Black Flag (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  As always, reality was waiting outside the doors. I knew I needed to get to the drivers meeting but I couldn’t fucking breathe. The heartache I was feeling was so intense, so all consuming that I didn’t know where I was at. I would have fallen to my knees again if Alley hadn’t been holding me up.

  “Spencer?” she called out holding me against her side. “Help me! We need to get him back to the motor coach.”

  Still disoriented, I could feel arms of steel wrap around me and pull me toward the door. As soon as the muggy air of the afternoon assaulted me, reporters did as well all sensing the break.

  “Jameson, how are you holding up? How’s Sway doing?” a reporter with ESPN asked. I felt like fucking punching him for even asking.

  “I’m sorry,” Alley interrupted stepping between the reporter and me. “Jameson will not be taking any questions.”

  Clearly, I was not okay. I smiled but it was merely a desperate attempt to hide my anger and grief. It was pretty fucking evident that I was not okay at all. Weaving through them, Spencer got me inside the golf cart.

  I could barely keep from breaking down on the way to the motor coach. Once inside, I collapsed against the couch. Spencer and Alley went to find Kyle. I’m not sure how much time passed but the next voice I heard was Kyle.

  “What happened?” I heard him ask when he walked inside. “He was fine before he went to see Gordon.”

  Spencer handed me water as Alley explained to Kyle what Gordon showed me.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Kyle seethed before storming out.

  “Jameson...” Alley sighed and bent down beside me on the floor where I was slumped once again, trying to pull myself together. “You have to get to the driver meeting.”

  I knew that. I put my own emotions aside and tried for my team who were counting on me today.

  Here’s the thing about being a professional athlete—everyone wants a piece of you. It doesn’t matter if you’re having a bad day or dealing with your own shit, they regard you as public property, with an obligation to serve, to entertain, to yield to others. Whether it is your teammates, opponents, reporters, fans, agents, or publicists, we are flooded with obligations and forced to tread water, hoping like hell we don’t tire ourselves out and drown.

  Defeat was not an option for a guy like me. Not for any professional athlete. As a race car driver, we don’t back away when inches from another car at two hundred miles per hour. We’re not easily intimidated. We don’t flinch, hesitate, give up, and we certainly don’t surrender. Not at the racetrack anyway. It is the only option. Otherwise, we wouldn’t race and put our lives in danger. No sane person would.

  Even though defeat is not an option, our bodies still respond to impulses. When we’re cold, we shiver. When we’re hot, we sweat. In response to fear or excitement, our pulse races, our breath quickens. We can try to avoid giving in to these impulses, but eventually, our body acknowledges the situation and acts quickly to restore equilibrium. It is the only natural reaction.

  Similar to the human body’s reaction to restore regularity in the presence of various stimuli, I gave in to Sway, the only woman who can make me shiver and perspire at the same time, the only woman who makes my heart beat quickly and my breathing increase.

  It was the most natural reaction for me at the time.

  And when I finally did give in, admit defeat, I forgot why I fought it in the first place, why I held on so strongly for so long, telling myself that there was nothing more than physical attraction between us.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong and it taught me a valuable lesson: That amidst life’s stimuli and circumstances, and all of the demands and obligations thrust upon me in the spotlight, there is one impulse that I could control. After the heat of the moment has cooled, deadly sins have been exemplified, and my body had physically adjusted to everything that had occurred, I could control how I redeemed myself. I had that power.

  “Hey, it’s time.” Bobby stuck his head inside the motor coach. “We have to get to the...” one look in my direction and his voice trailed off. “What happened to him?”

  With as much strength as I could gather, I rose to my feet.

  I had an obligation. A commitment. And I had a choice to make.

  Walking beside Tate and Bobby we made our way inside the media center for the drivers meeting. I still hadn’t spoken to either one of them but they understood.

