by Shey Stahl
30. Flat-out – Jameson
Flat-out – Refers to using 100% of the race car and not holding back on the ability of the car in a race.
Leaving Sway with Emma, I made my way to the drivers meeting.
That’s when I spotted someone I thought, hoped, I’d never see again.
Chelsea Adams.
Seeing her, wasn’t the most repugnantly unsettling part about it, it was her clinging firmly to Tate’s arm that made me want to vomit. She fucking hated racing but she was here, with a guy who deserved so much better than her skanky ass.
Don’t confuse this with jealousy because that was not it, at all. I hated Chelsea and I liked Tate. He didn’t need that drama any more than I did back in high school.
Bobby noticed my scowl and asked, “You know her?” motioning behind us at them.
I grunted but kept walking toward the media center.
“She showed up this morning.” He told me. “Must be his new girl he met in Washington.”
“Washington...what was Tate doing in Washington?”
Bobby looked at me as though I was stupid for not knowing. “The IDC race...we went out there on the bi-week.”
“Oh—right, I forgot.”
I wasn’t at all surprised when Tate sat next to me at the drivers meeting. I’m sure Chelsea packed his brain with all sorts of shameless lies.
“I heard you know Chelsea.” Tate said conversationally as he sat next to me in a folding metal chair; his hefty arms crossed over his chest. Other drivers and their crew chiefs began filing in behind us, filling the empty chairs on either side of us.
My eyes shifted from my phone I’d been holding, “Yeah, we went to high school together.”
“She said you dated.”
I snorted slipping my phone inside my jeans. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
Tate tilted his head in confusion waiting for me to elaborate; only I didn’t care to, why should I? I didn’t want to remember her any more than I wanted to tell him.
“What do you mean?” he finally asked.
Carefully choosing my words, I replied slowly. “She is not exactly the faithful type.”
He seemed to consider this but I also knew Chelsea had a cogent side. She could make you see what you wanted to see. She should have been a politician.
Gordon walked inside the media center after that to begin the meeting. Kyle took a seat next to me, I smiled—he smiled. We both knew what this meeting would contain.
Knowing the events throughout the day with the fines handed down, how do you think the drivers meeting went?
Yeah, something like that. It was similar to my first few test sessions with Harry, only now I just felt angry. I was angry that someone put the additive in the tank and angry that Gordon felt the need to make the entire drivers meeting about cheating never taking his eyes off Kyle and me.
Staring at my hands, I fidgeted with a callous on my thumb, picking at the skin obsessively trying not to stand up and speak my mind.
My thoughts soon turned to Sway and tonight. We had been apart for far too long and I couldn’t wait to hold her, feel her against me, and in the most intimate ways. I wanted to skip the race and just be with her, which was surprising. Never in my life had I wanted to miss a race, and now I was thinking with my dick.
Before long I found myself heading for driver introductions, Bobby caught up with me.
“Good luck today, teammate.”
“You too,” I smiled at him.
“For all the shit that’s gone down today, you’re awfully cheery.” His elbow nudged me. “You feeling okay?”
I just waggled my eyebrows adjusting my hat.
“I see your girl’s here.”
Again, I only nodded with a smug smile. I think Bobby knew I wasn’t opening up about Sway so he moved on to talk with Andy Crockett and Paul Leighty who caught up with us.
Soon driver introductions were over and we were firing the engines up to start the race. I always got a sense of butterflies in the pit of my stomach but adrenaline always outshined to the point I never noticed, until today.
I don’t know why this race was making me nervous but it was. Or maybe it was after the race that had me so edgy. Either way, I pushed all thoughts aside and did what I did best—raced.
Spencer leaned inside the car as he always did before the race to wish me luck.
“You got this!” he handed me a picture with tape on it.
Glancing at the picture, I smiled sticking it to the dash where I could see it throughout the race. It was one of me, Sway, Spencer, and Emma after I won the track championship the year I met Sway. Under the picture Spencer had written: This is where you came from.
