The Champion

by Shey Stahl

  “Yeah, sure.” Casten laughed at his father’s weak attempt at controlling him.

  “I mean it. You fuck this up and I’m sending you to boarding school.”

  Casten and I both knew that would never happen. I’d bail him out within twenty-four hours.

  “School it is.” Jameson glared at me. “And don’t you think about bailing him out. I know you. He needs to learn manners.”

  Casten being the smartass I always knew him to be, smiled. “Oh daddy, please don’t.”

  Jameson smacked him upside his head, rusty waves danced in the breeze. “I blame you for this.”

  After twenty minutes, everyone started to arrive. That’s when the real fun began.

  Van and Andrea showed up with the Lucifer twins who by now were more civilized and practically adults. Lucas had just signed with the Pittsburg Pirates to play professional baseball. So he was here, in body, much like Jameson, with his phone molded to his fingers. It’s always been my experience around any professional athlete that they’re attached to their phones.

  Why?

  Because there’s an endless amount of emails, phone calls, Twitter updates, Facebook status...it’s how they stay in touch with fans and publicists. As you can imagine, Jameson hated all of that.

  Logan hovered around Jameson since he was now working for JAR Racing. Anything Jameson said, he now paid attention to. It still makes me laugh when I think about Logan duct tapped to a chair and Jameson eating cereal and acting as though there was nothing wrong with duct tapping a 6-year old little boy to a chair.

  Van and Andrea had just moved to the East coast to be closer to us. With Van and Clint being around us pretty much 24/7, it was almost necessary for them to live near us. Clint lived about a mile from us. He was single and took our safety seriously. He was the one that followed us everywhere. As he had his own family now, Van came when security would be an issue.

  “What time does our flight leave?” Aiden asked Jameson as he approached him with Noah.

  Jameson peeked at his phone. “Two hours...we need to get this over with.”

  “Agreed,” Lane said from behind us. Little Lane was no longer little Lane. At sixteen, he towered over me in height, looked identical to Spencer except with blond hair and loved to race dirt bikes. Currently he was racing on the WORCS series, which was the World Off Road Championship Series that ran once a month primarily on the west coast.

  “Hey Jameson,” Lane nudged Jameson’s shoulder. “Can I come with you to Daytona?”

  All the boys in the family loved Daytona.

  Why?

  Because of the women. Daytona was notorious for half-naked women flaunting around. For teenage boys, this was a dream come true, so I learned. Mine were still a little young for that. Thankfully, Casten thought it was disgusting and Axel, well he didn’t see any of that. If it wasn’t a sprint car or Lily West, he never looked twice.

  Jameson laughed shaking his head. “Just keep your dick in your pants kid.”

  “Jameson!” Alley slapped his shoulder. “Don’t say dick around my son.”

  “He’s sixteen Alley...” Jameson looked up to glare at her. “He knows he has one.”

  “Regardless, don’t say that around him.”

  “Mom...dad says way worse.” Lane defended with a grin of his own.

  Casten jumped on my back after that smooshing his chubby cheeks into mine. “Let’s go get me some ice cream mama.”

  “I don’t think so monkey, it’s picture time.”

  “I don’t think so. Don’t want to get my picture taken today. Maybe tomorrow,” He shrugged letting his legs fall from around my waist to dangle with his arms wrapped tightly around my neck.

  “Okay everyone, let’s gather by the water.” Nancy called out with Jimi giving everyone the eye. The one that meant you kids better behave. No one in their right mind crossed Jimi either. If our family was a kingdom, Jimi was the king.

  Jimi was still racing on the Outlaw series with Justin, Tyler, Cody and the new driver for JAR Racing, Rager Sweet. Jimi talked about retiring but just like every other Riley in the family, racing was his life. I had a feeling he was never going to retire unless he was forced to.

  Soon we were all lined up near the water, although none of us were actually looking at the camera. My kids were messing around, trying to throw Noah and Charlie in the ocean. Lane was helping them. Lexi was standing off to the side shaking her head at them. Lucas was on his phone as was Jameson. Van was trying to keep an eye on a group of women gathered a few hundred feet away taking their own pictures of us, stalking Jameson as usual.

  Emma was screaming for Axel to put Charlie down. Aiden was helping Noah out of the water by now when Casten pushed him. Alley and Spencer were arguing about Lane going to Daytona with them. Nancy was smiling, glowing actually and Jimi was glaring at everyone.

  That’s our family.

  You can’t allow us together all at once but what family all got along?

  None that I knew of.

  The off-season for us was a time to reunite with everyone. We were all so busy throughout the year and had little time to actually be a family. We learned though after a few years, that’s how it was. On any given weekend you’d find us spread all over the states. Early on I thought this would work for a while and we’d have time to relax when we were old. But then I looked at Nancy and Jimi. Here they were, in their late fifties and still going strong. Nancy never complained that between running fan clubs for Jameson, Axel, Casten, Lane and Lucas, she had her hands full. She wanted this lifestyle as did everyone else. We lived for the times when the pits were cold and we could let our guards down and be a family.

