Page 27

“Tell him to get the fuck up!” I yelled, flipping my visor down.
I made it back out on the track just before the two-minute warning. The green flag dropped just as I got up to speed again and in last place. I had twenty cars to work through and knew I had the speed to do it.
Silver Dollar Speedway had two grooves on a good night. The top or the bottom could have won you the race. I wheeled the top groove because that was where I felt the most comfortable at Silver Dollar. What I hadn’t been anticipating was how Ricky Hagen would race me the rest of the night. Sure, we had our run-ins in the past, but all that aside, usually we raced each other clean.
I couldn’t fucking stand the guy off the track, given he took Arie’s virginity when I so desperately wanted to be that guy. But I loved racing against him. We ran close so many times that we always had a mutual trust, believe it or not. I knew how he reacted when you were in a tight spot. He’d leave enough room, and I did the same. Sure, we’d bang wheels a handful of times throughout the race, but I knew with him it wasn’t intentional, even with our sketchy off-track relationship.
Tonight was different. Product of a tight track, thick traffic and heavy competition this year, he wasn’t giving any room when I pulled a slide job on him for first place after ten laps. He came back stronger and got under me in one and two. The embankment had a nice cushion around the top lane and that was where I kept running. I passed him back, but then the caution came out with five to go.
Ricky ran up high during the caution laps, lap after lap, and I hadn’t noticed while we were idling around that he was packing down that cushion with his tire. Had it been on purpose, because he knew what I was doing using the cushion? Maybe. Probably.
I hadn’t noticed at the time but when the green flag flew, I aimed for the cushion in turn one and it wasn’t there. I went sailing over the embankment and gave the win over to Ricky. What had started out as a consistent year for me and leading the points, set me back to third in the points and another DNF.
How Jameson wanted that as a partial owner was a mystery to me.
In the pits, he was all smiles and laughed off the finish. “Looks like Hagen knew what he was doing there.”
I scratched the side of my head and stared at my junked car.
“Another fucking wing,” Lane mumbled, walking inside the hauler and throwing a wrench.
Dave dodged the wrench thrown his direction and groaned. “Awesome.”
I understood their frustration. And I hated I was contributing to it. This was our fourth wing this season. It took three hours to prepare a brand-new wing back at the shop. Suddenly I thought about how much this was going to cost to fix all because I hadn’t been paying attention. When we started the season, we had three cars. Now we’re down to two and they might have to pull down the third after this.
I wanted to talk to Arie about Jameson offering partial ownership, but as the night came to an end, the kids were all over the hauler as I stood next to my car signing autographs. Bristol stayed close to me, sitting on the rear tire, but the boys were running around like feral animals.
Arie rushed by me. “Is Pace over here?”
Pace, Bristol’s twin, was an escape artist. While Bristol was sweet and innocent, Pace was energetic and always on the go. That kid could be there one second and gone with the blink of an eye. All you had to do was look in the cockpits of sprint cars though. He was usually inside one of them pretending to race. Scribbling my signature on a hat for a boy in front of me, I winked at Arie and tipped my head to the side. “Found him.”
Sure enough, he was inside my car making race car noises with my helmet on.
Arie dug him out of there. “Come on, you little buggers. Mommy’s gotta go load the trailer.” Arie took off with the boys, all three of them crying for having to leave the pits while Bristol didn’t move from her place on the tire. She looked up at me and then smiled at the little boy trying to sit next to her on the tire.
It was Ricky Hagen’s son. No fucking way I was letting that happen. I was about to tell Bristol to push him off the tire when Ricky approached me. “Good race,” he noted, watching Arie in the distance.
It didn’t matter how much time went by, I’d always have something to say about guys watching my wife. Especially ones who had fucked her in the past. I handed another kid a signed poster and then picked up Bristol from the tire. Partly to keep from hitting Ricky, and the other because his son was trying to make friends with my daughter.
“Too bad the cushion didn’t hold up,” I mumbled, trying to hold onto a wiggling Bristol. Beside me, Jameson made his way over, as did Casten who was already two beers in.
Bristol took my hat from my head and put it on hers. “Papa!” And then lunged for Jameson. He was already holding Rowyn. All the grandkids were always climbing all over him.
That left me standing next to Ricky without anything occupying my hands. I glanced at Jameson and decided to step back. Not only was my daughter around, but I didn’t want Jameson thinking I would constantly let my emotions rule my actions like I did around Easton.
Ricky hauled his son into his arms and began to walk away.
Casten grinned. “Impressive.”
“Shut up,” I told him, taking one of the beers he had stored in the pockets of his race suit.
Part of me didn’t want to say anything to Arie about agreeing to be partners with Jameson because I knew she wouldn’t want me to take on more responsibility. Not only was she working a full-time job and trying to raise four kids on the road, I spent most of my time racing, driving to races, or being stressed out about racing.
How would being a team owner add to that?
I stepped inside Jameson’s hauler after the cars were loaded and signed the paperwork.
“Welcome to being a team owner. Watch out for the number nine driver. I hear he’s an asshole.”