Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (8 page)

The rest of his family and I made our way down to victory lane to wait for Jameson.

When he pulled the car in, you could barely hear anything besides screaming fans.

I studied his every move as he stripped away his gloves, neck brace, removed the air tube from his helmet and then unbuckled his helmet.

Collecting himself, he leaned his head back against his seat for a second before removing his helmet.

When he finally removed it, he ran his fingers through his mop of sweaty hair. That’s when I got a good look in his eyes for a moment. That arresting fire, that intense self-assured stare, was glistening with tears.

Immediately I was crying again. In all the years I’d known Jameson, I’ve never seen him cry, ever, nothing even close to a tear. Even the time Spencer accidently-on-purposely hit him in the junk with a tire iron when he was fourteen, never cried. But
now
, his composure was wavering. And that had me wavering.

He shook his head and swallowed, his hands trembling as he tried to compose himself. Not only was he completely worn out, this was an important race to him. He always wanted to win in Charlotte having never won here before in all the USAC events they ran and with his entire family being here this weekend—it was emotional for him.

To him, a win in the heartland of NASCAR, in a series no one thought he’d make it, designated far more than a win at any other track on their circuit.

Why?

Because to him, winning in the heartland showed he could be that mystifying greatness he was pegged to be. And he was.

After a moment, he pulled out his ear buds, took the steering wheel off and placed his sponsor’s hat over his matted hair.

Kyle made his way over the car, placed his head inside and then ruffled his hair. Jameson grinned shaking his hand. Kyle then grabbed a beer and handed it to Jameson who opened it taking a slow drink.

When he glanced our direction, my eyes caught his.

He winked and reached up to hoist himself to the edge of the window, beating on the roof enlivening the team wedded to him.

Collective shouts erupted, victory lane roared to life, all with an astounding adulation for a boy I grew up watching command respect with his ability.

Whistles and clapping mixed with beer, champagne and
Pepsi
spraying.

Let me tell you something about celebrating in victory lane, shit gets in your eyes when it’s sprayed and you can’t avoid it. Beer and champagne doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as
Pepsi
does when it gets in your eyes. I don’t know what’s in the stuff but that shit burns.

Swinging his legs over the side, Jameson stood on the edge of the window frame, let out a laugh and launched himself into his crew where Spencer caught him.

His team swarmed with good-natured ribbing and hard pats to his back. Their camaraderie was hard to find with every team on the series, as it was hard to achieve.

This team had a familiarity to each other and a trust—despite the problems with the pit stops—that formed over time. It was easy to see
this
team, reveling the victory, could be a champion team as they
all
saw the bigger picture.

You feel it and maybe understand it, in part, but the unity between a racing team is what drives it forward leading them to victory. Without it, a win could hardly be appreciated.

Soon the announcer was in Jameson’s face asking questions but he motioned for me to come over before he started talking.

I wasn’t sure he wanted me to come over until he yelled, “Get over here, Sway!”

I trotted my happy little pit lizard ass right over.

Smiling down at me, he wrapped his sweaty arms around me for a burly hug I deemed
completely
appropriate.

“I’m so proud of you.” I whispered in his ear—his damp hair falling against my forehead.

“Thank you for being here. It means everything to me.” He whispered back before placing a quick kiss on my lips.

This alarmed me.

For one, the sensation left me weak in the knees, and two, there were reporters everywhere.

I could hardly attack the boy like I wanted to, or could I?

The announcer stuck the microphone in his face and I backed away towards Nancy and Emma who made their way over letting Jameson talk to the media.

“Jameson Riley, you heard go from Kyle and you did.” Spencer screamed in the background causing another bellowed uproar from the team behind us. “Tell us what you did there at the end to catch Darrin Torres.”

“You know, we had an unbelievable car throughout the entire race. The car wasn’t as good on the long runs so we lucked out with the green white checker.” Jameson told them, still smiling. “We had some problems with pit stops but we had a fast car to make up for it. It’s pretty awesome to win here on Memorial Day weekend. Despite everything that happened in the Winston and with the fine earlier today, all I can say is it feels good to win.” He looked over at his family. “My family is all here
...
even my Nana was able to make it. I need to thank my sponsor Simplex Shocks and Springs
...
all the people that support us, CST Engines, my dad for giving me a chance.”

“Let’s get him over here.” The reporter motioned for Jimi to come over. Jameson wiped sweat from his neck with a towel Alley threw towards him.

“Jimi, what do you think of your son here?” He shoved the microphone in his face.

“I knew he had it in him.” Jimi smiled. “We’re very proud of Jameson.” he reached for Jameson, heaving him into an embrace, and whispered something to him.

