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“Jameson, I’m gonna getsick!” I screamed covering my mouth.

I’d never seen him slamon the brakes and open my door that fast before.

And then I threw up inthe ditch.

Turns out, I wasn’t carchase material, I just wasn’t.

He helped me getcleaned up, offered a bottle of water and then sat along the edge of the ditchfacing the road.

The passenger doorremained opened binging every few seconds.

“Jameson, I know you’reupset but I hate seeing you like this. I feel it when you’re like this.”

His eyes snapped tomine, flashing like lighting, and I knew I said the wrong thing. I meant for itto sound like I felt for him not that I was placing the blame upon him.

“I don’t want you tofeel that way!” he shouted, the quiet lost as his temper flared. He lookedpanicked, and guilty, and...angry. “I don’t want youaround this shit!”

I didn’t know what todo. Jameson’s temper wasn’t something to mess with so I got inside the car.

As I attempted to closethe door and leave him out there, his hand shot out pushing it back open. Ididn’t look at him, angry that I was nearly road kill and angry that I couldn’ttalk to him and actually get through to him. Not to mention he not only put ourlives at risk, but that of our innocent child.

“Oh goddamn it. I’msorry!” he shouted kicking at the rocks in the ditch. “I don’t know what to doanymore!”

“Jameson...” I reached for him only to have himshake me away standing at the rear of the car now.

“Ican’tkeepdoing this.” He bent forward resting his hands on the back of the car. His headhungslumpinghis shoulders forward. “Fuck!” hescreamed toward the sky, all the muscles in his back flexed and tensed with themovement.

My hands reached forhim wanting to ease his pain. This time he let me touch him.

And just like that, hishostile mood returned, as though I expected anything less.

Abruptly, he turnedtoward me as though I said his name. “What should I do? Is there...” his fists clenched again. “I mean, whatdo they expect me to do?”

“I don’t know.” and Ihonestly didn’t anymore. My hands slipped from his shoulders.

His face was tense whenI removed my hands and his anger had returned, luminescent like brakes at ashort track, glowing with the slightest form of pressure.

“No,” he said betweenhis teeth. “No one knows. That’s the fucking problem.”

He was burning insidewith such raw emotion. I felt it as I’m sure everyone else around us did too.He was sick of this and he had every right to be.

“I don’t know whateveryone wants from me. They want me to by myself and when I am and speak mymind, showing them who I am, they want me acting another way. I don’tunderstand what they thought I would do.” His expression was one offrustration, annoyance, and underneath that, determination and honesty and Iwas confused for a brief moment.

And then I realizedthis was him breaking apart. This doesn’t just have to do with Darrin. It hasto do with his lifestyle, sponsors, media, owners, drivers, obligations, andsacrifices, all of it.

Jameson was right tofeel this way. Whatdidthey expect him to do with the pressures putupon him? Did they honestly expect a twenty-three year old kid to know exactlywhen and how to turn his aggression on and off?

I eventually got him backinside the car and on our way back to Darlington since it was around two in themorning.

I’m not sure whether heslept, but me being pregnant and sleepy all the time, I woke up inside themotor coach assuming he carried me there at some point.

When I rolled over, hewas there with his hands resting on hisstomach,hisracing suit from last night was still on only the top half was pulled away. Hestared at the ceiling, eyes fixed and restless.

“Good morning.” I saidtesting the air.

His eyes shifted towardme briefly before darting back to the ceiling. “Good morning honey.”

Well that was a goodsign. He called me honey.