  When the picture was finally taken Jameson pulled me aside to say goodbye. “You’ll be there on Wednesday, right?” he asked softly, his eyes searching mine. I knew he didn’t want me missing the Budweiser shootout.

  “Yeah, Arie has her recital on Monday and then we will head out.”

  He frowned. “Tape it for me?”

  “I always do.” My lips met his for a quick kiss. He had other ideas about that, pushing me against the side of our Escalade. His hands crept under my sweater, lingering around the waist band of my jeans. Leaning into his warm embrace, the cool crisp air blowing in from the ocean caused me to shiver.

  Sighing, I pulled his face closer, sweeping my tongue across his lips. My dirty heathen reacted. We may be thirty-six now, but we still had that spark.

  “I’m gonna miss you so much honey.” He whispered pulling back after a few more kisses.

  Casten beat on the window in the car. “Get a room old guys!”

  “He’s a little shit.” Jameson muttered. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  I smiled taking in his sparkling green eyes, the tired lines forming in his face as he squinted in the sunlight. Taking my right hand that was wrapped around his neck I leaned my forehead against his, running my hand over the stubble of his jaw. “I love you.”

  “As I love you,”

  Jameson left after that and the life of the racing season began. There’s one thing I learned from Nancy as I sat there in the parking lot watching my husband leave, you just go with the flow. That’s all we could do.

  We were racers wives.

  22. Darlington Strip – Jameson

  Darlington Strip – Term used in NASCAR when a driver gets into the wall at Darlington.

  “Don’t take it personal Jameson.”

  I fucking hated those words. Despised them even. Anyone who said that to me at the track, they better be ready for my temper and maybe a fist or two.

  When I think about my kids growing up, I think about every meal I’ve missed with them. I think about every race of theirs I’ve failed to make. I think about missing Arie’s birth or Casten’s first birthday. I think about how many dance recitals I’ve missed. I think about Axel’s first Dirt Nationals and the countless races on Sundays because I was racing. I think about how many times I’ve missed Sway’s birthday since as it w
as the same weekend Richmond race. Then there were the anniversaries that were interrupted by the award ceremonies.

  All these things ran through my mind whenever someone spoke those words to me. So to say this wasn’t personal to me was bullshit. This was personal. I put everything I had into racing including my time away from my wife and kids.

  Every lap I made, every race or championship I won was personal to me for the simple fact that it’s time away from seeing my family.

  Throughout the fifteen years I’d raced in the cup series, I’d never had a problem with Paul Leighty. That was until the August Watkins Glen race. The day’s heat wasn’t the only obstacle that day. Patience was.

  Back when I was learning to race, I had to draw a line back then. You wanted to go out there and give it everything you had but there were times when you had to think, “How much will this set us back if I wreck? How much will a blown engine cost me?”

  After that, you look at everything differently. In turn your driving style changes and patience plays a key role. That patience, for me, was there now. Drivers like Paul, not so much.

  Beside me and Colin Shuman, Paul was one of the most aggressive drivers in NASCAR. He wouldn’t hesitate to trade paint with you each Sunday. Like I said though, we’d never really had any run-ins together.

  You see with Paul, unlike most, he never faded. His three championships throughout his cup career proved that. He was just as fast on lap two hundred as he was on the first lap. Being a soft spoken reticent, he never got into it much, until Watkins Glen.

  Everyone says you can’t go two-wide through the fast uphill esses there. Well as it turns out, they were right. The thing with both Paul and me this season was, you had two hungry racers both fighting for position. I somehow clipped the inside curb causing my back end to hit his left front. Before we both knew it we were off the track and picking out a nice section of concrete to mark up.

  I respected Paul. After all, we started the same season in cup and I also respected how he raced me these past thirteen years. So when we got back on the track after that, he pushed me up in to Tate causing him to spin off in the grass and lose some ten positions on the restart. What he did there was not respectable.

  “Did you tell his spotter I didn’t mean to hit him back there?” I asked Aiden. We frequently used our spotters to communicate with other drivers.

  “Yeah...apparently he didn’t get the message.”

  That was evident by the hand signals he provided me.

  “How many laps is this thing anyway? I feel like I’ve been out here forever?” We crossed under the bridge heading back into turn one, Paul on my inside.

  “There’s room on the outside if you need it.” Aiden added when we approached the outer loop.

  Kyle chuckled. “Two thirty six.”

  “Oh geez. Did they increase it?”

  “No.”

  “Well it feels longer.”

  Another thirty laps and bumping and banging with Paul, my air went out in my helmet. While temperatures rose, so did my car’s internal temperature. It was well over one hundred and thirty degrees in my car at that moment. So add the temperature outside to my temper Paul already set free. I was not in the best mood.

  “I hate to say this but my air just went out.” I grumbled. “It’s like a fucking oven in here.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Do you honestly think I’d joke about that?” I laughed despite myself. “There’s no fucking way I can finish the race like this.”

  We made a pit stop after that when they gave me a hose that ventilated air coming in from outside the car. “What do I do with this?” I asked looking at the hose during the last pace lap.

  “Hook it up to your helmet. We couldn’t get it in there with the net and still get you out in time.”

  After some negotiating and yelling at my helmet and lack of space in the car, it worked but did nothing for my mood.

