Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (38 page)

For a few years now, Jimi had been contemplating starting a race team. Having already owned an Outlaw team for about four years now, he looked into a USAC team like Bucky had but the big teams were in NASCAR these days.

Why?

NASCAR had the ultimate exposure. How many people outside of the mid-west know what USAC is or even the World of Outlaws?

Not many. But nearly every red blooded American citizen knew what NASCAR was and sponsors wanted exposure so where do you think they dumped most of their money?

NASCAR.

It was early when I got there, probably around seven in the morning and I wasn’t sure if I was just tired or hallucinating when I saw a stock car parked beside him on pit lane.

Harry Sampson, a mechanic/engine specialist I’d heard a lot about these days, was leaning against the side of the car. He wrenched for guys like Bobby Cole, Tate Harris and Adam Parson and now here he was looking at my dad and me as though I was just a waste of his time.

You have to keep in mind at that
point,
I had no idea why I was asked to come to Charlotte. Other than the dirt late models I’d driven in the past, I’d never been in a stock car on asphalt and now I was staring at one with Harry Sampson beside it.

“What’s all this?” I motioned to the car and then toward Harry, who was still staring at me.

“Well,” Jimi took a drink of his coffee. I highly doubted it was straight coffee by the way. “I need to know if you can even drive this thing first.” He gestured with a tip of his head at the car.

Five minutes later, I was strapping myself into a stock car.

I would like to say I wasn’t nervous, but I was. What if I couldn’t drive it?

Sure, I could
drive
it but could I push these cars like I did with sprints. I felt at ease muscling around sprints but stock cars, I wasn’t so sure.

“You know how to operate this, right?” Harry asked tugging on my belts.

I didn’t answer and gave him a blank expression.

“Great,” Harry muttered to himself. “Listen up then. These beasts are much simpler than those sprint cars you’re used to. Aside from the direct drive transmission in sprints these are just like any other car with a manual transmission.”

I smiled, firing up the engine and easily shifting into first gear.

“Kidding,” I told him, laughing.

You could literally see the anxiety drain from his face. “Jesus, I nearly had a fucking heart attack kid.”

Sprint cars were different in the sense that Sprint cars were simple to me. These stock cars had switches, knobs, tacks, roll bars—they had shit everywhere. When you looked inside of a Sprint car, all you saw was a bar to engage the coupler, steering box, fuel pump, power steering pump and inside of the torch tube was the driveline. Then you had the steering wheel and a seat. That’s it.

Getting them running is similar. Cup cars, you flick a switch.

Being direct drive, sprint cars have no clutch, transmission or starter. There’s a coupler that connects the drive shaft to the rear end but the engine has to be shut off before you can engage it. Once you engage the coupler, the car is pushed with a truck to get it started. Then to shut the sprint car off, you have to disengage the coupler, turn off the fuel valve and run it out of fuel.

Sprint cars are complicated to some, but there’s no other car like them with the unique design and setups. They were half the weight and size of the car I was in, but the same amount of horsepower. It would take some getting used to.

I took it for a spin, made something like twenty-five laps and then brought it back it.

Harry smiled. “Looks like you knew what you were doing.”

Dad laughed beside him but didn’t say anything.

We left after that and my dad indicated he was thinking of starting a NASCAR Busch team first and then he’d look at the Winston Cup series. We never talked about me being the driver but I had a feeling that’s what he was hinting at when he had me testing out that stock car.

I wasn’t sure what to make of all of it so before heading to Terre Haute that night I called the one person I always called when I needed advice, Sway.

As luck would have it these days, she wasn’t home.

That night in Terre Haute was horrible when a lifter broke in my sprint car and to make matters worse, I left with the first woman who asked.

That wasn’t the worst part though, the next night was. Terre Haute was running a double feature and I should have known better than to take a girl back to the hotel with me.

She caught up with me the next night and I had some explaining to do, which is why I preferred to never see these women again. I didn’t like explaining myself.

I tried not to on all accounts because really, what would I say?

“I’m an asshole with extreme commitment issues, oh, and by the way, I’m falling for my best friend and refuse to admit it so that’s why I was with you last night.”

That’s not exactly what women want to hear, could be wrong, but I was almost certain that wouldn’t go over well.

“Hey you,” she smiled while I loaded my bag to catch my flight to Tri-State Speedway where I was meeting up with Spencer and Tommy. “Where did you go last night?” I gave her a blank stare so she continued. “I thought you would have stayed last night.”

“Oh, uh,” I mumbled, I looked down at my cell phone that was ringing,
again
. I silently wondered if it ever stopped. “I don’t do that sort of thing.” I finally said.

“Sleep?”

“No, stay with women,” I slipped my phone inside my jeans and adjusted my bag on my shoulder.

“Oh
...
I see
...
wow
...
okay.” Her eyes focused on mine before darting to her feet, ashamed.

Damn it.

This was just one more reason why I preferred never to see these women again. I couldn’t stand to see the hurt in their eyes. I knew I was being a jackass. I didn’t need to see it to know, so I avoided it as though it wasn’t happening.

“Listen, it wasn’t you. I just
...
well, I’m not in town more than a day and to be fair
...
” I shrugged. “I left.”

“I get it.” she was quiet for a while before I saw a tear slip down her cheek. “You don’t even know my name.”

Great.
Now I was giving innocent women a complex and making them cry. This was not a list I wanted to be on.