Without a doubt, that is where I came from.
I may be a NASCAR racer now but I’d never forget how I got here.
“All right Jameson, two laps to green bud,” Kyle said to me as I turned the wheel back-and-forth sharply cleaning the tires during the warm up laps. “You’re pit road speed is going to be 5400.”
“Copy that, 5400.” I told them glancing at the gauges and then back toward the lines on the track. “When I come out of three...that yellow line...is that the line for pit road?”
“Yeah,” Aiden replied. “Start breaking after the wall when pitting. You’re pitting right after the No. 16 pit.”
“Copy,” I saw Spencer standing on the wall waving.
Pulling on my belts once more, my heart was pounding—my hands trembled with excitement. The rumbling over the cars provided just the right amount of vibration to soothe me. If there’s any race you need to stay calm and relaxed for, it was NASCAR’s longest night, the Coca-Cola 600.
After a long green flag run, the caution came out. I was leading until we pitted. My car was absolutely perfected. I could run high, low, sideways if I wanted and it went anywhere.
Only problem was going into the stop, I was leading. When I came out, I was fifth.
I have certain expectations from a pit crew and right now, they were not meeting them.
I’ll admit, I was somewhat fired up but I had good reason to be.
“You guys act as though you’ve never performed a pit stop before!” I shouted. “What the fuck?” Blending in with the lapped cars, I made me way behind the pace car in my fifth position. Not only was I fifth, but I had to fight a handful of lapped cars as well.
“Sorry bud, there was loose lug nuts on the left rear.” Kyle offered.
I understand they had off nights, just as I did. Sometimes a jack man is going to miss his pegs, a tire changer may knock off a lug, or a tire carrier will miss the hang, it’s going to happen but it doesn’t make you feel any better when you’re leading going into the stop and then you come out having lost positions.
Having to spend forty-hours a week working on this, I expected more from them.
Another hundred laps into the race, we were coming up on a pack of lapped cars. “You’ve got company ahead, hold your lines.” Aiden told me.
It literally felt like I’d been inside the car for eight hours, I was exhausted, mentally and physically. Sometime after lap 350, I was mumbling to myself and still leading.
Jesus Christ, where is the checked flag when you need it. I’d even settle for a caution right now.
Soon the caution did come out but the crew fucked it up again and I ended up seventh, yes— seventh!
I kept my cool on that one but when I made it to the lead again—and then fell back to third on the next stop—I lost it. My screaming into the radio even rung in my ears but honestly, I had a right to be upset. You cannot win these races without all aspects of your team lining up. You need to be on your game, the spotter needs to be paying attention, the crew chief needs to make the right calls and the pit crew; they needed to be perfect.
This time, it was harder getting to the front, with a few laps remaining, every driver steps it up. A move you could hustle in the beginning of the race suddenly wasn’t an option and could potentially take you out of
the race all together. You had to concentrate and look ahead, anticipating what the other driver was going to do. That was every driver but the No. 14 of Darrin Torres—no one could anticipate him.
“I’m bottoming out in three and four.” I told Kyle after the last stop. I was trying desperately to get around Bobby but couldn’t once the green flag dropped again. I only had two laps.
Right now though, I had a bigger problem to worry about. My right rear was slipping on exit and Darrin was getting away. That combined with the dragging in three and four, I was losing ground.
“It’s the coil-bind. It lowers the ride height so you can get more power but it rubs on the splitter. That’s what you’re feeling.”
“10-4,”
When I made it to Darrin on the last lap, flashes of the Winston finish unnerved me. That was unadulterated sacrilege. You don’t fuck with me like that on the track and get away with it and I refused to let him get away. I wanted this win.
“Go for it bud!” Kyle said when the white flagged waved.
