Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (63 page)

This helped of course,
and led to another amazing episode of technical support. We were getting really
good at tech support these days.

After we hung up I
decided hamster sitting was not in my future and would be handing the new
purchased hamster over before I could commit another homicide. I couldn’t have two
on my conscience, one maybe, two, no way. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.

Charlie came to visit
later that night while I watched Jameson on Trackside Live. Jameson was
entertaining, handsome and left me crying because I wasn’t there with him.

“Hey what’s the matter
with you?” Charlie asked handing me the Chunky Monkey as a peace offering.

“I’m sorry I just
...
had a long day and I
miss
Jameson.” I told him sobbing as I continued my rant. “And then I was
babysitting Logan’s hamster and the son of a bitch died on me
...
and I miss my dirty heathen. Do you know
how long it’s been since we’ve had sex?”

Charlie was not
prepared for that last statement. He didn’t answer, just
laid
back on my bed and continued to watch the show as if I never said anything.

“Why is this pillow
purring?” He finally asked after a good thirty minutes of silence.

“Because
...
you’re on Mr. Jangles, dad,”

Another few moments of
silence passed and Charlie chuckled. “You know that hamster died last week.
Logan just refuses to get rid of it.”

“That dirty fucking
liar.” I glared toward the television contemplating my retaliation.

Before Emma left for
Homestead with Lane to watch Jameson’s final race, she bought me a few movies. Me,
being board to the point of insanity, turned on Father of the Bride.

Now before I had this
idea to turn on the movie, I was in a euphoric mood at the idea of spending
some time alone. Charlie and Andrea took the Lucifer twins to Seattle for the
day, so it was just me. Although Van was nearby, he agreed to give me some
space this afternoon.

Prior to turning on the
movie, I got myself some snacks. Van was also kind enough to stock the freezer
with more ice cream. Not that this was his responsibility, but I think he’d
become just as hooked on the shit as me. Wavering between Chunky Monkey and
Banana Split was somewhat time consuming and a vital decision to be made.

“You’re pregnant and
eating for two. You should just eat both.” I told myself. “Yes Sway, excellent
idea.”

So I took both pints of
ice cream and trotted back to my room to watch my movies. I then decided that I
also needed some pizza rolls so that sent me back to the kitchen. After I had a
variety of foods to choose from and a
Thomas Kemper
cream soda, I
started the movie.

This was one of those
moments again where I could distinctively say, “That’s where you went wrong in
life.”

I was bawling by the
time the first movie ended, and not in a normal way. It was more like heaving.
So there I was heaving, and groaning and drooling and then contractions
started. Not bad, but enough I took concern in my stability for the day. I
couldn’t gain any sort of control over myself.

Four hours, an entire
bag of pizza rolls
and
two pints of Banana Split
and
Chunky
Monkey later, I was half way through the second torturous movie—Father of the
Bride: Part Two.

I couldn’t tell you why
I started the second movie.

Stupidity
maybe?

The words “Not
Prepared” was a goddamn understatement.

I actually had to stop
the movie at one point in fear I was heading for preterm labor just based on my
anxiety levels.

By the time it was
over, my face was so swollen from crying that I could barely see, let alone
breathe normally. It was similar to the sound a pig makes when it’s trying to
breathe, only worse.

Tissues surrounded me
in my bed, along with empty
Ben and Jerry
ice cream tubs. After spending
the better part of the day hysterically crying while eating ice cream and pizza
rolls, I had to evaluate my life. I got knocked up and I became an emotional
bed ridden retard.

I nearly pissed myself
when my cell phone rang but smiled when I saw it was Jameson and then that
brought another round of pure hysteria that I couldn’t be there with him for
his last race.

“H-h-hello?”

“Sway?
Jameson asked alarmed.
“Are you okay?”

“No!” I sobbed into the
phone wanting him here to comfort me. “I’m watching Father of the Bride,
part
two
!” The words “Part Two” came out in a rather drawn out dramatic way that
I deemed completely necessary for the situation.

“Oh,” was all he said.
I don’t think he was “prepared” for my answer. There was a lot of
unpreparedness happening today.

“I’m having an
emotional break down!” I managed to say between my pig snorting and wails. “I
want my daddy to see me get married! Can you come home like tonight? We can get
married in the living room.” I suggested, still crying.

“Honey, I would do that
for you if I could but I can’t.” he explained in a tormented voice. “You know
this is the last race, right?”

“Yes.” I wailed again. Even
though this was good news to me, it didn’t help my hysteria. To think that I
could control my emotions while being pregnant was just downright preposterous.

“Sway, honey calm
down,” Jameson soothed in his velvet voice.

“I’m sorry
...
” I
paused
taking in a shaky breath and then hiccupped. “I just
...
shouldn’t have started watching those
movies.”

“Are you better now?”

“No!” I sobbed again.
Just the thought of the movie made me cry again.

This went on for a good
twenty minutes, me being fine and then all of a sudden breaking down again.

Eventually I did calm
down, only after Jameson sang
Can’t
help
falling in Love
over the phone while I ate yet another pint of ice cream.

“I have to go now honey,
I have to get to practice,” he told me after I made him sing the song once
more. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes,” I said in a
ridiculous attempt at trying to actually be a big girl and not be a
pathetic-love-sick-emotional-knocked-up-pigizzle. It was a failed attempt and I
was losing it. “Good luck and bring home that championship!”

