by Shey Stahl
Table of Contents
Riley Family Tree
Dedication
Prelude
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Authors note
Acknowledgments:
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, sponsors, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, dead or living, is coincidental.
The opinions expressed in this book are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of NASCAR, its employees, or its representatives, teams, and drivers within the series. The car numbers used within this book are not representing those drivers who use those numbers either past or present in any NASCAR series, USAC or The World of Outlaw Series and are used for the purpose of this fiction story only. The author does not endorse any product, driver, or other material racing in NASCAR, USAC or The World of Outlaw Series. The opinions in this work of fiction are simply that, opinions and should not be held liable for any product purchase, and/or effect of any racing series based on those opinions.
Copyright © 2015 by Shey Stahl
Published in the United States of America
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of Shey Stahl.
Cover Design: LM Creations
Editor: Hot Tree Editing
Proofreader: Janet Johnson
Interior Formatting: Pink Ink Designs
For Kelly and Brynn.
In loving memory of Emma Joy Schmidt & Rowyn Leea Johnson
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”
~ Dr. Seuss
Axel
This refers to the power the engine provides compared to the weight of the car. Sprint cars are said to have the highest power to weight ratio weighing 1400 pounds and producing over 900 horse power.
I WANTED TO WRAP MY arms around her but I couldn’t make myself do it. I was hurting and here she was acting like it meant nothing. She acted like I should have been prepared for it. I’m never prepared.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” She refused to look at me or even say she was sorry. She gave me nothing.
It hurt to see this look on her face, the one where you could see she was drowning in a pain I couldn’t save her from, but it hurt more to know why she was looking at me like that.
We were broken, not a single emotion spared from what we’d been through.
“I want you to tell me it’s all bullshit, Lily.” My hands ached to touch her as my heart burned to let go. “I want you to tell me I didn’t just see what I saw.” I stepped closer to her, wanting her to feel the heat from my body—the heat burning inside of me. “I’m hanging on by a fucking thread here—hoping maybe one thing in my life isn’t fucked.”
Just let go. She wants you to. Let her go so she can be happy.
That was what she wanted, right?
Why else would she have done this?
Her eyes met mine and I saw everything in them. Everything.
Hatred.
Sadness.
Regret.
And all of it was directed at me. The one person who was supposed to shield her from those feelings.
I would have never thought this would have been us. I would have bet my life this would have never been us.
But I would have also bet the last few months would have never happened.
You can’t predict your life. You can hope it will turn out one way, and then when it doesn’t, you’re left spinning out of control.
Some people say there is a high that comes with winning. But there is always a crash. You can’t stay that high forever.
This was me…crashing.
And it wasn’t going to be pretty.
Axel
Crate Motor – A ready built engine.
RECENTLY, I HAD THIS memory I couldn’t shake. It was the memory of my grandfather dying at Knoxville. For a race car driver, someone who pushed speed and risked his life inside a nine-hundred horse power car, dying wasn’t something you wanted to think about.
But still, I couldn’t get this memory out of my head. Even as I sat at a table outside Starbucks, conversation around me, cars on the street passing by, the summer sky scattered with streaks of clouds, the details were there.
It was a memory where I remembered the smallest of details, even ones that didn’t directly follow the accident.
My hands were trembling so violently when I passed by the carnage. The wheel was jerking from side to side in my hands. Adrenaline radiated throughout my body, surging in my joints, hot and blinding all at once. I felt like I was going to vomit any second.
I blinked, trying to focus enough to catch a glimpse of the two of them, but they were still inside the cars with safety officials frantically working around them. I had no idea if they were injured or not at that point, but the eerie feelings weren’t helping me and the way everyone was screaming around them, with no movement from my dad or grandpa.
As I slowly blinked, wanting that memory to fade with the ease of time, it wouldn’t. I didn’t usually think about that day, as it took the life of my grandfather and left my dad permanently changed by it. Not in the obvious physical ways, more emotionally. And if I was being honest with myself, it changed me too.
My mother’s voice drew my attention from my thoughts. “You have the Silver Cup coming up in a few days and then Summer Nationals…”
“Summer madness, huh?” I teased, winking at her, knowing damn well the season wasn’t about to get any easier.
She laughed it off, taking a drink of the coffee in her hand while scrolling through her phone with the other, checking dates and appearances I needed to be at.
Sitting outside with the warm salty summer air clinging to our skin, I stared at my coffee wishing there was a little Bailey’s in it. Sometimes it helped take the edge off these memories; and when I was on the road, there was usually something a little stronger in my cup.