My confidence in my car was there so I pushed as hard as I could. Coming out of four, I held my breath and hung on, praying to fucking god I could catch him in time. I think I may have even closed my eyes but I saw we both crossed the line together.
“Who won?”
Please tell me I won!
Darrin pulled ahead of me on the track, slowing his speed, the radio stayed quiet, so I asked again. “Who won?”
“You did bud. Nice racing!” Kyle answered with enthusiasm.
“Yeah!” I screamed. I don’t think I’d ever been so excited to win a race in front of my entire family. Nope, this was the best one, so far, not the Chili Bowl or the Triple Crown, nothing, until tonight. Of all the tracks I raced at, I wanted to win at Charlotte. And it wasn’t just the Winston race, I wanted to win the Coca-Cola 600.
Why?
Because that’s the heart of NASCAR racing, always would be. The biggest event was the Daytona 500 but to me, winning at a track that most of the pure bread NASCAR guys called home; that meant something to me. I could do this. Here I was a dirt track racer, showing these asphalt guys a thing or two about talent.
“Not bad from a dirt track racer from Washington, fuck yeah!” I pumped my fist out the window doing a burnout on the grass and then the front stretch in front of the section where my family was. This was for them.
Reaching for the checkered flag, I could see the grandstands and everyone was on their feet cheering.
Stopping on pit road several times, other drivers, officials, crewmembers from other teams, everyone clapped for me. A few said “congratulations” where others just smiled widely.
Tate stopped me and stuck his head in the car. “I’m so proud of you kid!” his hand reached to slap my helmet.
His words held meaning and more implication than he probably understood. A lump formed in my throat, impeding my speech. I simply nodded with a heartfelt smile, trying to control tears from streaming down my face. Once I pulled my car into victory lane, the battle over the tears was harder. My Nana was there jumping up and down, at seventy-two she was jumping. Grandpa Casten who only smiled when he had a flask in his hand, was clapping. My parents were hugging one another, smiling. Sway, Emma, and Alley, who had Lane, were jumping around with Nana.
My entire family was there waiting. Never in all the races I’d ever won, had all my family been there to witness it.
Taking my time to remove my helmet, I detached the hoses connected to me and fought the tears back with a smile.
To most, the emotion swelling to the surface could have gone unnoticed, except to my family.
They knew.
I hadn’t cried for as long as I could remember, not since Spencer smacked me in the junk with a tire iron when I was fourteen. But now—I was losing the battle, one word could have probably set me off. I prayed my dad wouldn’t say anything until I was more controlled. Hearing anything he had to say would have probably sent me over the edge.
Inhaling a deep breath, I ran a towel across my face before placing a hat on. My head fell back against the seat, closing my eyes briefly—I took a deep breath.
“You fucking earned this one!” Kyle stuck his head inside, handing me a beer. “I’ve never met another driver with the skill you have to handle that beast. Great job bud,”
Looking at the fans gathered my eyes focused on Sway’s.
I winked and then hoisted myself from the car. My heart was racing as I took it all in. Everyone was screaming my name, champagne was bursting, Pepsi and beer was sprayed. If you have never had the opportunity to have Pepsi sprayed in your eyes, you’re not missing anything. That shit burns.
Provoking the crowd, I beat on the roof of the car before launching myself at my team.
Spencer caught me in his steel embrace. “Way to turn it around for us Bro!” he pulled back to look at me reverentially. “I can’t even tell you how proud I am of you.”
Oh, fuck. Thank god for the fucking Pepsi already in my eyes. At least now, I could blame it on the soda. “Thanks dude,” I said humbly.
The broadcasters were right there pulling at me for interviews but I needed someone.
I motioned with my hand for her to come over but she didn’t so I yelled, “Get over here, Sway!”
Her eyes lit up in a way I’d never seen before, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“I’m so proud of you.” She whispered searching my eyes.