For a moment, Jimi’s hard demeanor shifted to portray him remembering what it took his son to get here, in victory lane. This, the sounds, vibrations, smells of racing and the rouse of the night around us was what completed Jameson and in turn, shined in Jimi’s eyes having made that dream possible.

When Jameson pulled back, he was all smiles.

He conscientiously tried for so long to gain autonomy approval from Jimi, but also separation to become himself though he still looked to him for extolment.

What Jameson never realized, maybe he did after winning the USAC Triple Crown our summer together, was that he never needed to separate himself.

Kyle remained near the car, his humble demeanor breaking into a smile of both honor and gratification. The announcer turned towards him. “Kyle, you seemed to make the right call there to stay out.”

Kyle shook his head and patted Jameson on the back. “Nah,” he drew out with coyness. “That was Jameson’s call,”

“Well, it seemed to be the right one. Congratulations.”

I watched him in awe as he finished the last of his interviews.

This man made even as much as talking to the media sexy.

Once interviews were finished it was time for the “hat dance” as they called it. The “hat dance” was where drivers and their teams wore the hats of their various sponsors, snapped a picture and then moved onto the next one, usually around twenty or so.

It was actually somewhat comical to watch. There were a few times where half the team had the wrong hat on where others didn’t.

It had to of been confusing but did provide us some entertainment.

Alley, Emma, and I excused ourselves to wait back at the hauler for him to finish. Standing near the doors, Alley talked to Simplex on the phone when Jameson returned with Aiden and Spencer.

“Congratulations,” Alley screamed over the noise of the engines from the car returning to their haulers.

Jameson hugged her and wiped his sweaty face over her shoulders. “You’re an asshole.” she snapped and punched him in the stomach.

Emma threw a towel at him and he wiped off his face turning towards me.

“Hi,” he smiled once he was close enough and took a drink of the Gatorade Aiden tossed him.

I laughed. “Hi.”

“I have a press conference to do.” He said nonchalantly with a shrug. “You gonna be around?”

I wanted to hit him and hump his leg at the same time when he smirked like that.

“I’m not sure,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders. “I might go check out this Bobby Cole driver. See if he’ll take me home.” I shook my hips at him.

Jameson’s eyes narrowed. “You better be here when I’m done, Sway.” He pulled on the strings of my sweatshirt, his eyes darting to my lips and then back again.

“Or else what,” I countered slapping his hand away with a giggle.

Alley was telling him it was time to go but he leaned closer. The thick scent of racing engulfed me.

“You just better be here.” He warned and hip checked me.

Emma, who was standing behind me, placed her head on my shoulder. “Pit lizard.”

I turned glaring at her.

“Whore who’s fucking her brother’s friend,” I quipped back reaching for the black heels she dangled in my face.

I had something to prove tonight and I was going to need those damn shoes.

3.
             
Victory Lane
–
Sway

Victory Lane – The spot on each racetrack’s infield where the race winner parks for the celebration. It’s sometimes referred to as “winners circle”.

It was nearly midnight when Jameson finally finished with the contender conference (a press conference with the top five finishers from the race and their crew-chiefs) and post-race interviews. Now we were finally on the way to downtown Charlotte where Jameson was required to make an appearance at the Howl at the Moon bar.

The thirty-five minute drive from the track was filled with Jameson, Aiden, and Spencer recapping the race and pit stops. Spencer had been just as disappointed with the pit stops as Jameson was.

Emma, Alley and I elected to crack open the mini bar half way through the drive. Since Jimi and Nancy decided to make it a night and gladly took Lane with them, Alley and Spencer were making use of the grown up time. Lane, who wouldn’t get out of Jameson’s car after the race, ended up falling asleep in there and then carried lifelessly to the car.

“What was wrong with Bobby’s car?” Spencer asked Jameson.

“Fuck if I know. He was really loose coming out of four. Hell
...
I think he pegged the wall a couple times.” Jameson leaned further back in the seat and took a drink of his beer. “A couple times I thought he’d give me a push off the re-start but he just hung me out to dry.”

Alley smiled towards Jameson. “Gordon called,” she held her phone up. “The car passed post race inspection
...
they’re dropping the fine too.”

“Seriously?” Jameson perked up.

“It was a bullshit fine anyways.” Spencer added.

Alley slipped her phone inside her bag. “Regardless, we’re a new team. We don’t need publicity like that. It’s good they dropped it.”

Jameson just nodded, his gaze fixated on his beer.

The poor guy was beat. He’d just spent four hours manhandling a race car—he had a right to be tired.