Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (46 page)

What the fuck?

“Dude!” Spencer yelled. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, call Phillip.” I ordered.

I was fingerprinted, had blood drawn, my picture taken, asked if I wanted to give a statement to the officer, which I told him to fuck off and now there I sat in a holding cell with some guy named Chester waiting for Phillip or my dad to come bail me out.

With my one phone call, I chose to call Charlie.

“Charlie
...
it’s Jameson.”

He laughed. “Should I be worried that you’re calling from jail?”

“No
...
it’s nothing I can’t handle, just a misunderstanding. Listen
...
I never got the paperwork from Tate.”

“Yeah, he called to say he’s sending it back. Something about you assaulting his girlfriend,” Charlie laughed again. “So I guess I could send it to Phillip for you?”

Why is he laughing, how is this funny?

“No, I’ll come there.”

He laughed yet again. “Did you forget you’re in jail?”

Right
.

“I mean when I get out. This is just a misunderstanding.” I sighed. “What did Tate say?”

“Well he’s not too happy. He just screamed a lot and said he couldn’t believe after all he’s done for you that you would assault his girlfriend.” He was quiet for a moment. “You know Tate has connections with Simplex. Why would you risk something like that?”

“I didn’t do anything!” I yelled, instantly forgetting who I was talking to. “Sorry, Charlie
...
I’m just
...
Sway thinks I left with Chelsea because I wanted her.”

“I see.”

“Is she home yet?”

“Yeah,” his voice seemed concerned for good reason. “she went straight into her room.”

“Will you tell her
...
never mind. I’ll tell her myself.”

“That’s probably a good idea. See you soon kid.” He laughed. “Well, I hope so.”

He was just like Sway with the fucking laughing.

Laugh it up chuckles.

I know he had some sort of satisfaction that I was in jail.

I sat in that cell the
entire
night, Chester and me, since my dad refused to post my bail.

I learned a lot about Chester last night. He was a drunk, his only family was his dog and he kept it that way because he couldn’t speak. He loved NASCAR, and more importantly
...
me.

“You’re Jameson Riley!” Chester exclaimed jumping up and down when I entered the cell.

Now if you’ve never seen a two-hundred and fifty pound man jumping up and down, you’re not missing much let me tell you. I feared for my life.

“No I’m not.” I told him backing away towards the corner of the cell near the questionable toilet. “You have me mistaken for someone else.”

“Yes you are.” He smiled and showed me a picture of us at a race. “I met you before.”

I agreed that it was me, since I feared for my safety an all.

He forced me to sign his chest, and I will say forced because he pinned me to the wall until I did. He later informed me he was going to have my signature tattooed on him.

The dude was wacked out of his goddamn mind. I never did figure out why he was in there, not that I could have understood the toothless bastard anyways.

I’ll tell you something else I realized
...
I had a real problem with the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office after that night.

Who thought it’d be a good idea to put me, an extremely good-looking race car driver, in a cell with a male prostitute? It was complete stupidity in my book.

What kind of operation were they running here?

When I was released, I asked how much his bail was set for and the charges. Maybe I could be a nice guy after all and give this wacko a break by posting his bail.

The clerk laughed at me, “Oh, Chester
...
he’s in here weekly.”

“Seriously,” I raised my eyebrows as I signed the release papers.

“Yeah,” she leaned in closer, her brown eyes amused. “Male prostitution,” She said winking.

“Right,” I nodded. It made a lot of sense from our conversations last night. I looked over towards Phillip, my attorney, “Don’t ask,”

He patted me on the back laughing. “Your father is waiting at the airport.” He paused, looking over my appearance. “I once flew to Germany for a girl.”

“How’d that work out for ya?”

He smiled. “Don’t ask.”

“Find out what the hell they are up to.” I ordered as we walked outside the jail. “I’m not sure what it is but it’s not good.”

The bright morning sun shocked me at first, having spent the night in a dark cell. I took a deep breath of the warm summer morning. It hurt, but not my lungs, it hurt deep inside my heart because for the first time in three weeks, I didn’t wake up in Sway’s arms.

“Will do kid, now take care of yourself. I’m out of town for the next few days so
...
try not to get arrested.”

I just shook my head. “I’ll try not to.”

An hour later, I was on a plane with my dad of all people. Not the person you want to bail your ass out of jail, believe me.

I’d been listening to his ranting since we left Sonoma and I had a feeling it would be this way until we reached Olympia and then of course the drive to Elma.

