Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (51 page)

I paused a few feet in front of her; the warm humid air blew across my face, dampening my skin. The smells of the engines and exhaust mixed with the warm moist air. The hums of racing was all around us as they always were but that’s what defined us, defined me and defined her.

It’s what brought us together and always brings us together. Neither of us knew a life outside of racing.

Sway tilted her head to the side, inhaling a deep breath before giving me a heavily lidded smile.

I moved closer settling down next to her throwing an arm around her. I wanted to move my mouth next to her ear and tell her just how much I missed her and that she was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen but instead I caved, flustered and simply mouthed, “Hi,” when she looked over at me. She answered me with a smile. Her eyes sweeping into mine and I was lost in their beauty, swimming in the deep pools of green.

I wanted to say so much to her right then but I didn’t; terrified she wouldn’t want to hear it.

I don’t know why it has taken me so long but I guess it just took me a while to figure out what I wanted or what I wanted to say, more importantly, how to ask for it. You don’t realize how important your
choice of words are
at times. It can either go smoothly or you can fuck it up with one wrong word. With so much weighing on that, you can see my hesitation here.

So I remained quiet and stared out at the grandstand teeming with fans.

It wasn’t long before Alley found me and I was being whisked away to driver introductions while Sway went with Emma.

Yet another time where I could have said so much but didn’t. With so much weighing on my words, I froze.

One of the coolest things about the morning of the 500, besides having Sway around, was seeing my grandpa walk out onto the grid with me. His only comment was to poke fun at my driving suit that was plastered with logos.

“You look ridiculous,” he told me laughing.

Then he took a long pull from his flask that I was sure was filled with whiskey, his drink of choice.

“It’s just a driving suit grandpa. It’s designed to keep me safe.”

“Son, I used to dip my britches in starch to keep from
catchin
’ on fire
...
things have advanced since my day.” He sighed and smiled at me. “We didn’t see the dangers of what we were doing, until it was too late.”

I knew what he meant by that and that was his way of telling me to be safe. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never said anything nice to me. I wasn’t sure how to react.

Much like
uncle
Randy, my grandpa is only remotely approachable when he’s drinking, but otherwise, he’s a cold-hearted prick but he was also my grandpa and just like any other Riley, hotheaded.

“Well doggoned Jay, I knew you’d be here someday.”

“Thanks grandpa.” I signed a few autographs from some fans who approached me.

Grandpa lost interest with driver introductions and ditched me for my Nana who showed up as well. I wasn’t nervous until I became aware that my entire family had shown up.

Bobby must have sensed this and nudged my shoulder standing there waiting to be introduced.
“You all right kid?”

“Yeah,” I nodded looking down. “I’m fine.”

Bobby had figured me out and knew when I was quiet—I didn’t want to be bothered so he made small talk with Tate and Austin standing behind us in line.

I only wished the reporters knew how to figure this out too.

All the reporters seemed to ask the same question, “Can you win?”

I don’t think of it as can I win because the answer will always be yes. Obviously, I could win—I have many times. Their questions should be, “Could I win the Daytona 500?”

And even then, my answer would be yes.

Watching all the pre-race activities going on around us, I found it entertaining that my first cup race was the Daytona 500 because it was the biggest event NASCAR has.

It’s like the Super Bowl but bigger.

Glancing around, I saw Darrin glaring in my direction. Rolling my eyes, I looked away. He still wasn’t happy about my frivolous meeting with Mariah, his girlfriend.

She had approached my car about an hour ago before I found Sway. I looked away but she got right in my face and pushed her tits against my chest and said, “I’m Mariah,” her hand sliding down my arm caused me to flinch back at the unwanted contact. “You should find me after the race.”

“I don’t think so.” I had replied immediately.

“Oh come on, Darrin will never know.”

I removed her arm from my shoulder and handed the autograph back to the fan standing in front of me. “I said no.” I told her sternly and walked away.

Darrin caught me before I made it too far.

“What was that about?” his tone was sharp and accusing.

“What?”

“Don’t
what
me you little shit.” He snapped stepping closer. “Stay away from Mariah.”

“Mariah is it
...
?” I arched my eyebrow gesturing toward her with a tilt of my head. “
...
was all over my dick back there. You should tell her to stay away from me,” I snapped at him continuing to walk away.

“See you on the track, Riley.” He taunted after me.

“Fuck you,” was my response.

That rivalry racing USAC hadn’t diminished.

Anytime you put forty-three drivers together some are going to rub you the wrong way and others become your guide. With Darrin, I guess with me implying his girl was on my dick, he wasn’t going to be my guide.

Andy Crockett, another rookie driver, rode around the track with me in a Ford truck after being introduced. After a few minutes of silence, I struck up conversation with him.

“Good luck today.” I told him waving to the screaming crowd. He did the same which seemed to ignite them in some thunderous roars.

Andy was a quiet respectable guy and he always seemed to choose his words carefully. You never saw him getting into it with other drivers, it wasn’t his style.

“I’ll need it with you racing.” He grinned.

Andy had grown up racing stock cars so it surprised me he would think I was better, if that’s what he was thinking, maybe he wasn’t.

“Nah, you’ll do just fine.”

“You say that now but
...
it’s different out there. You know that.”

“Yeah but I’ve also seen you drive. You didn’t get here by accident.”