  Andy and Paul walked up to us and sat down in front. Everyone was giving me concerned sympathetic glances. You know the look, the one that said, “I think he’s gone off the deep end but we understand why.”

  I wanted to say, “Yeah, well, I have people.” I was out of fucking control and I knew it.

  Patrick stood at the podium beside Lisa; Gordon was standing off to the side sporting a new fat lip and wiping blood from his nose trying to appear as if nothing was wrong. I shook my head in disbelief as Mason came to sit next to me.

  I looked over at him in confusion. They only people allowed in the drivers meeting were crew chiefs, drivers and owners.

  “Yeah so...” he adjusted the fit of his Simplex hat. “I’m going be your crew chief today.”

  I let out a small chuckle. “Let me guess...jail?”

  “Yep,” Mason let out a laugh of his own shifting to get comfortable in the metal chair.

  Straightening his tie, Patrick cleared his throat, drawing the crowd’s attention to him. “Our first order of business today is to announce that Gordon Reynolds will be stepping down as Director of Competition effective immediately.” He said glancing at the crowd. “Lisa Westin will take over intermediately until a permanent replacement is announced next week in Dover.”

  That was a change I didn’t see coming. At least maybe now I could make it on and off pit road without a speeding penalty. But then again, speeding penalties were the least of my worries right now.

  After the announcement about Gordon, I couldn’t tell you what they said during the drivers meeting other than the competition yellow after fifty laps because of yesterday’s rain. When it rained, it washed away all the rubber built up on the track. In turn, NASCAR would usually allow what they called the “Competition Yellow” to allow teams to make necessary changes to their cars due to undetermined track conditions.

  Walking through the crowd, paddock and taking the golf cart to the motor coach seemed robotic.

  “How exactly is this going to work?” Spencer asked. “I mean, look at him? He hasn’t eaten anything today or yesterday. We can barely get him to drink fucking water! How’s he supposed to spend four hours in a car that reaches temperatures close to a hundred and twenty degrees?”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Alley and Aiden said together. “We don’t have a replacement driver.”

  Apparently curled up on the floor wasn’t what they wanted. At least I had my racing suit on. I wanted to drown in my own misery, the images just repeated in my brain on an endless loop. I was drowning, treading was no longer possible. And though I wanted to drown, it was impossible with Spencer and Aiden bugging the fuck out of me.

  “This isn’t good...oh man...” Mason walked in, with the same concern as everyone else. “What are we going to do? How long has he been laying there?”

  “A while,” Alley muttered handing me another bottle of Gatorade, trying to get me to hydrate myself.

  Shaking my head, I pushed it away. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything since before the race yesterday. I couldn’t. It was disgusting how consumed I was with this but I appalled myself even.

  “Maybe we should call Justin as a backup driver?” Aiden suggested. “He’s a NASCAR sanctioned driver.”

  “We can’t. He’s in Rossburg and then they fly to Sarver tomorrow, and then Summer Nationals after that.” Alley told him. “Jameson has to get in that car. We don’t have anyone who can fill in.”

  “Well he’s fucking useless like this!” Spencer barked tossing his hands in the air. “He needs to get his shit together.”

>   “I’m still in the goddamn room. I can fucking hear you guys!” I shouted peeling myself from the floor. I took the Gatorade from Alley. “Just leave me alone.”

  Like I said before, after the heat of the moment has passed, we can cool off and clean up the messes we made. We can try to let go of what was. We are left with a choice, sink or swim. I had an obligation to my team, to my sponsor and most of all, I had an obligation to the woman I asked to marry me. Nothing that happened so far changed that. I still had an obligation to all the people who made it possible for me to live my dream. And that included Sway. My obligation to her was to be the man she needed. Be the father she would want our child to look up to, not the man lying on the floor of his hauler, begging for relief from the guilt he felt. She needed someone who she wouldn’t be ashamed to call her husband.

