Dirt Driven (Racing on the Edge Book 11) Read online

  I shifted my stance when I noticed Hayden approaching with the keys to the trailers, the row of fans starting to accumulate near the gate. “He seems good. Nice kid.” Jensen O’Neil was our newest team guy who paired up well with Lane. He knew him and his dad, Parker, from his dirt bike days.

  Hayden took off the other direction, without opening the trailer, and left Jameson and me standing there wondering what the fuck she was doing. Jameson looked at me, confused. “Do you have keys?”

  “No, I think Arie has them because she needed into it this morning.”

  He stared at the fence behind us. “Shit.”

  I glanced over at the pits where Hayden had disappeared to. “Maybe she’ll come back?”

  “With her, you never know.” He gave me a nod and motioned to my cheek. “That from E or Hudson?”

  “Guess he got me a couple times.” Rubbing my hand down the side of my jaw, I realized it was a bit tender. I didn’t want to admit it but Easton had landed a few.

  “What was that about?”

  I looked up from the dirt to Jameson. “What do you mean?”

  “The race or Arie?

  “Both,” I admitted.

  Jameson chuckled, reaching up to adjust his hat when the sun peeked over the row of haulers to our left. “I’d hit the fucker too.”

  Jameson had his fair share of pit fights over the years and I could count on one hand the number related to Sway. Most of the time they were racing related, but every once in a while, other racers would try their hand at the famous Rowdy Riley wife. In fact, last year at Pevely was a prime example. A late model racer, Chase Stockton, got frisky with Sway while she was at the concessions knowing damn well whose wife she was. Sway didn’t say much about it, but Jameson did. Fast-forward to the heats, Stockton was running up near the cushion and Jameson pulled a slider on him but took the air off him and gave no room on the exit. Stockton wadded his car up and never made the main event.

  The thing was, it was a clean move, but his point was made where Stockton sat with Rowdy Riley. And Easton knew where he stood with me. I wouldn’t tolerate his shit anymore. For months he’d been showing up at tracks where we were, and I knew the ties he held with Riley Racing. It didn’t mean I had to take his shit though.

  I tried to remind myself it didn’t matter, regardless, because I had the girl and always would. He’d never get an opening with her again as far as I was concerned.

  Hayden returned with the key and Hudson on her hip. She handed him over to me, and then he lunged for Jameson. “He apparently kicked Ryder and got himself black flagged with Grandma.”

  “Buddy.” Jameson sucked in a breath. “Why are you so mean to everyone?”

  Hudson ignored the question and smacked his hand to Jameson’s cheek, and then stole his hat. “Papa, my hat.”

  “No, that’s mine. You stole four of my hats lately.” He tried to take it from him as Hayden unlocked the merchandise trailer, but he let out a shrieking scream. “Okay, five hats.”

  Inside the trailer, he set Hudson on the counter beside us as the fans formed a line outside. They aww’d over Hudson clinging to me, only because he wanted the Sharpie in my hand. Any other time, he wanted nothing to do with me.

  “Hudson looks so much like Arie,” one fan said, handing me a poster to sign. I smiled, prying the pen from his tiny fist.

  “Yeah, he’s got his mama’s temper too,” I teased when he started crying, knowing this monster was 100 percent me when I was younger.

  “Or his papa’s,” another fan said, smiling at Jameson.

  Jameson snorted beside me and poked Hudson’s diaper butt with the Sharpie in his hand. “Do ya hear that, buddy? They’re teasin’ us.”

  Growling at Jameson, Hudson scrunched up his face.

  “See?” Jameson rolled his eyes. “We’re nothing alike. I don’t growl at people.”

  “Yeah, right,” Hayden added behind us.

  Kicking his leg back, Jameson tripped Hayden and she nailed her shin on a box lying in the middle of the trailer.

  Caden entered the trailer next, a swarm of excitement from the younger girls standing in line. They loved him. He got the nickname Caden “The Kid” Carson because at eighteen, he was the youngest driver on the tour and had everyone from sixteen to thirty in love with him. Including Gray. She wouldn’t tell anyone, or admit to it, but look at her. She’d suddenly appeared in the trailer to “help” with the signing and standing as close as she can to him.

  Caden noticed Gray and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

  “Hey, yourself.” I could tell by the look on her face, she didn’t like being called kid. It reminded me of Abigale and her crush on me. Now that the Pretty Princess turned eleven and had a boyfriend, I was no longer her favorite racer. Can’t say I was too bent about it though.