I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You were wonderful. I just
...
I can’t stay, Lindsey.”

“I understand.” She choked with a smile that I knew her name and started crying all over again.
Because of me.

I hated this. Trying to be an asshole wasn’t working out for me.

For a while, pretending as though I didn’t care but I was a cold hearted prick worked but I never wanted to hurt anyone.

I don’t think I ever felt like a bigger piece of shit as I did right then.

Finally, in August, I was able to see Sway again. We were heading to Knoxville Nationals in Iowa and my excitement was almost unbearable for even me. To tell you how much excitement I showed for this, I was friendly to my sister and offered to buy her lunch on the way to the airport.

And don’t think she didn’t notice this change in behavior, because she did and questioned me endlessly on why I was nice today as opposed to my usual.

I hadn’t seen Sway since right after the Chili Bowl and that was seven months ago. Of course, I’d show excitement.

I made Emma stay in the car while I picked her up. I was in a hurry and had no intention of dealing with airport parking garages. Also, if you hadn’t picked this up by now, I didn’t like Emma for obvious reasons and had no desire to stroll around an airport with her. I’d buy her lunch but strolling the airport, nope, not a chance.

I found Sway about fifteen minutes later at the baggage claim. She had the paper in her hands with a picture of me covering the front page holding a trophy from Indiana Speed Week.

“I hear he’s an asshole.” I whispered with my lips next to her ear.

She jerked forward as if this stunned her, spun around and jumped into my arms.

My heart was pounding as was hers. I could feel it thumping against my chest. She smelled just like I always
remembered,
coconut and vanilla. I closed my eyes and buried my face in her hair.

She clung to me, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her legs around my waist. It probably looked rather inappropriate but I wasn’t at a point that I gave a shit. All I wanted to do was hold her.

“Jesus Christ I’ve missed you.” She whispered and hugged me tighter.

A chuckle escaped me but I didn’t say anything, just held her.

“Could you two move? I need to get to my bag.” A male voice asked politely.

Without saying a word, I stepped back against the glass windows facing the parking garages in between the baggage claim and the ticket booths. After another few seconds, Sway came back to reality and let go of me.

I don’t know why I did what I did next, probably just
to
fucking torture myself but I leaned in and kissed her lips, slowly and then pulled away to run my fingers over where I just kissed. “You’re just as beautiful as I remembered.”

Sway smiled and then let out that giggle I’d missed so much. “Well you’re just as handsome as I remember.” Her eyes raked down my body. “Christ almighty, why hasn’t someone snatched you up by now?”

My eyes narrowed, she usually didn’t say things like that unless she had been drinking. “Have you been drinking?”

She smirked and clicked her tongue. “I may have convinced a flight attendant that I was twenty-one.”

“She believed you?”

“I’m very persuasive.”

I laughed pulling her against my side to get back to the car. “I don’t doubt that. Now come on, Emma is waiting for us.”

That week with Sway was unreal. It was as though we’d never been apart. I honestly believed that’s why I enjoyed being around her so often and missed her so much when she was gone. I never had to explain myself. If I didn’t call, she understood. If I was tired and didn’t want to do anything, she understood. I was relieved to hear she was taking the summer off from school this year and would be traveling around with us for the next few weeks.

But like anything these days, I never had any time to spend with her. It’s not like I needed to entertain her, but I wanted to spend time with her and surprisingly, not at a racetrack.

I did take her to dinner once, and though this could be considered a date by some, she never questioned it and neither did I. It was just us, like we’ve always
been,
no questions.

Right before she left to go home for school, we celebrated her twenty-first birthday. I gave her a little something to remember me by—my lips on her ass. I might add; I had a matching pair on mine.

After Sway left, I once again looked at filling the void I refused to admit was there. And where do you think I turned?

The more I won, the more the pit lizards slithered their way toward my pit after the races. It didn’t matter if I raced Outlaws or USAC, they were always there. Not that I didn’t already know this, but they only wanted one thing, the thrill of sleeping with the driver.

I meant nothing to them but if I was being honest with you, they didn’t either and never would. I never knew their names and once I was finished, they left. I never held them, barely kissed them and usually never attempted to get them off. If they did when I did, well then more power to them, but I never focused on it. I was an asshole through and through. I was appalled at myself during that time in my life. My mother certainly didn’t raise me to treat women that way, but I was. Something had to give.

Alley and Emma were not happy. Every time I left with a girl, I got a lecture the next day about god knows what, I never listened.

Near the end of the 2001 season, I started to look at where I
wanted
to be. Not just with Sway but with racing. I felt a strong sense of attachment to dirt track racing and always would. My heart may have been leaning toward sprint cars but my head led to NASCAR.

On the East Coast, the Carolina area in particular, believed that all the best raced in NASCAR but I raced enough in various divisions to know that there are great drivers in all forms of racing, just look at Jimi or those grassroots drivers banging it out at the weekly races in Grays Harbor.

To say that NASCAR is where the best are isn’t necessarily true but it caught my interest. I wanted to be the best and if someone said, “that’s where the best are” that’s where I wanted to be. It wasn’t only a chance at becoming the best for me, it was also uncharted territory.

I’d never thought real hard about what series I wanted to make my career in, all I knew was that I wanted to race and I was doing that.

When I began weighing my options after my conversations with my dad, Bucky and Tate, I looked at all aspects of the sport.