Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge)

by Shey Stahl

  I smiled, that sounded like Jameson.

  The door cracked open and all three of us stood.

  A short dark haired man that looked like a stubby version of George Clooney walked out. I assumed this was the doctor by the white coat.

  His eyes found Nancy. “We will be taking him for surgery on Tuesday morning. I want to give him some time to rest.” He told her. “Our main concern is the pneumothorax.”

  I’m pretty sure he could tell we all had no idea what that was. It sounded like a fancy name for “pain in the ass” to me.

  The doctor chuckled lightly before he went on to explain what that meant. “It’s a hole in his lung.”

  Why don’t they just say that in the beginning? Who was the one that thought up all these elaborate names for shit? I want to meet this person and slap them upside the head. Just because.

  “Usually this is caused from a hole in the chest wall, such as a stab wound or gunshot wound that allows air to enter the pleural space. This can also be caused from both blunt trauma and penetrating injuries to the chest wall, Jameson has received both. The track safety officials indicated his belts were fastened but loose—which is why he received injuries of this nature.” Taking the folder in his hand under his arm, he continued when he looked over his notes. “After performing an MRI shortly after he arrived, we observed that his was caused from a cut to the pleura by one of his many fractured ribs. He’s awake for the moment and asking for a Sway?” His questioning eyes glanced towards Emma and I, trying to decipher which one of us was Sway.

  I stepped forward when Nancy reached for me, my eyes wide but managing a wobbly smile. Stifling a gasp, tears filled my eyes as I entered his room.

  There, in the middle of the room surround by various machines was Jameson. The sight was strange and an unfamiliar feeling. I’d never seen him in the hospital before.

  Among various bruises and scratches over his arms and neck, his left arm was in a bandage. His hospital gown was on backwards, open in the front, showing a bandage across his ribs.

  Bruises covered his stomach and chest, outlining the faint shape of his belts from the car. Even though I knew he was alive, the whooshing and beeping of the machines assured me.

  My vision blurred from tears as I stared at him.

  Slowly he turned his head to look the direction of the door, wincing in pain as he did so.

  When his bloodshot eyes finally met mine, his gaze was bleary, dazed and completely blank for a moment.

  I was beside the bed in an instant; a retarded sob broke through me as I gently touched his cheek.

  Jameson’s eyes closed, his lips twitched into a small smile carefully leaned into my hand. He sighed, blinking heavily, and then those beautiful grass green eyes met mine.

  “Sway,” he croaked.

  I couldn’t stop another pathetic cry from escaping me as I bent my head down to his, pressing a soft kiss into his hair, my body shaking and shuddering with relief.

  He struggled briefly, trying to reach for me but fell back with a moan.

  “Shhh...stay still.” I soothed through my tears touching his cheek softly. “Please don’t move.”

  “Yeah...good idea...” his voice was rough and unrecognizable, but he squeezed my hand with his right one.

  His eyes shut briefly, and he grimaced before looking at me once again. “Can I get you anything?” I whispered.

  “No,” he replied in this weird gravelly voice that was unlike him. He tried to turn his head again and then winced. “Fuck.”

  “I’ll call for the nurse,” I said quickly, reaching for his call button. He was either still pretty well out of it or in a huge amount of pain for him to react that way. Jameson had always been adamant he never needed help from anyone.

  A few minutes later, a tall auburn haired nurse walked in his room. “Hey sweetie, you’re awake again.” She smiled at us checking his IV lines. “Jameson, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Melanie, your nurse.”

  Why does she have to be gorgeous? Why?

  In my head, that Pussycat Dolls song was on repeat. I could hardly focus on anything but the song at that point.

  Leave it to me to be singing a song at a time like this.

  I used to think it was a catchy tune...now I hated it. Here I was trying to concentrate on the fact that my baby’s daddy is lying in a hospital bed with tubes around him and I’m worried about the tall auburn beauty taking care of him and singing Don’t Cha, loudly in my head, because I feel like that’s the song she would be singing to me.