“Look, Dad!” Jack pointed to a freightliner passing by, bright red and orange graphics outlining the A-Tech logo on the side. A-Tech was one of my sponsors, and had been for years. Jack always thought it was cool to see my sponsors and the words below it that read: Proud sponsor of the World of Outlaws driver, Axel Riley.
“Yeah, buddy, pretty cool, huh?”
He nodded, his attention back on his hot
chocolate and cinnamon roll in front of him. I brought Jack, my oldest son, with me, but left Jonah and Jacen with my dad. Neither one of them could sit still long enough for us to accomplish anything. And Jacen, my youngest, was a pain when it came to listening. Cute little guy with a round face and blue eyes, but a complete shit most of the time.
Mom sighed and set her phone down, waiting for me to look at her. “You’re not going to be able to make that race in Cerro Gordo.”
The reality of being a racer was not being able to make the races you wanted to make.
The ones you needed to go to.
Having missed the majority of Jack’s races, I finally understood how my dad felt all those years.
Jack watched my mom closely over his cup of hot chocolate. Whenever she went over schedules, he listened. He always wanted to know where I was going, so when I wasn’t with him, he knew exactly where I was and could call me every night.
While he seemed excited, his eyes dancing and barely able to sit still, he quickly realized our schedules weren’t lining up. “But you get to see my race, right?”
With pursed lips, my eyes dropped to the schedule wishing it wasn’t as packed as it was. “I can’t make that one, buddy.”
Bending forward, I looked over at my oldest son, my eyes drooping from lack of sleep. Already exhausted, I knew the months ahead were going to be even crazier. July for the Outlaws was always insane. Sixteen races in thirty-one days and ten cities, including heading over to Canada.
I loved it, but it was a grueling on everyone.
“But I get to come to Lernerville, right?” Jack smiled, leaning against my mom’s shoulder. She reached over and ruffled his hair.
“Yeah, buddy, you get to.”
“You gonna win me a trophy in Cerro Gordo?” Mom pinched his cheeks together and then kissed each one.
“I am.” His blue eyes sparkled. “Grandpa Jameson gave me his helmet from the showdown! It even has the dirt still on it.”
Kids were funny. It was like their thoughts randomly came to them and they had to blurt them out or they’d forget.
Every driver I knew collected something in their career. Mostly trophies—others maybe just memories. We all had more trophies than we knew what to do with, but there was something else we liked to collect. Helmets.
My little man was a helmet collector. He had close to a hundred already. It all started when my dad gave him his own helmet after a race. From then on, Jack wanted everyone’s. He had Grandpa Jimi’s, my dad’s first Knoxville win, his last cup win and a several more.
At almost seven years old, Jack had an impressive collection of helmets. He even had my dad’s from his accident in Knoxville, the one with the split down the middle from where he hit the concrete wall. Jack’s favorite part? The blood in the lining. Not my favorite part because I was there that night. It was a memory I’d like to forget, but to a little boy thinking their grandpa was some kind of superhero, it was something to brag about.
Jack looked down at the schedule and then pushed his cup away, his eyes on the paper. “Daddy.” I could see the worry in the way his brow scrunched with each word and the way he let his mop of golden blond hair fall into his eyes. “You won’t be home much.”
“I know.” I didn’t know what else to say to him. I couldn’t necessarily ease his mind on this one.
“And you know what else we need to plan?” Mom was always good at distracting Jack from the reality of not seeing his father much.
“What?” His stare swept to my mom as he turned to face her.
Mom smiled. “Someone has a birthday coming up.”
“Who?” Jack knew, but he was playing along with her. His eagerness grew with every word.
“I wonder…” Mom drummed her fingers on the table and stared up at the sky, then back down at Jack. “He’s a little boy with big blue eyes and chubby, kissable cheeks. Do you know him?”
“Me!” Jack jumped up and down. “It’s me!”
“What do you want for your birthday?” I asked, laughing at his excitement.
“A full-size midget.” He didn’t even have to think about it.
The thought of my son racing a midget wasn’t as terrifying as I assumed it would be. He knew how cars worked and he’d had throttle control since he was old enough to walk. My fears came from me not being there to show him what to do. I wanted more than anything to be that mentor my son needed. I didn’t have my dad for that. He was pursing his own career and helped when he could, but most of my knowledge came from Tommy Davis, my dad’s friend who basically ran his sprint car team.
Pushing my empty plate forward, I set my napkin on the table and looked at my pouting son. “Jack, I know you want to race them but they’re bigger than what you’re used to.”
He immediately went into defensive mode. “But Henry is ten and he has one.”
“You’re too young.”