  As the race continued, Paul and I were running second and third with just a few laps to go when he once again, got into my bumper on a restart. After fishtailing briefly, I got it under control and managed to finish second to Bobby with Paul behind me in third.

  Wanting to show Paul just how pleased I was, I nudged him on pit road after the race. In my mind, I got my point across. Done deal.

  Well NASCAR had their own theory on that one. They didn’t want other drivers getting into the habit of running into each other on pit road. It was dangerous. We could hit either a crew member or an official doing that sort of thing just by accident. I knew that and I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I mean, honestly, I was going maybe 15mph. It’s not like I hit him going full throttle and body slammed him. I had more respect than that. Last time I looked, I wasn’t Darrin Torres. I was just simply expressing a little concern for his lack of concern on the track.

  Like I said, NASCAR didn’t see it like that and sent both of us to the hauler to hash it out.

  Paul and I left the hauler not speaking and it took weeks to talk about what happened in Watkins Glen. He tried to talk to me when Casten and I were leaving the media center after the Bristol race but I wasn’t having it.

  “Listen Jameson,” this was not the way to start a conversation with me. “I just don’t see why you’re upset. You race everyone that way. You can’t expect to run me off the track and me not get upset.”

  “I don’t race you that way, that’s the point.” My eyes met his briefly. “I didn’t hit you on purpose.” I kept walking shocked he couldn’t understand my response. Casten followed paying close attention to what Paul was saying. Casten may be the happiest kid on the face of the planet but if you mess with his family, he threw down.

  “Jameson, just don’t take it so personal, it’s just racing. And if I remember correctly, you got the last hit on me.” He said condescendingly.

  “I’m leaving,” I was thoroughly annoyed at this point, and walked inside the hauler.

  “That’s right, walk away.” He glared holding my eyes for a moment before stepping back away from me.

  “Fuck you, Paul.” I added before slamming the door shut.

  Most guys, I thought Paul was one of them, knew what to expect out on the track. We usually never meant anything by the bumping and banging each week and the drivers that did, usually didn’t have many friends out there. Sure we never forgot but we didn’t go looking for trouble each week, that’s why I couldn’t understand why Paul kept it up throughout the race, he knew I never intended to hit him in Watkins Glen but he retaliated anyway.

  I think most don’t realize; fans and media included, that these cars bump and bang for position. You cannot put them inches from each other, push speeds of two hundred miles per hour and not expect them to bump and bang. And in the same sense, not every time is it going to be intentional or someone’s fault. I thought Paul knew that and evidently, he didn’t.

  I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t the one seeing it clearly but it either way, I wasn’t in the mood that night for any of it.

  Heading back to my motor coach, Nadia caught me again. Nadia had caused just about every wreck this season and wasn’t exactly on any driver’s good side. I’d been tangled with her a handful of times and usually got it turned around before the race ended aside from Michigan when she took us both out just five laps into the race. Did I confront her?

  No. I kept my distance.

  “Not right now.” I told her when she asked if we could have a drink.

  I knew where that was heading and I wasn’t in the mood for her shit again. In a season where she was barely hanging on outside the top twenty in points, she felt the need to get attention from the drivers confirming Spencer’s theories about her sleeping her way to the top.

  “You know Jameson,” this was the point of the conversation that I actually acknowledged her and looked up. “Sometimes it’s nice to have a friend. That’s all I was wanting. Everyone hates me.”

  I couldn’t tell whether she was serious or not but giving my s
hitty attitude for the night, I replied as I always would.

  “Your temper is the reason you have every other driver on this series hating you.”

  “Something you know all about.” It was meant to be sarcastic and I knew that.

  “I do.” I told her with the same amount of sarcasm. “You need to relax out there before you kill someone.”

  “Also like you?”

  That’s when I lost it.

  “All right,” I turned to her stepping closer and had her backed against the side of her motor coach. “I’ve tried to be nice to you but you don’t seem to get it. No one in this series will ever take you seriously and no one will take it easy on you. If you wreck someone, you better be ready to defend that action, something I know very well.”

  I then walked away. I could have said more but I thought I got my point across.

  Darlington Strip – Sway

  When he came in and slammed the door behind him, I had a feeling something happened but with Jameson, it was best to give him room. If you pushed, he blew. Just like the coals in a fire when the wind blew, they ignited. The more anyone tried to control Jameson, the more he defied them.

  I knew this had to do with Paul as it had been all over ESPN and SPEED the last few weeks.

  For about an hour, I left him alone until he tossed his phone on the table and stormed back into the bedroom of the motor coach.

  “Fucking bullshit news reporters,” He grumbled as he pushed passed me and his knuckles met the closet door. “Goddamn it!”

  Casten smiled. “He’s had a bad day.”

  Nodding, I followed Jameson but before I did, I looked back at Casten and Axel playing video games. “I’d go find something to do outside of the motor coach if I was you.”

  They knew Jameson just as well as I did. They knew he needed space.

  Both of them were outside before I got the door bedroom open.

  Jameson was lying on the bed with a pillow over his head.

  “Don’t bother me.” His voice was muffled from the pillow.