  Damn you crazy irrational baby hormones, damn you.

  “I think he’s in pain,” I explained, with a worried glance at his face. I then turned towards Melanie. “Can he have more pain medication?”

  Keep your paws to yourself pussycat doll.

  “Ah.” She patted her pockets and pulled out a syringe. She had a small scanner in her other hand, and flashed it at his wristband and then at the syringe before setting it aside. “I’ve got the good stuff.” Melanie smiled and injected the contents of the syringe into his IV. “That should help sweetie. Let me know if the pain gets any worse, okay? Do you want some water, or anything else?”

  He shook his head slowly, grimacing again.

  “Try not to move around,” she said kindly, checking the bandages wrapped around him. “You’ve got a number of broken ribs, and I don’t imagine it’s going to feel so great for a while. Your neck will be very sore as well.”

  He grunted as a response and shut his eyes.

  “Thank you,” I said as she moved to the door.

  And remember, paws off! My mind screamed towards her.

  “No problem.” She smiled before shutting the door behind her.

  It was quiet after she left. Jameson was lying motionless in the bed with his eyes still closed. I shifted to sit in the chair thinking he’d fallen asleep when his hand lifted weakly.

  “Stay?” he asked quietly.

  “I wasn’t going anywhere,” I assured him, bringing his fingers to my lips to kiss them.

  One corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile. “Come here,”

  “Huh?” I asked, confused.

  “Up here,” he repeated, puckering his lips in an adorable way.

  It was such a Jameson thing to say, and the relief I felt was immense. “You sure?”

  He started to nod, winced, and instead whispered, “Yes.”

  I leaned over gently, pressing my lips to his.

  “Mmmm,” he sighed, his tongue swiping along his lower lip. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime,”

  He blinked his eyes opened, smiled at me, and then closed them again. His right hand slid along the sheets, looking for mine. I took it, my chest tightened in happiness and relief that he was showing signs of being all right.

  “Are you...okay?” he whispered eventually, frowning.

  “Yes,” I assured him. I bit my lip looking at his face. “Jameson...do you remember anything?”

  His frown deepened. “Not really, I remember the race...I think.” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “I won.”

  I tried to return his smile, but suddenly I was sobbing, clutching his hand, my entire body shaking with the force of my cries. I had no control over my emotions—they were now controlled by the baby.

  I was so happy to see him, awake and aware, and it weakened the tight hold I’d been maintaining on my mangled composure. I couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever. Burying my face in the bed sheets, I eventually became aware of his hand slowly stroking my head.

  “You’re...scaring me.” I realized he was struggling to sit up, and it snapped me out of my emotional shit storm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t,” I sniffed, wiping my nose on my sleeve. “Stop, Jameson. Hold still. I’m sorry, I’m just so glad you’re okay.” I held my breath as tears threatened again, but I struggled until I had some semblance of control. “I was just worried about you.”

  He was fighting the dop
iness from the pain meds, but the concern showed plainly in his eyes.

  I managed a smile, and he relaxed, not taking his eyes from my face. I could tell it was costing him. “You should sleep,” I whispered, touching my fingers to his cheek. I stroked down his arm, bare under the hospital gown. “I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

  His eyes held mine, but drooped sleepily. “Will you...tell me, please?”

  “Tell you?” I frowned. “Tell you what?”

  What would I have to tell him? Well, I have something to tell him but was now really the time?

  “Are you pregnant?” His voice was soft but I heard every word.

  I bit my lip. He was tired but lucid, and I knew what he was asking.

  Searching his gaze, I knew I would be honest with him as I had always been. “Yes,” I whispered immediately gauging his reaction.

  His lips twitched into a half smile nodding carefully, his eyes blinking as sleep began to overtake him.

  “Jameson?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t want to push him or upset him, but I couldn’t stand not knowing for another minute if he was okay with that.

  Would he still want me? Was he mad?