  As our team searched for a rhythm it didn’t have, seeking commitment and focus we couldn’t provide, the race stuttered on for an hour. Being inside the car and racing side by side with the other drivers at speeds that would make most men piss themselves alleviated some of the pain, but not completely. I wanted it gone as a man could only take so much.

  Any remorse I may have felt for what I did to Darrin was gone after seeing what he had done, first hand, to Sway. It was one thing to try to kill me and it was something else entirely to try to kill Sway and my son.

  If there was anything that I was sure about, it was that I had no business being inside of a race car right now. I was a reckless, out of control, impatient, hasty, impetuous, rash...really, no business being out here but what fucking choice did I have?

  “Cautions out...ten car spinning in turn four, go high.” Aiden announced. “Keep your head here bud.”

  I breathed in deeply but felt no relief. It only reinforced my deadening mood. My team felt it too. All the warnings and the shared feelings kept us from winning. Because of Darrin; because of this situation, I was letting it dictate my style of racing as well as the response times for our team. We couldn’t perform a proper pit stop to save our asses.

  The race had beaten down all that was left. We all felt it. With the unity we had, we all felt what happened yesterday.

  I had no idea what position I was in or even what lap we were on, but I knew I was driving like an asshole. I had the furled black flag pointed at me on almost every lap for the way I was racing the other drivers but I could care less.

  “NASCAR said that’s your last warning. Next time they’ll park you.” Mason said humorless. “What do you think four tires?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “No changes...just fuel and tires.”

  “You heard him guys...no other changes.” Mason told the crew. “4400 second gear.”

  When Mason told me to come in, I realized I was at least on the lead lap. From the looks of it, I came into the pits in ninth, which gave me the first bit of optimism I had all day. I needed a top five finish. As the season wound down, each race was critical. I knew that.

  The only problem with all this was my mind, with the muddled state it was in, it was hard to focus on anything besides what I was feeling.

  What brought me out of my confusion was noticing the cars pulling out in front of me and I wasn’t going anywhere yet.

  “Come on guys! Let’s go!” I yelled. “What’s taking so long?” I threw my water bottle out the side of the car toward the crew.

  “Sorry man. We had to get the tape off the front before you overheated.”

  “You held me for tape?” I snapped with pithiness. “Don’t ever hold me for tape again!”

  Slamming the car into second, I made it onto the apron.

  None of this was helping my mood and I really wanted Kyle back. He would never hold me for things like tape on the grill. But then again, Kyle knew me without having to try. He knew the way I drove and what would make me comfortable out there.

  “Turn on your rear brake fans.” Mason said. “Spencer noticed your brakes were hot.”

  I flipped the fans on, irritated.

  “Coming to the green next time by, you’re running in eleventh.”

  “Eleventh?” I snorted even more annoyed. That’s just great, ninth to eleventh.

  “Yes, eleventh,” Mason answered. “Just keep focused here and for Christ sakes, stay off the forty eight’s bumper. Another warning and they will park you Jameson.”

  “Coming to the green flag here. Don’t spin the tires, passing on the outside only.” Aiden reminded me. “Keep coming...keeping coming...green.”

  I tried to shift into fourth but the shifter stuck, it wouldn’t budge. I tried to wiggle it but nothing. Cars flew by me in a matter of seconds.

  “Uh...guys...my gear shift just broke.” I told them.

  “Really?” Mason asked. “As in stuck?”

  “YES, jammed in third gear.”

  “Is that why you’re falling back?” Aiden asked.

  “Yes genius,” I scorned. “That’s why I’m off pace.”

  What in the hell is his deal these days?

  “Bring it back in, maybe we can pull it out.” Mason suggested.

  “Really...when it’s stuck in third...” I let out another one of those manic chuckles I was becoming good at, “How do you suppose I do that?”

  “Just kill the engine when you get into four. Coast onto pit road and then we’ll give you high gear. We’ll have to push start it, but at least we can get you back out there.”