For a moment, it seemed as though she could feel everything I was feeling in that moment. My feelings and thoughts were revealed, naked and unprotected for her to judge. Once again, she had power over me. But the girl, the one I grew to love, filled the cracks like bear grease smoothing the imperfections.
No matter how many times I heard the words “I’m proud of you” tonight, with each person it was worth something different. I can’t explain why but each one of them, Spencer, Tate, Kyle, they were all proud of me. With Spencer, it meant that he didn’t mind that he was forced to give up being with his family every weekend to help his little brother race. Tate, well he gave me a chance at this dream, for him to be proud of me, well that meant he wasn’t disappointed at the decision to help.
Now Kyle, the trust between a crew chief and driver is essential. For him to be proud of me, meant I wasn’t just another asshole driver he had to put up with, we respected each other.
When Sway said it, the world stopped, everything stood still. The significance that held was beyond words.
So I settled on, “Thank you for being here. It means everything to me.” Without reserve, I placed my lips to hers. Now wasn’t the time, later.
Later, I would show her exactly what she meant to me.
“Jameson Riley, you heard go from Kyle and you did. Tell us what you did there at the end to catch Darrin.”
“You know, we had an unbelievable car throughout the entire race. The car wasn’t as good on the long runs so we lucked out with the green white checker. We had some problems with pit stops but we had a fast car to make up for it...It’s pretty awesome to win here on Memorial Day weekend. All my family is here...even my Nana was able to make it.” I paused trying to remember to thank my sponsors. “I need to thank my sponsor Simplex...all the people that support us, my dad for giving me a chance.”
“Let’s get him over here.” Dad made his way through the crowd toward us.
“Jimi, what do you think of your son here?” He shoved the microphone in his face.
“I knew he had it in him.” Dad smiled. I don’t think I’d seen him smile that wide since Lane was born. “We’re very proud of him.” he reached for me.
Pulling him into a tight embrace, he whispered in my ear, “I mean that, I do.” He choked. “Nothing in the world can come close to seeing you live this dream of yours.”
Your whole life, you look to your parents for approval. Even when you’re young, so much as taking our first steps, we’re seeking approval. Having and wanting are complete opposites and
to me, having is prominence without knowing.
The next hour was spent doing interviews, the hat dance, and kissing Sway a few more times.
This didn’t go unnoticed by Lane either when he told me, sternly I might add. “Mama told you no.”
“She’s not my mother though.” I told him standing next to the car. He was perched on the roof, grinning like a crazed three-year who had just had Pepsi.
“You still listen,” he shrugged.
“No, I don’t.”
He sighed and looked down at my car we were standing next to before rolling his eyes. “Ne’na says you listen to girls.”
“Oh I listen to a girl all right, just not you mother. She doesn’t like me.”
“I know.” He seemed to think for a moment and then sighed again. “Can I sit in the car now?”
“You lose focus quickly, don’t you?”
“So do you.” Lane grinned widely. “Now hand me that weehd thing.”
“The steering wheel?”
“Ugh, that’s what I said,” he added with another eye roll.
I handed him the steering wheel chuckling that this three year old was so damn entertaining to me.
“Does she know your plan?” Spencer asked as we leaned against the bar. It took us half the night to get here, but finally after all the media, most of my team and family made it out to downtown Charlotte for a scheduled appearance, at the Howl at the Moon bar. The appearance took on a life of its own though with the win.
Turning toward him, I spoke quietly, giving my words a solemnity appropriate to the occasion.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
He laughed tilting his beer my direction. “That’s bullshit.”
I honestly believe there comes a point when everything changes for you. You cross a bridge and you can’t go back. I’ve crossed a few bridges. The night I won the Triple Crown, the night I won the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals or my first cup win. Those moments changed the direction I was heading in as I crossed over—my life changed.
Tonight wasn’t any different. I knew if I acted upon what I was feeling, there was no going back. Did that stop me? No—hell no, that gritty side had taken over and I saw what I wanted, tempting me with each breath she took.