Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (45 page)

I looked at myself in the mirror and almost couldn’t tell how old I was. I could pass for thirty these days. It was sickening. With pale skin, blood shot eyes, and dark circles I looked like hell.

I’m sure everyone knew why, but I tried to convince everyone that I was fine. To be honest, I was getting sick. I could feel it. My throat was always scratchy, and my head was always pounding. My stomach was constantly turning and I barely kept down any food. Then again, it might just be that I was running myself on empty. I was lucky if I got five hours of sleep a night. I knew come February, this wasn’t going to cut it.

I splashed some warm water on my face and reached in the cabinet. I poured out the two white pills from the bottle and popped them in my mouth, taking them back dry.

I shook my head and felt the effects of the medication as it slithered down my throat. My head was constantly pounding these days, undoubtedly from the hard hits I’d taken in the race car these last few months.

Thank God for
Vicodin
.

I heard a knock on my door and put the pills back. I went to open it and found my dad standing there with his hands in his pocket.

“Let me in, it’s cold out here.”

The beginning of January had brought a rush of frozen air and snow that stuck this time. The trucks were out every morning, spraying salt. But as cold as it was, the wind crippled you to the core. It was shockingly cold.

“I thought you were in Sydney.” I cleared my throat when I heard it crack.

“I had some things to take care of.” He walked around the sprint car. “Control arms?”

“Yeah, coupler too,” I sat back against the rear tires. I tried to sneak the bottle of Jack Daniels under the car so that he wouldn’t see it, but of course, there was no defeating his eagle eye.

“Drinking again?” He sat across from me on a set of tires.

“I always drink.” I shrugged.

“You know what I mean.” he picked up a screwdriver from the floor and began twirling it easily in his fingers.

“I was thirsty,” I replied lamely.

“That’s what water’s for.”

“I needed something
...
stronger
.”

He sighed through his nose. “Your mom and I are worried about you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that the real reason why you’re here?”

“Jameson
...
you need to stop drinking so much.”

“You’re one to talk
...
you named me after whiskey.”

He didn’t say anything just sighed heavily and shook his head. “How can you drive the way you do and drink this much?”

“I don’t drink on race days. I never have.”

“You don’t even hear yourself, do you?” He shook his head. “I can barely understand you.”

“What are you talking about?” I scoffed.

“Your speech, Jameson; it’s slurred and it’s only 10am. What are you on?” He leaned forward.

“Nothing—I’m fine.” I stood. “Is there anything you needed?”

“What happened to you?” he was still seated, which in some ways was more of a threat to me.

“I said
I’m fine
. Is there anything you needed?” I repeated and started working on the car again.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his black hair. “I need you to be focused. I have a lot riding on this new deal with Simplex and well, I can’t have you drinking all the time or popping
Vicodin
every day.”

“All right,” I groaned, “I know.”

“Do you though? Do you even understand what this all means? I just came to see how you were doing. You look awful.” He gave me a disappointed look before standing and glancing down at me. “I know you miss her and that you love her
...
” I was just about to interrupt him when he shook his head. “Don’t lie to me Jameson
...
I can see what you clearly can’t. Just don’t fuck this up,” was his request.

I didn’t bother telling him or anyone for that matter what I felt for Sway because I didn’t know.

How could I tell them something I didn’t know?

I think they distinguished from my drinking and mood swings, but I didn’t feel like talking about it, so no one brought it up. They would only make me feel more horrible for the way I’d been acting and I don’t think my family wanted to face the fit I’d throw when they brought it up. If anyone mentioned her name, I’m sure they saw the pained expression flash across my face so eventually, they gave up.

I knew I needed to lay off the drinking. NASCAR requires a physical and prohibits drinking when you’re at the track and had strict guidelines on prescription drugs. I’m sure they knew most race car drivers took pain relievers with the way they are tossed around in the cars but they sure didn’t allow addictions.

I hated the feeling of being hung over. Welcomed the numbness I felt but the hangovers, I could go without those. So it surprised me that I’d been drinking so much lately.

I never made it back to Elma that winter. With my parents having the house in North Carolina now, we didn’t make it back there as much. I got tired of living with my family real fast, so that winter I purchased a few acres of land in Mooresville and started building my own home.

Mostly, it was living with Emma that I despised. Spencer and Alley had moved into the own house not far from my parents but I saw Spencer and Alley so much it was as though we all lived together. Lane was a hoot and I enjoyed corrupting him for future retaliation against Spencer. Being two now, he had quite the personality.

Sway was trying to finish her classes so she stayed in Bellingham that winter but to be fair, I didn’t have a chance to see her either. Since that weekend I flew out to Bellingham, I hadn’t seen her.  Naturally, we spoke nearly every day but I hadn’t seen her smiling face in months.

I will say it gave me a chance to think; well that’s a lie. I never had time to think. Since the last time I saw her, it was a different track, different city every week and even though it was the offseason right now, I still didn’t have time.