Mom laughed at our interaction knowing I was getting a taste of my own medicine. At his age, I hounded my parents to let me race the bigger cars. And once I finally did, I wanted inside of a sprint car.
Giving me that frown he was so good at, the one he had where his brow would scrunch together, his arms crossed over his chest and I knew this wouldn’t be the end of it. I understood his desire and determination. That drive to always be better and prove to yourself and others that you could do it. Poor kid, I think it’s hereditary.
Racing a midget was out of the question and Jack knew it. He was way too small to get into one of those.
“Okay,” Jack sighed, tossing his hot chocolate in the trash can. “I’ll settle for a new helmet.”
We’d already had a new helmet designed for him two weeks earlier so it was a relief that was what he wanted. I had it designed to match mine, something he’d been asking for.
I was tempted to give it to him already. Part of me wanted him to have it in Cerro Gordo with him. A little piece of me there with him. Something about seeing Jack wear that helmet would give me a sense of pride that my son was sporting a helmet I designed for him. Even if I couldn’t be there with him, he had a part of me.
Mom stood. “You need to swing by the shop and sign some stuff for Arie. I gotta go meet Alley and Emma but I’ll be at the restaurant tonight, will you guys?”
I winked down at Jack, who was buzzing with excitement about going to my parents restaurant tonight. “Yeah, we’ll be there.”
AFTER LUNCH WITH MY mom, I had to head to the shop to autograph a bunch of merchandise, in preparation for a charity auction.
We drove through the small town of Mooresville, North Carolina, a town swarming with NASCAR drivers and race fans, and outside the city limits where my dad’s shop was. On any given day, you pull into this parking lot and see around ten cars. While his showroom of sprint cars was the main attraction, it was also home to JAR Racing and CST Engines, two companies our family had owned for over twenty years. It wasn’t exactly the prime spot for Outlaw drivers. Midwest was the best because it was centrally located. But most of us with JAR Racing lived near the boss man, my dad. So I stayed too.
When I arrived to Dad’s shop, Jack barreled through the back door, up the stairs and around corners faster than I’d ever seen. He loved being here, but what race fan wouldn’t? Much like me as a kid, it was like going to work with your dad. If I wasn’t at a track, I wanted to be at the race shop because that was where the cars were.
Down the long hallway, photographs of my father’s success lined the gray walls, each one wrapped in a black wooden frame highlighting a memory that would be forever in his mind. I had the same memories, mostly, as I was there for the majority of those wins. I was that young kid at his feet looking up to my father with an adoration that burned brighter than the fireworks behind him. He was in many ways, my hero.
Casten high-fived Jack when we made our way inside the large office which overlooked the show room below. Casten and Rager sat on one side of the large table, with Easton and Arie on the other.
Casten, Rager and Easton greeted me when I entered. The office was filled with posters and fan apparel, a miss-match of bright colors all lined up and ready to be signed. Arie had arranged them by car number so we knew who needed to sign what.
Taking a seat next to Rager, he never lifted his head, leaning on a memory that never allowed him to let go. His eyes remained focused on his hands. And I knew why. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude or anything. But if he looked up, he would have caught Arie’s glance.
There was history behind my sister and Rager Sweet; history even I didn’t know the extent of. Yet the conflict and tension was palpable whenever they were in a room together.
I placed my hand on Rager’s back when I walked past with Jack and sat on the other side of him. Jack, still buzzing with energy from the hot chocolate, refused to sit down and went to see Easton, my brother-in-law. “Hey Uncle E, nice win!”
Easton smiled back at him. “I should say the same to you, little man. Heard you won in the Battle at the Brickyard last week.”
Jack’s smile was as bright as the sun coming in through the row of windows behind them. “Pretty cool, huh? I got a trophy!”
Arie grabbed Jack from behind, pulling him onto her lap and started tickling him. “Don’t go getting cocky, little man. You’ll turn out like these boys.” She motioned around the table. Easton and Rager were both cocky at times, while Casten was fairly humble when it came to wins.
Me? She definitely wasn’t talking about me.
I was the quiet one. Never showed much outward emotion regarding wins or losses.
Arie let Jack go, who then went to distracting Casten. Leaning over the table, Arie pushed a stack of cards my way.
Taking the lid off the Sharpie next to me, I began to sign them. My eyes shifted to Rager, who’d glanced up at Arie leaning over the table. Probably because she was giving him a view he wanted.
Those two were a damn train wreck.
Luckily, E’s stare was on Jack and not his wife with Rager staring at her. Arie caught herself and sat back down, pulling at her shirt to adjust it. It was about then that Rager shot up out of his chair and walked out of the office.
