Page 3

“Don’t give him that.” I gasped, rushing toward them to pry the squirt gun out of Hudson’s hand. Naturally, he cried and I plucked him off the four-wheeler.
“What is he even doing up? I put him down for a nap. Rosa said she was watching the kids for us.”
Tommy started the four-wheeler, revving it once. “I saw Rosa at the concession stands. She didn’t have any kids with her. I picked this little guy up on the way to check track conditions. He was wandering around under the pit bleachers.”
Goddamn you, Rosawas my first thought. Followed quickly by,It’s a good thing my dad didn’t see him under there.
Hudson took my phone from my hand and threw it on the ground. No reason at all. Just decided I didn’t need it.
Two-year-olds are dicks.
I peered down at him. “Why’d you do that?”
He looked at the phone, then me, batting his lashes. “Sawry, Mama.”
That meant sorry. And then I couldn’t be mad at my baby any longer.
Beside me, Rager rolled his eyes, walking toward the pits, leaving me on the front stretch. “You’re such a pushover.”
I was. There was no denying it. Tommy took off the other direction, spraying a wave of dirt at Rager in the process.
Carrying Hudson on my hip, I wiped the vodka from his face. He licked his hand. “Yum.”
“Don’t get addicted yet,” I told him. “You gotta get off the tit first.”
I was still breastfeeding Hudson, at nearly two. Believe me, I tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn’t.
Back in the pits, everything was beginning to burst to life as the final night in Vegas was getting underway. I stood at the entrance to the pits, the long row of haulers and sprint cars my view. I… loved this life. Everything about it. From the smells, dirt, sun, burnt rubber, brake cleaner, methanol… all the way to the concessions stands serving the stale beer and overly greasy hamburgers.
Growing up, my life was spent at NASCAR tracks. Motor coaches that were nicer than most people’s homes and the extravagant suites high above the super speedways. And it was best not to get me started on the wives. Though my dad was one of those super stars of NASCAR, my mom was nothing like the WAGS of those drivers. She grew up at the dirt tracks and stayed a dirt wife.
Me? I went down that road and thankfully, here I was, back at my roots and living my life out of a forty-foot motor home with four kids. And I wouldn’t change it for anything. I loved our life. Random Walmart camping only to wake up and ask the cashier what city you’re in. Pilot truck stop coffee at two in the morning to get through that nightmare stretch on I-70 and singing to Garth Brooks with your husband as the sun comes up on the highway. I even loved rationalizing what clothes to wear until we found a laundry mat and the shady truck stops. And I think most race wives would agree with me on this one when I say, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
With Hudson on my hip, I watched Rager as he walked through the pits, his head down. Smiling at the attention he received from the female fans lingering around the cars, I glanced down at the baby in my arms, a spitting image of his father in every way. Dark hair, impossibly piercing blue eyes and that cute little dimple on his chin when he smiled.
It was hard to believe that five years ago I didn’t have this security. Sure, our life had changed drastically since I had, you know, gotten knocked up by him and was technically married to another. “Technically” is used loosely here. It goes to show you that no matter how planned your life was, it could and might change right before your eyes.
But security of knowing that our lives had a plan? No, I didn’t have that. You couldn’t when your husband raced cars for a living.
“Hey, Arie,” a familiar voice said behind me.
When I turned around, fear jolted through me. Easton stood in front of me, his hands buried in the pockets of his racing suit. My heart jumped into my throat, unprepared to see him here, of all places, and wearing a uniform.
Easton Levi was the hottest driver in NASCAR these days. So people said. Not me. I knew the real Easton. The one who let fame go to his head and destroyed relationships in the process. That wasn’t to say our relationship ended because of him, because it didn’t. I played my part in the end too.
And he was the last person I thought I’d see at a dirt track.
Shifting nervously, I drew in a deep breath. “Hey.” A memory flashed in my head.
Easton’s eyes darted around, confused, irritable, and then settled on the sand because that was so much safer than looking at his wife who he had disappointed time and time again. “This isn’t working, Arie. You and I both know that.”
Did I know that? Yes.
“I know,” I said, not knowing what else to say. My palms felt sweaty, so I rubbed them on my shorts and straightened out my legs in the sand.
I feared divorce, because it felt like I failed. Everyone warned me when Easton and I got married, we should take our time. This day and age, who married that young?
Well, I did. I did because I thought it would work.