Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge)

by Shey Stahl

  Jameson’s biggest concern was naturally, getting back to racing.

  It was a huge relief to hear his doctor say that he didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t be back to racing in three weeks.

  Once he heard that news, it was all he could think about. He was anxious and impatient to get out of here and prove he could still race after a crash like that. We were all aware of the sheer amount of work it would take to get back out on the track but I’d never met anyone as determined as Jameson.

  When he really wanted something, he didn’t let anything stand in his way. The punctured lung concerned him, but it was already healing nicely. He felt better when the doctors told him that a number of professional athletes had collapsed lungs during their careers and went on with no ill effect. The broken ribs caused him untold amounts of pain though, especially since he couldn’t resist pushing his limits. It was his nature.

  That afternoon, after his outburst for pretty much everything, his head turned towards me, sunlight from the window sparking in his green eyes. “I love you.” Jameson whispered as I stood beside his bed. His good hand came up and touched my stomach gently. He smiled. I ran my hand against his jaw, the clear light coming in showed every bruise, bump and cut.

  It also showed stress, tension, and worry. His physical wounds were healing but there was something hidden deep within I knew he wasn’t reveling to me or anyone.

  The days following Jameson’s surgery for his wrist were for lack of a better description, a cluster fuck.

  It was now Wednesday and the decision needed to be made who would step in for Jameson during the Watkins Glen race. Jameson wanted Justin West, one of the guys that raced his sprint car on the World of Outlaws tour, to step in. The only problem was Justin could only make Watkins Glen race without interfering with the World of Outlaws schedule.

  The doctors indicated the hole in his lung was healing, which meant the air escaping was slowly decreasing but he still wasn’t healed. This meant he needed to find a driver for Michigan and possibly Bristol before he could pass the physical NASCAR required.

  His room was constantly filled with doctors, the pussycat doll, reporters, police detectives, Melissa and Marcus made a visit. Randy, Jameson’s uncle even came by.

  All of this pissed Jameson off. You’d think he would be happy all these people were there to see him, but no, all my dirty heathen could think about was sex...and more importantly...sex with me.

  Every time someone left the room, he was back to molesting me with lingering touches, inappropriate kisses, and constantly whispering all the naughty things he wanted to do to me.

  I was in pigizzle heaven. I was where a pigizzle went to die a blissful death, surrounded by my dirty heathen.

  I was afraid he was going to hurt himself with the way he would pull me against him but that never stopped him.

  At one point, I even tried threatening him. “I’ll call the nurse and have you sedated if you can’t settle down.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged.

  “Behave then.”

  Jameson groaned running his hand through his hair. “Fuck Sway...it’s been two goddamn weeks since I had any sort of stimulation down there. Three if you can’t anything other than my own hand.” His eyes showed panic. “I’m going to go insane.”

  I giggled. “You’re adorable.”

  “Shut up.” He snapped and continued to pout picking at his cast. “I’d settle for some micro polishing...” he suggested south with lazy nod letting his voice get that particular drawl to it that he knew would leave me weak.

  “Jameson, no...you’re injured...badly.” I objected with a slight smile. “There’s no way I’m doing anything besides kiss you while you’re in this hospital.”

  “So...no chance of a bleeding my pressure valve either...” he gave me the sad puppy dog eyes.

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

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

  Tommy however, was madly in love with the pussycat doll and asked her to marry him on more than on occasional. She thought he was adorable and actually gave him her number.

  She must have liked orange heads.

  Jameson was one 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 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 against his steering wheel.

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

  Jameson never did make any remarks towards the accident.

  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. He pushed himself right to the edge and balanced 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 he 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 be
hind the wheel of a racecar. I was happy for him but the other part of me...the part that wanted the father of our child around for his or hers 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 was indescribable and something I never want to experience again but I know it will happen.

  Besides last Sundays crash, 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 determination 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.

  About the author:

  Shey resides in the shady Northwest where rain and clouds are a common occurrence. No stranger to the dirt track, she spent her childhood cheering on her dad and fellow racers of the Northwest where a fascination began. Her passion for racing and a good love story led her to writing a series about the love between two people and their love for the sport. When Shey is not chasing around an independent princess with magical powers, she is getting her need for speed at the local dirt tracks.