Happy Hour (Racing on the Edge) (72 page)

While I waited for him to answer, I laid on my stomach, staring at the black and white photo of our baby. It felt so strange to say
our baby
. I never imagined I would be pregnant with Jameson’s baby. Hell, I never imagined I’d be pregnant with any baby.

“Hey beautiful,” Jameson answered after a few rings.

The anxiety hit me hard in that moment knowing I had something I wanted to tell him but couldn’t. It felt like I was lying to him and I
did not
like that feeling.

I could hear the sound of engines in the background drowning out his voice and the breaking in the call reception.

“Hey handsome, where are you?” I rolled over on the bed. Lying on my stomach was starting to make me sick again, either that, or it was the five slices of pizza I just consumed on my emotional eating binge.

“Oh sorry,” he apologized. “I’m at Lernerville with Tyler and Justin. It’s a charity event, mom and Emma scheduled me for an appearance and then of course, I decided to race.” He chuckled softly. “Tyler knowing me, already had a car ready when I got here. Ryder even showed up. He’s back racing full time.”

Ryder Christensen was a USAC driver he grew up racing with that suffered a horrific crash at Knoxville a few years back.

Ryder, Tyler, Justin, Cody Weldon, and Jameson were all within the same age group and spent years battling against each other through USAC. A strong bond was formed between those boys that’s for sure.

“Oh, how’s it going?” I leaned over placing the picture inside my nightstand. “Good to be back on dirt?”

“Sway,” he sighed contently. “I’ve missed dirt track racing, so much. I wish you were here with me though, it’s not the same. All the boys say hello.”

It was entertaining to me that he thought he wouldn’t miss dirt track racing. He grew up where dirt track racing was all he knew. Steady and determined, that love led him to what he thought he didn’t want, NASCAR. But if you knew Jameson the way I did, you knew he missed the days when he raced just to race on those bullring dirt tracks.

“Are you still flying home after Pocono?”

“Yeah, I have to meet with the contractor for my house on Monday but Alley said she’d do it for me so I could be with you until I need to leave for Watkins Glen on Wednesday.”

“I can come with you to that race.” I suggested.

“Really?” Jameson sounded relieved.

“Yeah, I’m not really needed here for a couple weeks. We need to talk so I’d like—”

Jameson interrupted me. “That would be
...
great. Sway, honey I hate to cut you off but my heat race is up and I can’t hear you very well. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Okay, I love you.”

He chuckled. “I love you too.”

Hanging up the phone, I slumped back against the bed.

Before long, I reached for the picture again. Every time I looked at it, my hand fell to my stomach for confirmation. I didn’t look pregnant, sure, the funbags were enormous but other than that, my stomach was still flat. The prominent ridges of my hips bones were still present, and though I was surprised I had them, the muscles in my stomach were still defined.

I didn’t resemble a pregnant woman that’s for sure, emotionally yes, but not physically.

The next few days passed quickly. I spoke to Jameson twice, both times he was arguing with Kyle or Mason while we talked so it wasn’t much of a conversation.

On Saturday night, Emma helped me out at the track and I wished she wouldn’t have. She wanted to redesign our whole public relations setup.

And to make my night worse, I ran into someone I never thought I’d see again.

Mike Tanner, a guy I had a one-night stand with. Let me tell you something about Mike Tanner, he was the reason women had one-night stands. You couldn’t stand him longer than one evening. And I might add, he squealed like a pig when he came.

“Hey Mike, what are you doing here?” I asked and immediately felt stupid for asking when I realized he was in a racing suit, helmet in hand.

“I’m racing on the Northern Sprint Tour and the World of Outlaws on a limited schedule for Quincy.” He gave a cocky shrug. “Tonight I’m going back to my roots and racing an outlaw late model. What are you doing here?” Mike asked with excited eyes.

“Oh, well my dad
...
actually, my boyfriend owns the track. I’m the General Manager.”

“Really? Who’s your boyfriend?” he asked. I could tell by the look on his face he was disappointed there wouldn’t be a repeat performance of the last time we’d met.

“Jameson Riley.”

Mike laughed. “Like in Jameson Riley the Winston Cup driver?”

I wanted to punch him in the face for acting as though I wasn’t good enough. With all my bitchiness, he was lucky I didn’t.

“Yes,” I snapped rolling my eyes. “Jameson Riley
the race car driver
.”

Mike began nodding his head in an arrogant way that really made me want to punch him. Mallory, his saving grace, appeared before I could go around assaulting the drivers.

“Hey Sway—I need you to go control Emma.” Mallory ordered breathlessly. “She’s rearranging the office and something about repainting.”

