The Rookie (Racing On The Edge #7) (5 page)

We ended up going to a Cracker Barrel not too far from the track. Brody joined us. He was racing in the Nationwide race this weekend but never thought of triple duty.

“I like my sleep,” Brody said that afternoon, staring at the menu.

He wasn’t lying either. Brody loves sleep more than racing. I’m sure of it.

“What are you getting, babe?” Lexi asked leaning into his shoulder, her long black hair falling over her porcelain like skin. Lexi is very much like Alley in the face, pretty by nature, never needing make-up to look good. She’s got Spencer’s jet black hair with piercing blue eyes that matched Cole’s appearance rather than Lane.

Brody held the menu, scanning it a little closer to his face because he refused to admit he might need glasses.

“Meatloaf,” he rubbed down his stomach, sighing. “I think I need some meatloaf.”

My eyes scanned over Brody when he spoke, his hair a little lighter now, lightened by the sun. He’s got this golden brown hair, his eyebrows a little lighter and a baby face shadowed by a two week beard.

I enjoyed hanging out with Lexi and Brody, even Jacob and Megan because they treated me like I was just another friend, not Easton’s wife or Jameson Riley’s daughter. It got annoying but most people never knew how to act around me. They acted as if they said or did the wrong thing, I’d tell my dad. When in fact, I rarely talked about anything racing-related with my dad.

“I swear, Arie, if that fucking kid fucks with me again, your dad will have one more tore up race car on his hands.” Brody took an exaggerated poke at his meatloaf. “He’s such a dick.”

Brody and Asher Jeffry, the newest member this year of Riley-Harris Racing, had a rivalry that dated back to quarter midgets. Nothing had changed. To me he seemed like a nice kid, just turned twenty last week and was well on his way to winning Rookie of the Year when he pulled off a second place finish in the Daytona 500 this year. Second place to Brody.

I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad hired Asher because of Brody’s dislike for him. Every driver on the circuit has had a run-in with Brody at one time or another and my dad is no different. They were constantly battling and taking cheap shots at each other during his last season in Cup.

“He probably did it to piss you off.” I told Brody, laughing at his glare handed out to me before I finished my sentence.

His eyebrows drew together, blue eyes scowling. “Your dad’s an ass.”

I laughed leaning forward, my elbows resting on the wood table. “Why, because he hired someone capable of winning?”

I teased Brody all the time, we teased each other. “Fuck off.” He muttered knowing just how close Asher was after his Daytona win.

Every driver out there has someone they just don’t get along with. It’s bound to happen in any sport but racing is known for it with forty-three guys all competing for one title. Even though you have teammates, it’s unlike any other sport in that the same group of guys have one shot and all of them need each other to make it happen.

Easton’s rival is Sean Shuman. His dad, Colin Shuman, was a rival of my dad’s but lost his life when he was aboard my dad’s team plane seven years ago and it crashed outside Eldora.

Anyway, Sean and Easton rubbed each other the wrong way. Very different personalities and they always seemed to find trouble together. To date, he’s the only driver Easton has ever took a swing at.

It was around nine that night when we got back to the track and most people were asleep in the drivers’ compound. When I walked into the motor coach, E was in there, asleep in the bedroom. I knew he needed the break so I decided to go hang out with Brody and Lexi.

Brody was already asleep too, I told you he liked sleep. Lexi and I decided on watching a movie. Lately it felt like I hung out in their motor coach more than ours. I felt comfortable with them. Lexi made everyone feel comfortable and for a wife of a racer, finding someone you can connect with week after week was the only way you’d survive this lonely lifestyle.

When I woke up the next morning I heard Easton up already, just getting out of the shower and standing in front of the bed pulling a shirt over his head.

He saw that I was awake and looked over his shoulder at me, the scruff along his jaw caught my attention. “Where’d you go last night?”

I wasn’t sure why he was asking. Did he even really care? “To dinner with Lexi and Brody.” Sitting up, I leaned back on my hands and yawned.

“I tried calling you.”

“My phone was on vibrate.”

“I sent you a text too.”

“Didn’t get it.”

“Check your messages sometime.” Annoyed, he shook his head and walked out of the motor coach.

Easton went to the drivers’ meeting for the Truck race and practiced in the Nationwide car. I sat on the box with Kyle during practice watching him. One good thing about this triple duty setup was he had Kyle and his spotter Nick with him on all three. That was good for him to have consistency in the three.

“He’s going to break,” Kyle said, watching Easton’s lap times during the final practice.

“You and I both know that, Kyle.” The roar of cars passed by the front stretch, Easton middle pack drafting with Paul and Jacob.

Easton is meticulous, just like my dad was. Both are particular on set-ups where Kyle understands that. He also knows when a driver is in over his head.

“Hey, I saw your mom the other day.” Kyle turned to look at me, his brow drew together. “Is she okay?”

The question caught me off guard. My mom has always been a small woman. But lately, she was even smaller to the point where you could actually see her bones in places like her cheeks and ribs. She didn’t look healthy at all. We all noticed the change but she’d yet to say why.

Neither had dad.

He just ignored our questions and deep down we knew she was sick a little before Gray’s first birthday.

“I’m not sure. She says she’s fine but she doesn’t look good.”

Kyle knew I didn’t want to talk about it right then. Not with Tray on the other side of him. It was easy to talk with Kyle but I’m a private person.