“I’ll try, are you
going to watch it on TV?”

“Are you serious?
That’s probably the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me.”

“I know.” he laughed.
“I love you.”

“I love you too. Be
careful and I expect you to blow me another kiss from victory lane.”

“I will.” He said and
hung up.

Once again, I broke
down into hysterical tears because he was there listening. The biggest race of
his career was today and he just listened to me for an hour complaining about a
movie without bringing up his own problems. That right there showed what type
of person he was.

Looking back on those
last three weeks apart, I saw what he’d become. Inside he was still the man
that could make me burn with a single look. He was the man that held me while I
cried, the man who kissed me until I was breathless, and still the boy that
captured my heart surrounded by methanol and clay. And when combined with what
he’d become, he was unstoppable, unavoidable and an overpowering greatness that
no one stood in the way of.

Splash N’ Go –
Jameson

I woke up the morning
of the final race in Homestead, a mess and stared at my ceiling, wondering why
Excedrin
couldn’t just walk out of my bathroom cabinet, hop onto my bed and summersault
its way into my mouth. I had no intentions of getting it myself. I had a
headache from hell but I was inclined to think it had something to do with the
fact that I hadn’t had sex in a really long fucking time. Talk about tension. I
needed relief badly.

Spencer enjoyed this
the most and every chance he got, he brought up the word
penetration
.
Who knew he could use the word in context that much. If I wasn’t so irritated,
I would have actually been proud of him. I wasn’t though—I was just annoyed.

When I got the text
from Sway wishing me good luck I jumped out of bed with an alacrity my body
hadn’t seen in three weeks.

Cal, who drove my motor
coach for me to the various tracks, made coffee. I went through my normal
ritual of drinking a few cups and mentally trying to prepare myself for the
biggest race of my career when my dad walked into my motor coach.

“How did it go?” He had
gone to the arraignment the other day.

“Better than I expected
but,” he took a seat across from me reaching for a slice of bacon Cal set on
the table, “you won’t be happy,”

“Why?” I growled back
at him, this was not improving my mood or helping with my insane headache.

“Chelsea, well, she
only got two years at a women’s correctional facility.”

“What the fuck?” I
shouted, losing my temper once again. My dad patiently waited for me to calm
down before he continued.

“Mariah got ten years
and is being charged with a felony. Gordon, well he had a good fucking lawyer
and got away with two years.”

This was not what I
wanted for these fuckers but at that point, after everything we’d all been
through, I was relieved that Darrin was gone and that no other lives would be
destroyed because of him. I was relieved that Mariah, Chelsea, and Gordon were
at least punished for their involvement but nothing would be sufficient. I
wanted them to get life in prison but things don’t always work that way,
especially when you’re dealing with the criminal justice system.

What the hell is wrong
with me? Why aren’t you freaking out about this?

Look at me, growing up.
Sway would be proud. I smiled to myself that she has this effect on me and that
I’m no longer ruled by my incredible hulk tendencies.
Hah
, well I
wouldn’t go that far, but I am making considerable progress.

“Who are you and what
have you done with my son?” he asked staring at me intently.

I just laughed taking
some bacon. “Blame the girl.”

“Huh, who knew a girl
could have this effect on you
...
why
didn’t I ever think of that?” he muttered rhetorically walking out.

Once he left, I proceeded
to get ready for the drivers meeting but I had a big fucking problem. I was
missing my lucky shoes, well, one shoe.

“Where’s Jameson?” I
heard Alley ask as she walked inside panicked. “He’s supposed to be at the
drivers meeting.”

“Something about only
having one shoe,” Spencer told her as he and Aiden continued to play the Xbox.
“He’s back there somewhere.”

“Jameson?”

“Yeah?”
My head was buried
inside the closet looking for my other Puma shoe. “Have you seen my black
Pumas?” I tossed a pair of boxing gloves over my shoulder.

Who packs this shit in
here?

“Seriously?”
Alley asked; her hands
on her hips. “You’re running late because of your black Pumas?”

I didn’t answer, just
continued to hunt for the said missing shoe. Eventually I asked, “Who packs
this shit?”

“I do asshole!” she
yelled sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Where’s my shoe then?”

“Fuck if I know.” Her
phone beeped so she looked down. “Why do you need it so bad?”

“Because,” I groaned.
“I’ve won seven back-to-back races with those shoes on. I need that shoe!” I
proclaimed raising my fist in the air like I was leading troops into battle.
Alley laughed. I hardly thought this was funny.

Leave it to me to
depend on a shoe to win a race.

Finally I found the
shoe and was hauling ass toward the media center for the drivers meeting.

It was the same shit as
every other week at the drivers meeting but the day seemed to pass quickly

“Hey Jameson, how do
you feel about today? Do you think you have a shot?”

“Yeah, I do.” I told
the reporters huddled around. “I love Homestead. You can pretty much choose any
line you want and make the car stick with the progressive banking. So yeah, we
got a shot at it.”

When I exited the media
center, the reporters were once again in my face asking me my thoughts on this
afternoon’s race but this time, the subject changed rather quickly, catching me
off guard.

“So how do you feel
about the sentences handed down to Gordon Reynolds and Mariah Fowler?” Ashley
asked suddenly.

Of all the reporters
out there, I knew she’d be the one to corner me on national television. Part of
me was surprised she didn’t help them.