Black Flag (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  “Jesus Christ...no!”

  “This is ridiculous. I’m injured.” He roughly pointed this out as though I didn’t know. “You should be taking care of me.”

  I made a firm rule that he needed to be discharged from the hospital before we had sex. To say I was horny as well was a fucking understatement. My surplus hormones were out of control, I had an oil leak that needed a new filter, desperately. Don’t think I wasn’t ready to ask nurse pussycat for a shot of valium, because I was.

  I was also moments away from climbing on top of him and riding the shit out of him, despite the broken ribs and punctured lung.

  What was satisfied immensely was when Jameson showed absolutely no interest in the pussycat doll or any other nurse that snuck in to try their luck with him. And there were many.

  Tommy however, was madly in love with pussycat and asked her to marry him on more than one occasional. She thought he was adorable and actually gave him her number. Crazy lunatic. She must have liked orange heads and men with the mental maturity of an eight-year old.

  Jameson was a cranky jerk by the time Sunday rolled around and he was forced to watch the race on television—something he’d never done until now.

  I actually had to leave the room a couple times and beg the nurses to sedate him, or me, when he was yelling so profusely at the reporters that I honestly thought he was going to give himself a heart attack.

  Everyone in the NASCAR garage knew exactly what happened and that Darrin intended on killing Jameson that day in Pocono but the media painted a very different picture.

  They went through every possible scenario from maybe he was testing something out on his car; maybe he didn’t realize Jameson was on the track; to maybe Jameson shouldn’t have still been on the track.

  Bullshit...all of it bullshit.

  Darrin Torres knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled off pit lane and hit Jameson’s car at approximately one hundred and seventy miles per hour.

  That was not a goddamn fluke. It was intentional.

  What shut Jameson up completely that afternoon was when they replayed the accident and he watched it for the first time.

  He was quiet for a good hour and I think the only reason he spoke after that was because I threw up beside his bed after watching it.

  It was sickening to see. The video footage they had didn’t show Darrin coming but instead showed Jameson doing his burnout with his arm out the window, and then you saw a glimpse of Darrin’s car in the smoke...then this horrible metal-to-metal thunderous noise.

  When the smoke cleared, Jameson’s car rested demolished against the outside wall, the camera focusing on his body slumped over his steering wheel.

  It was one of those horrific accidents you see in movies where you can’t believe they walked away from it; gut wrenching is what it was.

  Jameson never did make any remarks about the accident. And knowing this boy my entire life, he wouldn’t.

  By Monday morning, Emma was prohibited from his room after she brought in a fluffy stuffed cougar that was practically the size of Jameson.

  His response, after making me set the cougar outside his door, “You have to be shitting me?”

  Nancy was dangerously close to being banned as well when she brought me Burger King.

  Jameson had to sit and watch as I wolfed down two Whoppers and a milk shake.

  He was not so amiable after that since his doctor said he wasn’t allowed any greasy food while he was in the hospital. He actually contemplated kicking me out but I suborned him with another sponge bath—worked like a charm.

  The week in the hospital flew by.

  Jameson was...driven. Pushing himself right to the edge and balancing precariously along it, determined to recover in time for Bristol. But the thing was, that’s what Jameson was good at, balancing on the edge of control, determination, anything really.

  He wasn’t able to do much at first but as the days passed, he grew more confident and it was evident that his body was responding. He had been in excellent physical condition before the crash, his body honed to a point most people never saw in their lifetime, and that made it possible for him to recover at a phenomenal rate.

  I knew that soon he’d be getting back behind the wheel of a race car. I was happy for him but the other part of me...the part that wanted the father of our child around for his or her birth, was scared shitless to have him behind the wheel again.

  I don’t think anyone can ever understand the feeling you get when you watch someone you love almost die, right before your eyes. It’s indescribable and something I never want to experience again but I know it will happen.

