically was, but Justin, Tyler, Ryder, Tommy...they were all my family in some way.

  “How’d the car feel?” Tommy asked sometime after the heat races. He was running around making sure all of us had the right setups.

  “When I lift, I got instant stick, maybe too much.”

  Tommy went right to work on the adjustments.

  When we finally started the feature, dad was all business. He was leading the series with Justin a close nine points behind him. He had no room for mistakes and I almost felt bad about being in the mix with the point leaders but I also knew if any of them had the chance to race cup and compete at those levels I had been, they wouldn’t question it.

  So why should I?

  Engaging the coupler, I signaled to the driver, letting him know I would be taking off. The car roared to life. The sound is absolutely addicting. Nothing sounds like or feels the way a sprint car does.

  Even my cup car was nowhere near the consoling meditation that a sprint car provided. I think the best part was the feeling I got just being out here, around the dirt track again. It was exactly what I needed. The dirt, the methanol, even the sunscreen worn by the women, all reminded me of a time Sway was with me, a time when everything was so much simpler, though I’d never taken the time to appreciate just how simple it was.

  That was until around lap thirty something of the feature and I ended up tangling with Tyler on a re-start. He blew a right rear tire and took me with him.

  It was no one’s fault—he didn’t make it blow. Sprint cars are so temperamental that the tiniest change in that stagger I’ve talked about sends them flying without a moment of warning.

  Being upside down was the least of my worries. I was more concerned about the methanol pouring onto me. The problem with methanol burning is that it burns invisible, no flame or smoke. If a fire happens, you can’t see it to put it out. But you can feel it burning you.

  I started thinking of all the ways it could catch on fire. Certainly, it could reach a spark but that wasn’t my concern because the engine wasn’t idling. My fear was the 800° headers it was pouring onto as well as my racing suit. So while there was no obvious spark for it to come in contact with, the headers were another story. Methanol has a flash point of 385° so the 800° headers were starting to concern me.

  Safety crews were scrambling around me, searching for injuries and frantically asking me if I was all right.

  “Riley, are you okay?” they repeated that a few times before I could answer.

  I nodded and gave them a wave. It wasn’t like they could hear me with all the cars running past. Even on pace laps, they produced quite the sound.

  Motioning toward the fuel tank behind me, I said. “The fuel is pouring on to me. Can you get me turned over?”

  That got them going. The wreck happened right in front of the pit bleachers so both Tommy and Spencer were there to help get the car turned back over. My skin was burning from the methanol that soaked through my fire-resistant suit. It may not have ignited but it was still something you didn’t want on your skin.

  Knowing me, what kind of mood do you think I was in having a substance on my skin?

  Not a good one, but that was all but forgotten when Justin held off the King of the Dirt for the win. My car, a driver I hired and my friend—won that night. The only feeling greater than winning, was seeing a friend win. After celebrating for three hours, I called it a night when that determined pit lizard from before starting hanging on my arm.

  “Jesus Christ, you stink!” Spencer grumbled once we were inside the car.

  I inhaled deeply. “There’s nothing better than racing fuel.”

  On the way back that night, I drove with the windows down as the methanol was a little strong when confined. With the night’s air, the warm summer breeze blew throughout the mini-van. The freight trucks hum drowned out Aiden’s obsessive talking and Spencer’s intolerable snoring.

  Being back on the dirt tonight confirmed one thing for me—I couldn’t wait any longer.

  My stomach was in knots that night when I made the decision—a decision that was essentially eleven years in the making. Still...my will wavered and probably would until I saw her again.

  I had commitments now, obligations, fans, sponsors...the list endless and if I thought it would get easier; I was in denial.

  So when would I ever get a chance for me?

  Sure, I loved what I did, this was what I always wanted and worked so hard for. Racing was my life, my passion. Somewhere between the time I left home to chase this dream, and now, I felt something missing and it was her. The one that changed everything I thought I knew with one look.

  For the longest time, I ignored the fact that I was in love with Sway for one simple reason, what if she loved me back?

  If I didn’t want to lose her, how long would I let this go on? I have only ever had physical relationships. How could I have more?

  Just simply being my friend came with a price tag—imagine if she were more? How would that affect her life and how could I do that to her?

  I knew my life would never be normal but I wasn’t about to take away any sense of normalcy that she had away from her. How could I? Sway never had a say in anything and Charlie proved that.