Thankfully, he agreed to let me fly to Washington today and then I had to leave first thing in the morning, fly to North Dakota and meet with Simplex. Then, I fly to Loudon for a press conference and then the race weekend began again. It’s an endless cycle.

The only problem about flying to Elma was he was coming with me, he wanted to look over the paperwork Charlie was having me sign and I had a feeling he wanted to be sure I made it back to North Dakota tomorrow.

Phillip assured us Chelsea didn’t have shit on me. She claimed I assaulted her, which I did, but she also claimed I forced her to give me oral sex.

Yeah, that never happened.

The Vin Diesel dude claimed he witnessed the entire thing and feared for his safety, so he did nothing. He had at least a hundred pounds on me, maybe more, so I doubted the charges would hold.

My biggest concern was Tate. He was good friends with Marcus, president of Simplex, so if Tate said pull my sponsorship
...
Simplex would pull my sponsorship.

I had to think of a way to get to Tate without Chelsea and explain this. Also, Tate was a friend of mine. I couldn’t have him thinking this lie. I may be an asshole most of the time but I valued the relationship I had with him. After all, he did give me a start in NASCAR.

“You’ve got more talent behind the wheel of a race car then anyone I’ve ever seen but you’re fucking it up with this goddamn attitude of yours.” Jimi poured himself another shot of whiskey.

Here we go again.

“Jesus Christ dad, give it a fucking rest already.” I couldn’t take much more of this shit. First, he makes me spend the night in jail with Chester and now I get this four-hour long lecture after I told him everything that happened, including the shit I didn’t want him to hear and promised Charlie I wouldn’t.

“I won’t give it a rest. When are you going to get your shit together and be the man I raised you to be?”

I finally looked at him dumbfounded. I knew I’d missed various parts of what he said that I personally felt didn’t pertain to me but how was this related?

“Huh?”

“With Sway,” he huffed. “Jameson, you’re going to lose it all if you don’t pull your head out of your ass and admit to yourself that you love her and want to be with her.”

“I’ve already lost her and I don’t love her.” I lied.

Though I didn’t want to admit it, I fucking loved that woman so much it hurt to breathe without her next to me.

“Cut the shit!” he threw the newspaper he’d been looking at across the cabin. “You’ve loved that girl since you met her. I honestly thought you two would come around sooner when you decided to complicate matters by sleeping with each other. But no, you’re still as dumb as you’ve always been when it comes to women.” He sighed and looked over at me.

You know the look, the one that says I’m about to tell you something important so you had damn well better listen, yeah that look.

“You
can
have it both ways son. It’s all about balance. You need a woman who can understand the sacrifices you’ve been forced to make and she’s
that
woman. She’s always been that woman for you. Any man worth his salt will stick up for what he believes is right but it takes a better man to admit when he’s wrong.”

“What the hell did that last statement have to do with anything and why are you quoting Andrew Jackson?” I asked laughing.

“Do you pay attention to anything?”

“I do when it makes sense.” I chuckled. “That didn’t make sense.”

“You’re a fucking idiot and I’m ninety nine percent sure, you’re not my child.” He chided returning to his whiskey. “You don’t even look like me.”

Could I have it all?

My plan was to see Charlie, sign the transfer paperwork, find Sway, tell her I’m sorry and then beg her to take me back.

I wouldn’t beg her to take me back as my friend with benefits though. I wanted more. I wanted her to be my girlfriend and eventually my wife.

Okay, well now you’re getting ahead of yourself there sport.

First, get her to forgive you for being the President of Dick’s International. Then you can think about marriage.

I didn’t care though. If Sway said marry me right now, I’d fly to Vegas and do it tonight.

I didn’t care any longer that we lived across the United States from each other, or that we might not see each other very often. I
had
to be with her, only her.

If these last three weeks or these last twenty-four hours had taught me anything, it was that I loved Sway more than anything. And at this point, I would stop at nothing to prove that to her. She needed me whether she knew it or no.

Or at least she was going to need me soon and I would be there for her.

Looking back to all the times I thought I didn’t need her seemed so stupid now. It wasn’t that I
wanted
to be alone. I honestly believed no one ever
wanted
to be alone in life. But I was scared in the beginning.

What if I laid it all out there and she didn’t feel the same way?

Then what?

What if it didn’t work out and she wasn’t my friend anymore?

The heartbreak and not having her around wasn’t something I could deal with, after Daytona was a prime example of that. Losing Sway was not an option.