  Besides last Sunday, the worst crash I ever saw him get into was one at Indy when he flipped a USAC midget seven times and landed on the guardrail. He walked away from that one and even laughed about it when he saw the video. He was the only one laughing.

  With all of this, I came to the conclusion that none of it was in my control. I could hover over him like his mother to the point of driving him insane...or I could support him and let him know every day how much I loved him.

  Though I knew he was risking his life every time he got inside that car, it was something he loved to do and was passionate about.

  How could I ever ask him to give that up just because I didn’t want to lose him?

  To me that was the most selfish thing I could do.

  So instead, I told him every chance I got that I loved him and supported the career he chose, even if he was out of his mind for wanting to go two hundred miles per hour into a corner with concrete walls surrounding him.

  2. Sway Bar – Sway

  Sway Bar – A bar is used to resist or stabilize the rolling force of the car body through the turns.

  The days following Jameson’s release from the hospital were not that enjoyable. Nothing when Jameson wasn’t racing was enjoyable. He made sure of that.

  After we arrived back in Mooresville where he lived with his parent’s, I called Charlie, my dad, to let him know I wouldn’t be home until a few days before the modified nationals. Though Jameson was now the owner of Grays Harbor Raceway, his hometown track in Elma Washington, Charlie still kept up with daily operation of it.

  We knew that eventually Charlie wouldn’t be in any shape to run the track but for now, having only months left after the brain cancer had spread, Charlie needed a distraction. Keeping Grays Harbor Raceway running was that distraction.

  Though I felt I had obligations to Charlie back home, now Jameson needed me with him too. And he needed me here with him in Mooresville while he recovered. For one he still wasn’t able to shower on his own and he refused to let his mother help him with that task in any way, so that left me.

  I was happy to oblige. Why wouldn’t I be?

  Jameson was also one horny dirty heathen by the time he was released. He counted, actually counted, that it had been five weeks and two days since we last had sex. He was not happy about that. If I was being honest, neither was I.

  He complained he had a constant erection. Naturally, this made me happy. Again, why wouldn’t it?

  Aiden kindly kidnapped Emma and made her stay with him. After she bought Jameson the cougar, he refused to be in the same room with her.

  Emma had officially pushed him off the deep end. He was now contemplating all the ways he could get her back and with all his free time now that he was laid up, this was not good for Emma.

  By the time we made it back to his house the night he was released, it was late, around ten.

  His parents were in Kansas, where Jimi was racing, leaving the house dark. Jameson was muttering something about cat footprints on his Mustang when I managed to get him inside the house, painkillers in hand and ready to administer. I wasn’t about to deal with Jameson for two weeks without drugs.

  Two weeks was the time frame the doctor gave him until he would clear him again for racing. And then he still had to pass the NASCAR physical. Like I said, I would not be doing this without painki
llers.

  Jameson was pissed when he found out he’d be missing the Bristol race—he loved short tracks. But this also meant he had another two weeks before Atlanta. He was still pissed but it made for a longer rest period that he needed.

  We were getting settled in his room, which then brought us to sitting on his bed, then lying on it...you know how it works.

  He shifted closer, his eyes focusing on mine and I knew what he wanted.

  Kissing me, long and slow, deep and thorough, I sighed as his tongue slipped warm and wet across mine. His teeth scraped and gently bit. His hand came up between us to cover the insanely huge funbags. Even though they were big, they hurt like hell.

  I pulled back reluctantly with a whimper of pain. “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” I told him. Inside, I thought it was a great idea.

  I eyed his chest and stomach, currently covered by his t-shirt, knowing the bruises that still lingered from his broken ribs looked like underneath. The idea suddenly seemed stupid.

  “I know.” He admitted softly, his eyes wide and beseeching. “But...I just have to...I can’t explain. Please?”

  How could I resist this?

  I examined his tense, worried face. “Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully. “Jameson...”