  It worked but on a track like Loudon, it’d be nice to have another gear besides high gear. It was a good thing I grew up racing on dirt and liked the out of control feeling going into a turn.

  Having only high gear wasn’t helping my overheating brakes. I had all four fans on and it would have been wise for me to allow them to remove the tape on the front now that I was thinking about it.

  “What are your temps?” Mason asked around lap three hundred. The not eating was starting to catch up with me. I was hallucinating. I kept imagining cars that weren’t there. I was sweating like a motherfucker. Instead of my usual agile movements, they bordered on spastic.

  “Uh...looks like the coolant is running at two eighty. I’m not really sure what the rest are, they’re all blinking at me.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Mason shouted. “What the engine temp at?”

  “Three hundred,”

  “It’s going to blow up. There’s no way it’ll stay that high for another hundred laps.” Mason’s voice was becoming frantic. “Let me talk with Harry.”

  He was right. There was no way it would stay that high. Judging by the vibration I was feeling in the seat, it was already too late.

  “You’re smoking.” Aiden announced another ten laps later.

  “Just back off Jameson, coast around,” Harry, our engine specialist suggested. “We just need to finish.”

  “Really? How? If you forgot...I’m stuck in high gear!”

  “Right,” Harry said. “Do you have your fans on?”

  “Yes I have the fans on!” I yelled as I felt the vibration more consistently going into turn three, the sound of the engine was flat. By the time I reached one again; it was done for.

  “It’s done.” Aiden said. “Big cloud of smoke...you’re leaving an oil trail.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Mason muttered. “Take it to the garage. If you can make it,”

  “With the fuck is wrong with you guys!” I barked back. “I can’t! High gear...means high gear! As in, if I let off, it’s done.”

  “It’s already done,” he pointed out. “Just bring it down pit road. We’ll push it back.”

  As soon as I exited the car, reporters were in my face asking me what happened. I took off my helmet when I stepped over the wall and hurled it across that pit.

  “Jameson, can you tell us what happened there?”

  I pointed to my steaming car throwing my gloves.

  “What do you think?” I replied insolently and stalked away from them.

  I knew I was being disrespectful and I’d probably hear about it
from Simplex later, but I’d had a long fucking two days. I was drained physically and mentally.

  Just like my engine today, my body was shutting down. I could barely put on foot in front of the other to get back to the hauler. The entire time I was in the car, I thought of nothing but that video, my fight with Sway this morning and how much of an asshole I felt like for snapping at her.

  Once inside the hauler, I collapsed in the same spot as I did before the race and waited for Aiden or Spencer to come get me. I was in no shape to be driving myself back to the hospital.

  I must have either passed out or fallen asleep. When I came back around, Spencer and Aiden were hovering over me.

  “Not again,” I heard Alley’s voice in the distance. “How long has he been lying there now?”

  “An hour...we think.”

  That caught my attention. I needed to get back to see Sway.

  Sway was sleeping when I arrived. Dr. Clayton met me outside her room, “Mr. Riley, she’s been asking for you but she’s sleeping now.”

  “Am I allowed to go in there?” I asked shuffling my feet.

  “Yes,” he said as his eyes fell toward her chart he was holding. “She was in a lot of pain this afternoon so I had to give her some pain medication.”

  I nodded once, my eyes focused on the ground. “Is she okay?”

  “Yes, she’s been through a lot in the last forty eight hours. It’s to be expected she’s in pain considering she fell down two flights of stairs and the placenta abruption is painful for some women.” Dr. Clayton leaned against the wall, tucking his file under his arm. “After speaking with Renata in Obstetrics we discovered the abruption is mild to severe. We know Sway isn’t going to make it full term at this point. But all we can do is hope that she can make it to thirty-two weeks.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  He paused, choosing his words. “Every week is better. I’ve seen babies born at twenty weeks and go on to live a normal life with minimal complications...” he paused again. “like I said, every week we can keep him in there is better.”