The last few races of the season turned into a media showdown into my personal life to which I was not impressed with. Even in Mooresville I was still dealing with the constant banter that surrounded me.

“There’s Jimi Riley’s kid, the Busch driver
...
”

“
...
Did you know he slept with that one girl
...
”

“I hear he’s dating some girl from Elma
...
”

I’m not sure what the lure into my personal life came from but I had a feeling Ashley had something to do with that or maybe it was that I was just in the public’s gaze more. Ashley did follow me around the track mercilessly but all that did was ensure I didn’t make that mistake again.

Since the nurse in Vegas, I hadn’t slept with anyone and willed off women all together. I had a job to do now and that didn’t entail sleeping around, drinking—yes, women—no. It didn’t feel right. I had nothing to offer those women. Sure they got what they wanted as did I, in a way, but every time I felt the crushing guilt that it was wrong, it was wrong. They weren’t what I wanted. I wanted Sway, in any way I could have her and right now, that was friends.

My dad and I were on our way to Daytona for Speedweek when he felt the need to talk to me about my temper that had been flaring lately.

“This is different this year. You need to keep your head together and stay focused.”

“I know.” I didn’t want another speech about how I needed to keep my shit in line but I had a feeling the first time I fucked up I’d hear it only this time I’d hear it from him, my uncle Randy and Simplex.

Dad pulled through the gates of Daytona International Raceway, handed his credentials over and pulled through the gates.

“I know you know, but I can’t have you causing problems, you understand? No more pain killers either. If you’re in pain, go to the doctor. Drinking is one thing, outside of the track only, but pain killers
...
that’s not something you need to be abusing. I won’t have my son taking that shit.”

“I know.” I said again and reached for the handle of the door before pausing. I felt I needed to say more this time. I wanted him to know that I was ready for this and took this opportunity seriously. “I know you think I don’t understand how this affects all of us, our family that is, but I do.” My eyes stared straight ahead and focused on Spencer walking toward us. He rode over with Kyle and Mason to meet the rest of the pit crew dad hired. “I haven’t forgotten how I got here and why this was all made possible.” I told him.

I finally looked over at him—he smiled. “Let’s go show these guys what Jameson Riley is made of.”

That sounded good to me.

I like to think I was a renewed man and completely focused but I did have distractions. Everywhere I turned another woman was throwing herself in my direction. Other drivers were testing me and we had a new team. A new team in general is frustrating and taxing.

Most of the same crewmembers were the same but anytime you put a new team together, it takes time for everyone to adjust and amend the team dynamics.

I seemed to be the one everyone had a hard time getting used to, for good reason. I wasn’t exactly the nicest guy to be around.
I had a few good qualities but they were mostly overshadowed by the bad.

I was possessive of Sway and though she wasn’t mine my team unfortunately knew that when anyone asked about her, jealousy ran through my veins as I had the temper of a bull and little patience. I had to be in control at all times and didn’t take
orders
from anyone besides my mom and dad—mostly my mom.

I didn’t have time to cultivate relationships or friendships and I rarely had time to sleep. Who cared if I didn’t have friends? Well I did care. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t but there was only one friend that mattered to me. Sway.

As far as my team went, Kyle was the same. Kyle and I trusted each other and you needed that in a crew chief/driver combination, it was vital for trust to be there. When he or I made calls, I had to know he had my back and vice-versa.

Aiden transferred over as did Mason as the car chief since we no longer had a car running in the Busch series. We also added Kyle’s younger brother, Gentry, as a tire carrier. Harry stayed as the engine specialist along with Tony, the tire specialist. Most of the crew was the same other than these few additions but it would be a little different.

Everything was faster paced in cup. The pit stops had to be perfect as did my racing. So much goes into the pit stops that you don’t realize how crucial they are.

For instance, when you pull down pit road and into your stall, there are seven guys swarming around your idling race car all waiting to perform their piece of that 12-second stop. You have the tire carriers, front and rear, a jack man, officials, a gasman and then some who catches the overflow.

Occasionally there is another guy standing by to clean the windshield, hand me water, or assist another crewmember if needed.

The NASCAR official stands there to make sure you’re not breaking any rules.

When you think about all that happening within thirteen seconds and if one guys slips, everything is thrown off.

Talk about pressure, huh?

The gasman has one of the most vital jobs during the pit stop. Each can holds eleven gallons of racing fuel, with the tank holding twenty-two gallons. Two cans are needed to be dropped into the tank to fill the fuel cell. To get the car filled before the jack man drops that car, the gasman needs to be on his game.

If we take two tires, he has less than six seconds to dump 11 gallons so the gasman has to get to the car in less than a second. So if on average it takes 6.5 seconds per can, that’s 12.5 – 13 seconds right there just dumping the cans. If the rest of the crew is ripping off 13.5 second stops all day, you can imagine how essential the gasman is.