  “Please, honey.” He asked again smirking. “And you promised, remember?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” I really didn’t, and I knew this was a terrible idea, but the look on his face...the tone in his voice...this was about more than the act itself. He wasn’t asking me for just sex.

  “We’ll be careful.” He breathed pressing a kiss into my hair.

  Slowly, I brought my hand over his hip to cover the bulge in the jeans he was wearing.

  His features relaxed infinitesimally as he rubbed my leg, letting his fingers trailed up the inside of my thigh. He reached my waist and his fingers fumbled with the button on my jeans.

  “Let me,” I told him. I stood and bent to push my pants down—his eyes followed my every movement. “You just lay there and let me handle this.”

  “Handle away,” he waggled his eyebrows, grinning. Placing his one good hand behind his head, he smirked, knowing I could handle well.

  I knelt beside him and pulled on his jeans, pulling them from his hips and down his long legs. He groaned, and I lifted my attention to his face. He had gone still and intense, all teasing gone as he watched me rub my palms up his thighs and over his boxer briefs, my fingers wrapping firmly around his camshaft.

  He groaned once again, and his eyes drifted shut as my fingers dipped inside to find the hard, hot, bare skin of his camshaft.

  Hot damn.

  I shifted to kneel between his legs, pulling on his boxers until he was finally exposed for me from the waist down.

  There was no better sight in the entire world then my dirty talking heathen, naked, ready for boring.

  Taking him once again in my hand, his hips twitched at the reciprocating motions. “Oh god...feels so good,” he moaned loudly. “Sway.”

  I leaned forward, his eyes blinked open, focusing on me. I didn’t look away as I slowly opened and stuck my tongue out, drifting forward until I could smell the tangy, soapy, musky scent of Jameson. I took the camshaft between my lips, swirling my tongue around.

  “Fuuuccckkkk,” he breathed, raising his knees so his feet rested flat on the mattress, pushing up into my mouth.

  I licked, sucked, swirled, and bobbed until his hand fumbled at his side and tugged on my hair.

  “Sway,” he moaned in a throaty sexy voice, twitching slightly. “In you...now...please. I need to be in you.”

  Sitting up on his bed, I pulled my shirt over my head tossing it on the floor. I was about to leave my bra on with how sore the funbags were but when I glanced down at him, I could tell by the look on his face he was disappointed they weren’t coming out to play, so off came the bra.

  He watched intently as I leaned forward, running my hand along his right arm, being careful to avoid his left side.

  Jameson reached forward and touched the enormous funbags with his fingertips. Inching forward I carefully threw one leg over his hips. Settling my knees on either side of him, I sat up, trying not to put pressure on his ribs, chest, left arm, or his collarbone. He, literally, was a fucking mess.

  I looked over him once more. His arm was in a cast, and that arm was in a sling from the broken collarbone. He may have been a complete fucking mess but he was also incredibly hot with his hair all messy, his eyes pleading, body straining. This was going to be difficult.

  “Are you sure?” I whispered one last time before I positioned for align boring. “You’re really banged up.”

  “Yes,” he hissed between his teeth, as his right hand rubbed my thigh. Attempting to get closer, his upper body pressed toward me but winced in pain. “Jesus, Sway. Please...I begging you, just please fuck me.”

  How could any woman in their right mind resist that?

  Slowly lowering my hips, Jameson arched his back, unable to control the pleasure, gasping and shaking. I froze and his hand tugged at my upper thigh.

  “No, no, don’t stop. Please...it’s okay.” He gritted, his head thrown back, muscles and tendons in his neck tensed and straining. “Don’t stop...Keep going. Fuck, please keep going.”

  His grunts, groans and downright cries of pleasure convinced me I wasn’t doing irreparable harm by indulging his need as he came hard with a forlorn, guttural sob, shuddering and shaking beneath me.

  Hot damn.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. I pressed a soft chaste kiss to his lips.

