Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (41 page)

Why would Charlie call Jameson?

I just nodded because
now
was not the time to discuss this with his entire team and family nearby. I thought we would get a chance to be alone sometime throughout the day but on race day, it wasn’t happening.

All the times I’d tried calling Charlie the last few days, he’d never pick up but yet he was calling Jameson?

Something was definitely going on. And though I intended to find out, now just didn’t seem like the most appropriate time to do so.

Walking with Jameson to the drivers meeting, we couldn’t make it two feet without a fan wanting an autograph or a reporter seeking an interview.

It’s not like this was anything knew, but Jameson seemed more annoyed with it this weekend than he had in the past. I constantly found myself wondering when I needed to interject before he snapped.

I stood outside the media center. Drivers, crew chiefs, and car owners were the only ones allowed inside for the drivers meeting.

Once the meeting ended, his mood hadn’t improved.

Just like the rest of the hounding media, the determined Ashley Conner caught up with him as we were walking back. I wanted to rip out her stupid black hair when she touched his arm to get his attention and I wanted to hump his leg when he cringed and quickly pulled his arm away from her.

“Hey Jameson, how do you feel about today’s race? You got the pole for the eighth time this year. Can you pull of back to back wins?”

Jameson and I kept walking with her following closely but Jameson offered his standard answer he’d given every other reporter this morning. “I think we have a chance. You have to have lots of forward drive here. You can’t be slippin’ the tires. The track’s gonna get slippery today, similar to yesterday during practice. We’ll see how we are on the long runs. Hopefully we can be in position at the end to pull off another win.”

Watching him today with all the demands reminded me of how much Jameson gave up for this dream of his and how much his words to me last night were true.

I’ve watched Jameson for the past eleven years doing what he loved, racing.

I don’t think anyone ever realized how much of his childhood
and
now his adulthood he gave up following his dream not to mention his social life. Growing up, he never attended school functions or played sports, it was always racing,
every
weekend.

During the off-season, he was preparing for the next season and working for his dad at his sprint car shop. There was never a time when I could honestly say he was a normal kid.

After all, that hard work that led him here, his dream came true. But that dream came with some hefty sacrifices at times. Jameson couldn’t just blow off work and decide to call in sick one day because he just didn’t feel like going.

He had commitments that most twenty-two year olds didn’t have.

Even with all this, there was one thing that never changed about Jameson over the years and that was Jameson. He knew exactly what he wanted. I doubted most of us could say that about ourselves.

He was never what people thought he should be or told him to be, he was always Jameson. Cocky, arrogant, determined, focused, or whatever you wanted to call him, he
never
changed.

He knew who he was. Sure, there was that restlessness and vulnerability beneath but that was something created by the lifestyle rather than him. Underneath it all was authenticity and a magic of a man becoming a legend his own way and he never doubted that.

I think that’s
why
I loved him so much.

While most of us struggled throughout our teenage years to find our own identity or personality, Jameson never had to because he always knew himself. Since the moment I met him, he has been the
same
person. It didn’t matter now that women threw themselves at him, that he made more money in a year than the entire town of Elma, or that he was a famous race car driver. He was still the same arrogant little shit I met when I was eleven but more importantly, he was
still
Jameson.

I wasn’t sure what Jameson and Charlie talked about earlier but since then, he was acting completely different. He always got a little strange on race day but this, his shifty sullen behavior, was a tad over the top if you asked me. During our summer traveling, I saw this side a lot, now it seemed fed by something else entirely. Back then, it was just trying to make it to the next race without breaking something, now it was just trying to make it.

When I walked inside the hauler prior to the start of the race, his head was down. His elbows rested against his knees with his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. I’d never seen Jameson get nervous before a race but now he literally looked sick. His face was pale aside from the flushed cheeks, his right leg was bouncing nervously.

With a good amount of hesitation, I knocked lightly on the door before walking in.

The noise made him look up for a moment but when he saw me, he suddenly leaned out the side door and vomited all over the side of the number eighteens hauler.

Oh my.

When he stood up, unstable, he leaned against the side of the wall for support, picked up a wrench off the counter and tossed it from hand to hand. His eyes passed swiftly over me, focusing on the wall.

“Are you okay?” Timidly, I stood near the door. I wasn’t sure if I should stay or leave at that point.

Jameson didn’t answer just nodded once. Grave and tense, his jaw flexed, the muscles coiling.

At that point, I had half a mind to call Charlie again and see what he said to Jameson to change his demeanor so drastically. This time I’d be leaving a message.