Mallory, Mark’s only daughter, was good people. I would hate for her to quit over Emma, or my shitty attitude these days. Malloy began working for Charlie shortly after Mark took the job seven years ago. I loved her and even though she was ten years older than me, we got along great. I absolutely loved her husband Bryce; he was amazing. Bryce was no Jameson but he was a pretty cool guy.

So I definitely wanted her to continue working here.

I laughed at Mallory describing what Emma was doing on our way back up to the office.

“You should have never left her in there alone.” I finally told her.

It was a late night at the track but eventually we managed to wrap everything up and head home where I once again, fell asleep as soon as I was in bed.

Sunday morning I woke up with Emma in my bed.

“How did you get in here?” I asked harshly. “I locked the door.”

Emma shrugged, blowing off my rudeness. “The window,”

“What are you spider woman?” I attempted to roll over but stuck to my sheets. “Why are we all sticky?” I could see Emma’s skin glistening.

“I
...
spilled something.” She replied softly. “I think.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she avoided my penetrating glare like the plague. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Emma?”

“Sway?”

“What. Was. It?” I seethed.

“Uh
...
I should
...
go check on the twins.” She bolted for the door. “I think I hear them in my room.”

“Emma!” I yelled after her.

Glancing around the room, it was trashed. It looked like someone hosted New Year’s Eve in Times Square in my bedroom. “Emma!” I screamed again.

Still no response. Killing her seemed like a grand idea. And as I looked more closely around the room, the idea got grander.

When I moved, I stuck to the sheets like one of those flytraps. No matter how I moved, the sheets moved with me.

What the fuck is this shit?

It smelled like alcohol but I couldn’t be sure. It was crusty and sticky and in my hair, on my body. It strangely resembled
...
nah
...
it’s not that, or was it?

It had better not be that!

I got out of bed, wrapping my bathrobe around myself, in search for Emma. I found her, in the bathroom, washing her own hair.

I stood there with my hands on my hips. “What the fuck is all over us?”

“Huh?” she eluded as though she didn’t hear me correctly.

“Don’t huh me. Why does my room smell like a distillery and why are we all sticky?”

“It
...
was an accident.” Her eyes were wide with panic. “I swear.”

“What do you mean it was an accident?” I scorned stepping closer to her. Trying to be intimidating, I held up a hair brush as though I would smack her with it.

“Okay
...
I climbed in your window
...
I was a little drunk.” I gave her a skeptical look. “All right, I was
very
drunk.” She admitted. “I wanted to celebrate with you so I brought some champagne.”

I sighed heavily. I knew where this was going.

“Then I realized that you couldn’t drink
...
so I opened the bottle and it sprayed everywhere. I tried to drink all of it so you wouldn’t be mad at me and then I don’t remember after that.” Emma smiled. “I mean
...
I
did
drink an entire bottle of champagne, by myself. I have no idea why we’re all sticky. Maybe it’s from the champagne, but I can’t be sure. When I woke up I was underneath your bed.”

I shook my head again. “What am I going to do with you?”

This was like the time Jameson and I caught her with beer on her sixteenth birthday. She was so afraid Jameson would tell Jimi and Nancy, which he never would, that she drank a 24-pack of beer, by herself.

She puked for ten days straight.

I wasn’t about to let the little twit get away with this though so we spent the next four hours cleaning up my room. We then realized we missed the race and our cell phones. I found mine in Logan’s room, with nineteen calls to Europe.

It’d be a miracle if I allowed those little shits to see seven.

After telling him this, my threats going nowhere, I made my way into the living room to check the race knowing I missed the majority of it.

Watching the highlights, nausea rolled over me reading the headlines across the bottom of the television.

“NASCAR Winston Cup driver of the Simplex Shocks and Springs number nine, Jameson Riley, has been air lifted to Pocono Medical Center after a post-race crash that involved him and Darrin Torres, driver of the Wyle Products number fourteen. Jameson, who won the race, was doing a burnout in the tunnel turn when Darrin crashed into him, on the driver’s side. NASCAR has declined to comment on the incident stating the crash is currently under investigation. Darrin Torres, after being treated for minor injuries, walked away from the wreck declining to comment as well. There have been no updates as to Riley’s condition.”

Like a slap in the face, they then showed the crash, over and over again, as they debated how it could have happened.

There was nothing left of his car.

The video showed Jameson’s car coming out of the tunnel turn after doing a burnout, the next thing you saw was Darrin’s car smashing into the side of him, at
full speed
coming out of the straight stretch.

“Oh god!” Emma choked running for her cell phone.