  I shook my head and kissed him again. He must not have realized how incredibly fucking hot it was to watch him cry out like that as I pushed him to an orgasm that shook his body.

  “No, don’t worry.” I gasped. “That was all for you. Incredibly hot...but all for you. Better?”

  He nodded slowly, gazing into my eyes before sighing and carefully lifting his arm to snuggle me closer to his side. “I couldn’t be better.”

  Sway Bar – Jameson

  “What kind of case do we even have against him besides what NASCAR will fine him?” My dad asked Phillip, our attorney.

  “Not much of one but we’ll see.” Phillip admitted. “I need to get with one my associates and see what kind of case we can bring against him. I filed a restraining and we’re going for reckless endangerment.” I took in a deep breath as Phillip continued his speech. “The problem we run into is that, in the past, courts have determined when you play a sport or get behind the wheel of a race car, you assume a certain risks, inherent to the sport. There are greater limits on the liability of whoever caused the injury than under the normal circumstances. For example, say a driver pissed you off on the freeway. You flip them off and nudge the back of their car, letting them know you’re pissed. They could potentially sue you and probably win. But if you were to do that on the race track, you’re protected.”

  “There’s a big difference between nudging and what Darrin did.” My dad roughly pointed out. His hard blue eyes furrowed in frustration.

  “Whether or not Darrin will be held liable for injuring Jameson will depend on the courts and what they decide is fitting with the intentional goal of injury and whether or not the actions were inherent to the sport.” Phillip shook his head. “Darrin is claiming he wanted to make sure his shifter wasn’t broken and didn’t know you were still on the track.”

  Jimi stood, his chair crashing against the wall.

  I just sat there, slouching in the black leather chair, my head bent forward. This was disgusting to hear. How someone could intentionally try to kill you and get away with it all because they were governed under the rules of the sport?

  When you’re a professional athlete you assume there are risks involved so bringing a lawsuit against another driver is usually never done and winning one was challenging.

  Phillip stood, running his long fingers through his kept black hair once before looking over towar
d me. “Listen Jameson, I know you want to see Darrin get what he deserves. I do too. I’ve known you since you were two years old and to see that accident on TV, not knowing if you were okay,” He choked, his brow pulled together. “Let’s just say I was calling every favor in law I had to get Darrin locked up. But he has rights and sometimes those rights protect him regardless of what he’s done. NASCAR has doubled his fine after further investigation from $50,000 to $100,000 and the suspension is still holding. He would be allowed to compete in the Winston Cup series again next year but will be on probation for the entire season.”

  “What about other divisions? Jameson sometimes steps into those cars from time to time for Billings Racing. Is Darrin suspended in those as well?” Kyle asked leaning forward.

  “Yes, he’s suspended from all three series as well as any NASCAR sanctioned track.”

  Phillip left a few minutes after that, leaving Kyle, Jimi, and me sitting in our large conference room.

  Kyle nudged my arm. “We need to be at your shop by ten as we have a few drivers to meet.”

  Interviewing drivers who would be driving my car at my favorite track was not exactly a pleasant experience for me. It was like interviewing men to take your wife on a date. No one would be good enough in my eyes.

  Justin drove the car at Indianapolis and did exceptionally well for never being in a cup car before, finishing thirteenth. Unfortunately, his prior commitments wouldn’t allow him to race the car at Watkins Glen and Michigan so here I was interviewing.

  Kyle handed me a resume. Scanning it cursorily, I turned my head lazily to glance at him sideways. “I hate doing this.”

  “This next guy is racing on the World of Outlaws for Quincy Saller.” Kyle told me ignoring my poor attitude. “Sway actually recommended him to Justin. They’ve been racing together for the last year.”

  My eyes shifted when the driver walked into the race shop. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when he walked in. I guess appearances don’t dictate a driver’s ability but this guy looked like a total douche to me and belonged in a boy band. His shaggy blond hair looked like he tried to create the just woke up look.