  Was it fair
that she would soon have responsibilities that no twenty-two year old should have? No. The difference between her and me was that I asked for this. I knew the sacrifices I would have to make and was prepared for them from the beginning. She wasn’t. She had no idea of the pressure and opinionative populace that was out there. Being pessimistically jaded, I didn’t want her to know that side of the world but I soon wouldn’t have a choice and neither would she.

  Consequently, I knew my decision was wrong but I also knew that if nothing in life was free, then I was ready and willing to pay anything for her happiness.

  “Who are you calling?” Spencer asked stepping inside the motor coach that night before heading to his hotel.

  “Uh...Sway,” I admitted and hung my head waiting for her to answer.

  “I’m sure you want to be doing more,” he countered with a smug grin.

  “Shut up,” I kicked him on the way out. Gratifyingly, he fell down the steps. “Hey wait, get back here.” I yelled after him hanging out the door by my arm on the door handle.

  He turned to me brushing dirt off his jeans. “What?”

  “Did Josh take care of Blake?”

  Spencer’s eyes lit up like he’d just been told his favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, would be celebrated twice this year.

  “Dude, you wouldn’t believe how scared that douche was. Even pissed his pants when Josh and his buddy got a fake search warrant,”

  “Why’d he piss his pants over a search warrant?”

  “Turns out...he was growing weed in his apartment and selling to the students at Western.”

  “No shit?” This turned out better than I thought it would. Even though I would have liked to see him threatened about never touching Sway again, at least he was in trouble.

  “Shit.” Spencer nodded turning to walk away. “Oh and...don’t sound too eager when you beg her to come out here. Have some dignity.”

  Chuckling as I swung the door closed, Sway answered, “Hello?” her voice bleary.

  “Shit,” glancing at the clock on the wall I realized it was nearly two in the morning there. “I forgot the time difference.”

  “Jameson?”

  “Yeah honey, it’s me.”

  “Oh...good job on the pole,”

  “Thanks...hey I called for a reason.” I paused preparing myself. “Come see me.”

  “What?”

  “This weekend,” I clarified. “Come see me in Charlotte. I’ll buy the ticket for you to come.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds; her steady breathing was the only sound before she sighed softly. “I uh...are you sure?”

  “Well yeah.” Letting out a soft chuckle, I continued. “I asked—didn’t I?”

  She was silent so I added fuel.

  “I miss you and I got the pole.” I softened my tone. “Please honey...” I begged.

  “Fine, I’ll come.” She sighed with a soft giggle.

  My perverted brain was focused on the fact that she said I could come. I blame this on the fact that I haven’t had sex in over a year. Hell, I’d barely done any bleeding of the pressure valve these days.

  We ended the conversation after that so she and I could both get some sleep. I was no longer focused on the fines handed down that had consumed my mind all week. Now I had the pole to the Coca-Cola 600 and Sway was coming.

  Oh goddamn it.

  My body had other ideas at the thought of the word coming again—so I snuck off to the bathroom before heading to bed.

  I woke up feeling both relaxed and energized. For one, Sway was coming to see me and I raced sprints last night. Whenever I got a chance to race on the dirt, I felt better.

  Things were looking good, so I thought.

  I only saw what I wanted to and had avoided the underlying feelings for too long holding out hope that they’d go away. They didn’t. I was determined to do something about it this time. I was done messing around. We needed more from each other and if physical was all we could have, then so be it. The thought both excited and terrified me.

  I walked through the paddock that morning, lifting my chin in acknowledgment at the calls from fellow drivers and fans who gathered.

  My mind kept considering how I might tell her I wanted more.

  I’ve wanted to tell her so many times how my feelings had changed but I couldn’t. This lifestyle was not something I could ask her to adapt to, how could I? That was the part I couldn’t get past because in order to give myself to her in all the ways I wanted to, my demanding schedule was what was holding me up.

  I’m on the road forty weeks out of the year. Monday through Wednesday, I’m usually doing sponsorship commitments or working on sprint cars for my team. Thursday through Sunday, I was at the track racing and then it started all over again on Monday.

  Prior to the team meeting, I stopped by the motor coach where Cal had fixed breakfast for everyone.

  “What are you going to do when she’s here? You know you need to be concentrating and not thinking of ways to get Sway in bed with you.” Spencer asked shoving a bagel in his mouth.