He smiled. “Oh I know that.”

By now, we were back around the track and heading back to the cars before he leaned over and shook my hand. “Good luck.”

I just grinned. I absolutely believe that I’m insatiable, more so than most other racers but that’s also how I’ve gotten this far in a callous sport, one that doesn’t leave room for uncertainties. Most don’t understand that burning
need
to be better but those around me, the other drivers, they did and I was surrounded by them.

After driver introductions, I headed back to my car to wait for the opening ceremonies to begin and to see Sway.

Interview after interview, reporters were constantly asking me how I was feeling, if I could win, what I did last night to prepare myself and what I ate for breakfast
...
It wasn’t until I walked over to get into the car that I started to grasp how big this all was. There were prerace festivities, music, you name it, NASCAR had it and I was somewhere in the middle.

Diffuser – Sway

I watched Jameson closely that morning, wondering when he’d break. I couldn’t believe the tout surrounding him and his team. It was unreal. The media was pegging him as a champion already anticipating him winning today.

The thing that got me was they wanted to put this mold around him, like he was just some cookie-cutter driver conformed to be a certain way, the way they wanted. But that wasn’t Jameson, not by a long shot. He was one of the truest, most exciting drivers around but he wasn’t fit for a mold.

They compared him to the younger version of Doug Dunham, a veteran driver and I saw the similarities, but then again, Jameson was inimitable. He knew he could never please everyone so he didn’t try but he could please himself, and that’s exactly what he did.

I stood there next to his car leaning up against the side. I ran my fingers over the Grays Harbor Raceway sticker he had stuck on there.

“Reminds me of you,” He whispered in my ear and smiled. His nose skimmed through my hair and I could have sworn he sniffed as he did so.

“It does?”

“Well yeah, what else would it remind me of?”

“Racing,” I said with a shrug.

“No, well yes it does but I think of you when I look at it.”

Alley approached us with Lane on her hip. Lane jumped into Jameson’s arms. “Uncle Jay!”

I laughed. There were only two people who could get away with calling him Jay, his Grandpa (he refused to say his whole name) and Lane, who couldn’t pronounce it yet.

Other than that, if you wanted him to answer you—you had better use his full name. I had always loved his name so I called him by it. I also knew how much being called Jay bothered him, so I didn’t.

“Good luck—good luck!” Lane chirped bouncing in his arms and then wrapped his arms tightly around his neck for a hug. I couldn’t think of a better hug than one willingly given by a child.

Jameson tickled his sides. “Thanks buddy. Are you going to watch me?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

He was at the stage where he repeated everything twice. I blamed this on grandpa Casten. Lane loved him and in turn, when Lane said anything Casten, hard of hearing, responded with, “What?”

Now little Lane was in the habit of repeating
everything
.

“That’s my little buddy.” Jameson replied spinning Lane around.

Alley took Lane back as they got the announcement to get inside the cars. My heart started pounding hard, my tummy tied in knots. I never got nervous per se when he raced but I did now. This was so much bigger than dirt tracks and though you could easily get hurt racing sprints, these speeds were higher. That frightened me for about a half a second before my mind caught up with me and I reminded myself that I couldn’t think about what could go wrong. I had to trust that nothing would and know that he did this because he loved racing, that’s all that mattered
...
he was happy.

I kissed him on the cheek before he got inside the car. He had other plans and openly kissed me on the lips in front of everyone. I wasn’t sure how to reply to it so I kissed him
back,
trying to guard any feelings I had from the hundreds of thousands of people watching.

Diffuser – Jameson

Strapping myself into the car, that’s when the nerves
really
hit me.

I’d never been claustrophobic before but with the panic attack I was having, it seemed like the only clinical definition that came to mind. I’ll admit
,
I was intimidated by this race at first. If I screwed up the first time I raced full-sized sprint cars, no big deal.

Now if I screwed up at the Daytona 500 that was
different
.

It was Sway’s words that calmed me, as always.

She leaned inside the car, her grin wide. “Just remember
...
it’s just like any other race.”

Anyone could have said that to me and I’d still be freaking out but because it came from my best friend, my counterpoint, it meant everything. It wasn’t just any race though. I kept telling people it was but it wasn’t.

It was bigger than those races like the Chili Bowl or Turkey Night
...
it was the Daytona 500.

Kyle did exactly what a crew chief should do—he kept me steady. Just before I fired up the engine, he leaned in and said, “Just treat today like another practice session. That’s all this is.”

That was exactly the right thing to say to me. It reminded me of all the training I had and all the test sessions we did. The important thing was to remain focused and smooth.

“You guys copy?” I tapped into our radio frequency.

“Yep, we gotcha bud,” Kyle said. “Fire it up.”

“Aiden, you copy?” I adjusted my helmet and flicked the ignition switch, pulling my visor down. I usually ran tinted tear-offs on my helmet to aide in the changing of the sun by the end of the race. Now I didn’t have to worry about mud on my helmet but visibility could be just as harsh with the sun here at Daytona.

“So you’re coming up on pit lane. Check your speed.” Kyle said. “That will tell us your pit road speed.”

“Where’s the line? I don’t see it.”

I peered to the left, with the limited visibility I had, I tried to find my pit and the line for pit road. These were things I wanted to find before I was speeding down pit road in attempt to make it on and off quickly and without spinning myself.