  This was hardly planned and not exactly what he needed right now but it happened and we couldn’t take it back.

  “Hmm?” He was fading.

  “Are you...” my voice faded into a barely-there whisper, and he forced his eyes to mine once again, “Are you...okay with that?”

  I stood in an agony of dread, anticipation, and fear. He stared at me intently for a long time, and I began to feel light-headed again, on the verge of tears, thinking the worst.

  Finally, his eyes shut and he sighed. A small smile curved one side of his mouth, and my heart leapt in true happiness for the first time since I’d watched the accident on television. It was my smile.

  “Yes.” he murmured.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips to contain my sobs once again, this time in joy.

  He breathed deeply, carefully, his hand reached for mine. I squeezed it gently. “Everything’s...going to be all right.” He murmured again.

  I stood watch over him until his body relaxed into sleep. Then I threw up again.

  When I walked out of Jameson’s room to let him sleep, I immediately walked up to Emma, who was now talking with Jimi.

  “Did you tell him?” I demanded interrupting their conversation. I should have felt bad but I didn’t.

  I specifically asked her not to tell anyone.

  “Tell him what?” Emma looked at me confused while Aiden slung his arm around her.

  “Jameson,” I sighed. “Did you tell him I’m pregnant?”

  “No,” she gasped and I then realized exactly how loud my voice was.

  Jameson’s entire family, including many members of his crew, gawked at me.

  Can you say awkward?

  “You’re pregnant?” Jimi asked. The look on his face was pure shock.

  “I...uh...shit.” What do I say now? Do I admit it? Do I say just kidding?

  Ah...crap...I think I’m gonna be sick again.

  My hand instinctively fell to my stomach as the rush of nausea hit me.

  Nancy wrapped her arms around me in a motherly way that only she could. “Yes, she’s pregnant but we don’t need the whole goddamn hospital finding out, Spencer...Emma.” She gave them both warning glares.

  “I didn’t say anything.” Spencer defended holding his arms up but immediately grinned in response.

  “I know,” Nancy agreed. “But you will.”

  Spencer’s smile widened as he pulled me into a bear hug. “Spencer,” Alley chided smacking his shoulder. “Don’t squish her!”

  “I’m not,” he argued setting me down. “I’m just excited to have another little Riley running around.”

  “Yeah, cause that’s all we need around here.” Jimi chuckled with a sarcastic edge. “Especially one with Jameson’s DNA involved.” He then reached his strong arm around me cradling me to his side and then kissed my forehead. “Though I’m concerned about that,” he gestured towards Jameson’s room. “reproducing...I’m happy for you guys.”

  I thought I heard him mutter something about the kid being conceived on his kitchen floor but I couldn’t be sure.

  “What did Jameson say?” Emma asked when Jimi let me go.

  “He smiled and said everything would be okay...I think it was the drugs talking.” I muttered picking at a hangnail on my index finger, really just avoiding looking at anyone.

  Being around five in the morning, my stomach was beginning to growl having not anything all night.

  Emma and Alley looked down at my stomach, obviously hearing the thunderous noise. “Definitely Jameson’s kid in there,” Alley laughed.

  With the help of Spencer, the boy could smell food being cooked a mile away; everyone went down to the cafeteria to find breakfast.

  Now that I knew he was alive and conscious, I felt the need to eat again.

  Nancy and Jimi stayed with Jameson until Jimi had to leave for Fulton New York that afternoon.

  That’s the thing about racing...it doesn’t stop on the account of lapped traffic. The race continues while your 200 MPH taped car, continues to get lapped—lap after lap—by faster cars.

  It was a lifestyle that never slept. A lifestyle this family knew well.

  “Jesus Christ, you eat like a pro wrestler trying to make weight.” Spencer’s eyes took in my heaping plate as we sat at a large table in the corner of the cafeteria. “Where do you put all that?”

  “Asshole,” I grumbled but continued to devour my pancakes and bacon.

  Most of the team joined us for breakfast.