  I kicked him under the table we were sitting at. “Fuck off. It’s not like that with Sway.”

  “You’re in denial.”

  I shoved myself away from the table and got ready for my endless amount of interviews today.

  On the way there, Sway sent me a text.

  Got my ticket, by there at two. Someone had better pick me up, asshole.

  I typed one back.

  Headed to interviews. Can’t wait to see you! Alley will pick you up.

  Alley caught up with me after my appearance on Trackside Live. “Hey Jameson, you have a meet n’ greet in about an hour.” She pushed her curly blonde hair away from her face—the summer heat was blistering today. Her porcelain cheeks flushed from the heat with Lane on her hip.

  “Thanks...hey,” I flashed her with a wheedling smile.

  My mood was never this good on the day of a race; this wasn’t lost on Alley either who looked at me as if she’d never seen me before. “Can you pick up Sway from the airport today?”

  She nodded her head looking down at her Blackberry. “Sure...but don’t do anything stupid.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lane squirmed in her arms to reach for me. His bright curious blue eyes scanned around the humming boisterous atmosphere of race day in the garage area.

  “With Sway...just...don’t, Jameson.” She warned handing him to me.

  “Huh?” Lane and I both looked at each other—he squinted into the sun shining on him over my shoulder.

  Alley slapped at my forearm.

  “I know you...you want...” her eyes focused on Lane as she chose her words carefully. “more but I’m telling you right now, one of you will get hurt. Just don’t.”

  Lane smiled at me, his expression strangely serious. “Mommy says no.”

  Great, now a three-year old is giving me advice.

  I knew what Alley was warning me about but I had to know if Sway felt the same way. I knew she had feelings for me but I needed to know for myself if there was any chance they might be more. I wanted more. I wanted it so badly it’s all I could think about right now. Understanding how long it took me to come to this conclusion that I wanted more, do you honestly think I’d be persuaded not to act upon it that easily?

  I wasn’t sure how it would turn out once she was here but I had to try. I was done wasting time with her, I needed something, anything.

  Every Sunday morning while I did my interviews and meet-n-greets; my car went through inspection at the far end of the garage. NASCAR officials picked over the car on an elevated platform. During various times throughout the weekend, your car was inspected. Usually before the first practice session, before qualifying, after qualifying if you win the pole, and just before the race.

  They also do this after the race for selected cars, usually the top five finishers, the first car to fall out of the race not involved in an accident and one random car. You don’t know if you’re a rando
m car or not until you’re pulling onto pit lane and the official tells you. If something doesn’t jive after the race, you lose the points awarded for the win and you’re penalized. In most cases you do get to keep the win itself.

  They inspect everything from ride height, angle or size of spoiler, weight (they must weigh 3400 pounds with at least 1600 pounds on the right side without the driver), engine specs (the car must adhere to compression ratios and displacement) how the car fits into the templates, and restrictor plates if it’s a restrictor plate race.

  Now did I mention they check your fuel?

  If I didn’t, it’s because I never thought about it, until today.

  Our team had no reason to cheat, so why would we?

  Each week we were consistent, always had been. I’m not saying we didn’t bend the rules from time to time because every team did. You push and push until you get handed a fine. Then you know you can’t get away with that any longer and you push the next issue. It’s racing. With the competition levels they way there were, every team tried to “one up” the other. It was the name of the game.

  So yes, we pushed boundaries, but we never messed with the fuel or tires. Two things NASCAR heavily enforced.

  All things considered, when Kyle approached me after inspections and prior to my meeting with Simplex to tell me they found something in our fuel, I wasn’t pleased.

  “What the fuck do you mean they found something in the fuel?”

  “I don’t know.” He threw his arms up. “Mason said they made the crew drain the fuel tank and they took the fuel for testing.”

  Alley must have noticed my fuse was just about out to ignite as Kyle was talking cause she stepped in front of me and her hands gripped my shoulders.

  “Jameson,” Alley’s voice was full of warning. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” I was getting angrier and confused.

  “Lose control right now.” She said sternly. “Just relax.”

  I grunted and walked away from both of them heading to my meeting with Simplex. This was not the shit I needed or wanted today.

  While I was busting my ass through the paddock to make it to the hospitality tents Simplex had set up, Spencer chose now to talk to me.