“I have driver’s introductions.” He mumbled walking past me without another word, dropping the wrench on the counter.

And then he was gone and I was left wondering what I did wrong.

I could feel our relationship slipping away. I could feel Jameson slipping away after that night in Savannah and this, his reactions, just confirmed it was happening.

For the first time in eleven years, I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t know how to be around him. For so long it’d always been so easy for us, simple.

But now, I didn’t know where I stood in his life or if I even did anymore. This seemed like such a one-eighty from where we were a few nights ago when he told me he loved me.

How could he tell me he loved me and then act like this?

Jameson said little when I was standing at his car with him on the grid after introductions.  Not knowing what else to say, I just simply hugged him, wished him luck, and walked away.

From my place on the pit box, I watched as Chelsea Adams strutted her way over to his car with those long beautiful legs.

I almost vomited right there.

Jameson’s head was down when she approached, adjusting his belts. Chelsea bent over, shifting her weight to one leg, effectively sticking her ass out and leaned inside the car. His helmet was off but I couldn’t see his expression when he looked up at her.

Kyle leaned into my shoulder. “Don’t pay her any mind.”

I wanted to listen to him, I told myself to listen but when have I ever listened to myself?

Chelsea tilted her head to one side as though she was waiting for an answer from him.

After a moment, I could see Jameson nod his head once and then watched her strut away.

My eyes locked on the devastation. It was like a bad car accident I couldn’t look away from, fixated on the bloody carnage of my broken heart.

When Chelsea was out of site, Jameson looked my direction and then quickly looked back to his belts.

Suddenly his eyes returned, as though he hadn’t realized it was
me
that was looking at him.

In that moment, his eyes said it all.

Jameson was right, he would never be what
I
needed and I’d never be what
he
needed.

I never understood that part, until now. I wasn’t the only one he was referring to. He didn’t need some track promoter’s pit lizard daughter following him around. Sure, he needed me as a friend but he didn’t need the complication we now had.

My stupid emotions got the better of me.

Judging by Jameson’s tortured expression, I knew he saw the tears streaming down my face even from fifteen feet away.

Shaking his head slowly, his eyes fell closed.

I could see he was breathing heavy. After a moment, he continued his routine by placing his ear buds in, helmet, and then locking the steering wheel in place. Once he motioned for Spencer to raise the window net, I looked away.

I couldn’t believe how in one afternoon, everything between us had changed. Everything I felt for him was still there, but everything had changed in an
everything
type of way.

I also knew that anything that happened—didn’t matter.

Well it did but still, he needed me, and I
knew
he did. He needed me because for the past eleven years, I was
always
there for him. I was there waiting to pick up the pieces should they fall apart. But the thing was, despite whatever happened, that wasn’t Jameson—he wouldn’t fall apart.

Not like I could at least.

The race didn’t go well. Jameson said little throughout the race until the handling got so bad he couldn’t keep the car on the track.

At a track with twelve complex turns, that wasn’t a comforting feeling I’m sure.

“I’m slippin’ all over the place. I can’t keep it straight.” Jameson announced halfway through the race. “We gotta change something.”

“Other than the slipping, do you feel anything else?” Kyle asked while he looked over lap times with Mason. “Any adjustments you want made?”

“I don’t know what’s going to help.” Jameson told him. “It’s hot out here, the tires just slip. There’s no grip anywhere.”

Jameson’s car was extremely loose once the track heated up.

When the track heats up from the tires creating friction, it begins to feel slippery as oil is released from the asphalt as its temperature increased from the friction created. Two things happen at that point, you have no grip for one and the tires become malleable as tiny pieces of rubber are torn away from all that friction. Eventually all that rubber laid down will counteract that but there’s a period when nothing helps.

Only eighty laps into the race, he hit the wall coming out of the second turn.

“Heavy damage to right rear quarter panel,” Aiden announced.

Moments passed where the assessed the car on pit road until Kyle announced the news.

“Take it to the truck.”

Jameson hadn’t said anything yet on the radio and judging by his earlier mood, I didn’t think he would.

Stepping down from the pit box, the crew loaded up, and I made my way back to the hauler.

When Jameson pulled the car in, I could see the grim expression plastered across his face. He would take a huge hit in the points for this DNF but I also knew that wasn’t his
only
concern at the moment. Whatever had been on his mind before the race was still there.

When he drew himself from the car, he threw his helmet across the hood and stomped inside the hauler without looking at anyone slamming the door behind him.