  Tate and Bobby, who’d stayed until they knew Jameson was all right, left get ready for Watkins Glen this weekend.

  When I glanced around at the team, I noticed their faces for the first time. They looked exhausted but that wasn’t what was alarming.

  Justin, Tommy, and Tyler appeared unscathed but the rest all looked like they were stunt doubles in a Rocky movie.

  “What the fuck happened to you guys?”

  No one said anything so Alley piped up. “These lunatics decided to make matters worse.” Her lips pursed as she glared towards her husband.

  “We had a fucking right to.” Spencer snapped eating his lucky charms. I’d never heard him so angry. “No one tries to kill my little brother and gets away with it.”

  Around that time, Emma finally noticed Aiden was sporting a fat lip and black eye. Needless to say, she had her make-up bag out trying to apply concealer to his face while he glared at her.

  “You’re lucky you guys weren’t arrested.” Alley added.

  Spencer glanced towards his wife menacingly. “I would take jail any day for what I did to those assholes.”

  “What did you do?” I asked softly sucking on a piece of pineapple.

  “Spencer beat the living shit out of Darrin’s crew chief, Frank.” Gentry perked up with excitement as he described the garage clearing brawl.

  He went on to basically say that Bobby, Tate, and Jameson’s entire teams got into a gladiator style fight, in the garage at Pocono International Raceway.

  It made me feel somewhat better that they defended Jameson but it didn’t change the fact that Jameson had been injured because of Darrin.

  “I can’t believe this.” I said leaning my elbows on the table dropping my head. I was almost afraid to lift my eyes at that point.

  I broke out in tears when Spencer narrated how he found Jameson. Spencer apparently saw Darrin pull out of the pits after an argument with Frank.

  Kyle and Spencer were the first ones to Jameson after the safety officials. His car was pinned against the outside wall, while he was a mangled mess inside. It appeared that he must have saw Darrin coming because his left arm took a hard hit. It would have been easy if the bones had just broke but instead they’d splintered in a way that now required surgery.

  Jameson was unconscious when they arriv
ed and never regained consciousness until hours after he arrived at the hospital. The worst of his injuries appeared to be the punctured lung.

  “What’s going to happen to Darrin?” Emma asked putting her make-up bag away when she realized Aiden was about ready to cunt punch her if she didn’t stop.

  Tommy in particular found this amusing; milk was now coming out his nose. Spencer snapped a picture with his phone for future blackmailing.

  “I’m sure NASCAR will fine him but that’s the least of his worries.” Kyle added. “He was police escorted away from the track and booked in the county jail for reckless endangerment. Phillip won’t let him get away with this. Not after the conversation Alley heard in the bathroom.”

  “What conversation?” Emma, Spencer and I asked in sync.

  Alley sighed. “I heard Mariah on the phone in the bathroom. She said Darrin had enough of Jameson’s haughty disregard for his warnings. Mariah told the person he was going to take care of it during the race, whatever that meant...apparently now we know what that meant.”

  “Did you warn Jameson?” Emma asked dubiously, her features distorted.

  “Of course I tried...he didn’t want to hear it and then I let it slip about Axle.”

  “You told him before the race?” Emma was now shaking her head in disbelieve.

  “I wasn’t going to but I started crying...I never cry.” Alley looked ashamed. “He knew something was up.”

  I was confused as hell. “Wait,” I interrupted them throwing my arms up. “What happened to Axle?”

  Alley and Emma both looked at me with poignant expressions. “He passed away...Saturday morning.” Alley whispered looking down at her coffee cup, tracing the outline of the handle delicately.

  I started crying...hysterically. I was a fucking mess. My only option at that point was to blame the hormones.

  Later that afternoon, I was back in Jameson’s room with tissues surrounding me and my emotional state of mind. I read and re-read and then read again the article over and over again...it wasn’t nearly enough punishment for what he had done to Jameson. I glanced over at his motionless sleeping figure again and then read the paper once more. It was nowhere near enough.