Kyle pulled his headset aside and around his neck. “He can’t keep doing this. It’s not healthy.” Kyle said, and the look on his face meant business.

I’ve known Kyle Wade my entire life. He’s always been like my uncle and my dad has always treated him like his brother. When his brother Gentry died it took a big part of Kyle with him and in turn, he had racing. Failed marriages, no kids, his life was four turns and a superspeedway to nothing but cars.

The two of us sat on the box every Sunday together. He, in turn, knew me pretty well. “And you look lost,” he noticed, leaning into my shoulder. Kyle nudged my shoulder. “You alright kid?”

“Yeah,”

“You know…he loves you. He’s sidetracked but he’ll get it together.”

“Shut up.” I didn’t want to hear that today.

“Oh my God.” He laughed. “You’re Jameson.”

That got me laughing, which I think that was his plan all along

“I guess I am a little lost.”

“Don’t let it get to you. You’re strong just like your mama.”

I’m afraid of a lot of things. Most people that know me don’t know that. I’m afraid of losing myself in this lifestyle the most.

“She never let anything bother her, did she?” Sometimes I felt like Kyle would have known my mother better than me. Just like I was doing, she sat where I am for twenty years. He knew her pretty well.

Kyle laughed and gave me a once over. “When she was pregnant, everything bothered her.”

“I’m not pregnant.”

His shoulder bumped mine as he winked. “You’re just as strong as she is.”

Kyle had worked for my dad for most of his racing career and constantly tried to get him to come over to JAR Racing. Kyle saw something in Easton that kept him there. He wanted to get the kid a championship he said.

Easton and my dad are very different when it came to reading the car. Both were particular in what they demanded and wanted from their cars.

If the car pushed up the track, Easton would get pissed. Whereas my dad loved a loose car. He could recover it should it slap the back end against the wall. To him hitting rear first was manageable. If you’re tight, there’s no steering and you head toward the wall nose first. It’s usually done after that.

How the driver handles the car isn’t as important as having a good car. You need a good wheelman, sure, but the car has to be the best. On average, it’s the 70/20/10 rule if you ask me in the Cup series. 70% car, 20% driver and 10% luck.

Not every driver looks at it that way Easton did. His car had to be perfect in his mind.

He hated being loose. He was also fidgety in the car. He was constantly messing with the seat, he was on his third one this year and went through four last year. He hated his feet hot and had to have special shoes because that’s all he would concentrate on and complain about.

And then in a race, when it came to that halfway mark, he’d ask for lap times and numbers. It’s all part of his routine and what soothed him as a driver. Numbers. Consistency. Routine.

Practice ended and Easton wasn’t happy with the car. He kept saying things like he was too loose and felt like the car was dragging. Kyle kept telling him different things to try but I wasn’t sure he was even hearing anything Kyle and Tray were telling him at that point.

“How the fuck am I gonna handle this piece of shit like this?” he said tossing his helmet inside the car after he pulled himself out. “It’s awful. Fucking awful.”

He didn’t have a lot of time to talk with the team before he had an autograph session at a Ford dealership, then he had the Truck race later tonight.

I walked with him to his hauler where Jessie was waiting for him to go to the dealership, when he basically yelled at me over his car because it didn’t handle the way he wanted. I never stood for that shit. Take out those frustrations another way, I’m not your verbal punching bag.

I understood his desire to have a good car at a track like Talladega. Superspeedways are long drawn out races full of pack racing, wrecks that take out half the field and controlled edgy movements. They’re anticipated, the heart of stock car racing, high speeds and drafting. If you don’t have that draft though, you’ve got nothing.

As we stood in the garage staring at his car, he started to take it out on me.

“The problem isn’t me, Easton. Lately, you’re forgetting why you started racing in the first place.” My voice was purposely even and it was meant to be. I wasn’t yelling at him. I rarely ever yell at anyone. “I bet you can’t tell me your last win.”

“Richmond,” he mumbled turning to walk out of the garage, his attention more on his phone than our conversation as we walked, crowds of people hording around us and bumping into him always wanting, taking, asking, interrupting.

“No, I’m not talking about last week. Before that.”

He stared at me, his eyes finally lifting from his phone, a pensive quiet answered for him. He couldn’t tell me.

“You’re so caught up in the next win, you forget about the last. It’s always more with you.”

“You’re dad’s just like that.” Again, the response was mumbled as he stepped inside the hauler, Jessie following him. Who was he fooling? My dad and Easton are two different drivers and he needed to stop trying to live up to the hype that was my father and be his own racer. He seemed to have lost the reasons and the desires for this sport and didn’t have a clue.

I didn’t even bother going inside. Instead I made the long walk back to the motor coach.

Lexi was walking toward me when I got through the gate and into the drivers compound. With every step I noticed she was walking strange.

“Why are you walking like that?”

“I feel like he gave my vagina a root canal last night,” she said, wincing.

Lexi is very much like her dad, Spencer, if you couldn’t tell.

“At least you’re getting some.” I rolled my eyes slamming the door to our motor coach.

Lexi came inside and sat with me until the Truck race where I watched it with her, Brody, and a handful of his team in the hauler that night. Other than standing on the grid with him before the race, I hadn’t talked with Easton since our conversation in the garage earlier.