  “Mind if I join ya?” Caden teased, standing next to me and nudging Hudson’s knee carefully as I tried to balance him and sign autographs at the same time.

  Hudson snatched up Caden’s Sharpie immediately. “Mine.”

  Caden scowled playfully at him tickling his sides. “I’m not scared of you, Hornet.”

  Yep. Hudson had a nickname already. Hornet. Because he was mean as fuck most of the time. I don’t know what happened. Pace and Knox weren’t like him, but this little shit was just plain mean most of the time.

  To avoid a full-blown tantrum, Hayden handed us a mountain of Sharpies and enough to Hudson that he couldn’t fit anymore in his hands. And a cookie for good measure. “Now don’t bite or kick anyone.”

  He stared at her, blank-faced. No way he’d agree to that.

  For an hour, we stood in the sun signing autographs and joking around with one another. Sweat trickled down my neck when an older woman struck up a conversation with me. “Where are Pace, Knox, and Bristol?”

  It was weird to me that people took so much interest in our kids. I swear most of the fans came down to the pits after a race to catch sight of them. “With their grandma somewhere.”

  Hudson stood up on the counter and wrapped his arms around my neck and smooshed his face to mine. “My daddy.”

  I held onto him with one hand and passed the T-shirt back to the woman after signing it. “This one got himself kicked out of daycare.”

  I hadn’t noticed until it happened, but Hudson had gotten the cap off one of the markers in his hand and scribbled on the shirt before the woman took it. “I’m sorry. We can get you a new one.” I motioned for Kinsley who had been behind us restocking the trailer. “You got another one of these?”

  The lady reached for the shirt. “No, that’s quite all right. I love that he signed it next to his daddy.” She beamed.

  Hudson grinned and pointed to the car on the back of the shirt, drooling all over it. “Daddy!” He smacked his hand down on it. Unfortunately, the white shirt now had chocolate chips on it too. And me.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want a new one?”

  “I’m positive. Thank you.”

  The next ten people in line got Hudson’s scribble as well. They all tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t having it. He’d sign their shirts, but God forbid they try to talk to him or touch him.

  After the autograph session, Caden had an appearance in town with his sponsor, so he took off with Kinsley. That left Jameson and me walking back to the pits together. His mood was visibly different from an hour ago. His hands buried in his pockets and a set frown on his face.

  I smiled. “If the hat means that much, I can get it back for you,” I teased, motioning to Hudson who took off running when he spotted Arie returning from the concession stands with food.

  He motioned with his hand to a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Caden. “I knew his uncle, at one time.”

  “Caden’s?” Caden Carson was a kid from Santa Rosa California. He’d made a name for himself racing USAC, much like Jameson had growing up. He’d also been a frequent champion in the ASCS (American Sprint Car Series) Natio
nal tour. Jameson signed him when he was sixteen and he started racing for Axel when Jack had passed away, and me a few times after a string of concussions. For the past two years, he was now a permanent fixture with the JAR Racing boys.

  “Yeah. His mom’s brother died of leukemia when he was five. I knew him. He was part of the Make a Wish Foundation and wanted to meet me. I spent a few days racing go-carts with him my rookie season in NASCAR. He passed away the following month.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “What’s even crazier is that from the moment Caden was born, eighteen years later, he’d been obsessed with racing. His grandma, Sara, over the years I stayed in touch with her and she told me about him racing. I went out and watched him when he was about eleven or twelve and he immediately knew who I was. Mia, his mom and Axle’s younger sister, was a single mom trying to make her son’s dreams of racing come true.”

  “Naturally,” I teased. “Does he know the connection?”

  He smiled. “He knows. CST Engines and Gomez Gears sponsored him for six years before I signed him onto JAR Racing.” Jameson twisted his head toward me, our walk slowing when we rounded the side of the concession stands. “Do you remember when I met you for the first time when you were seven?”

  The memory tugged at me. It was the first time I saw Arie too. She was only three at the time, but I remember it so clearly. “Williams Grove. I still have the poster you signed for me.”

  Throwing his head back, he laughed. “Probably worth some money now.”

  “It’s worth more than money to me.” I wasn’t lying. This legendary man standing beside me, I’d learned more from him than anyone else in my life. As a driver, he was unbeatable most nights and highly influential as a man. Spend any amount of time around him and you’d never forget him. He’s Intimidating by nature and I found myself constantly in awe at what he could do behind the wheel. But I’ll tell you this. It was far more rewarding to know Jameson as a person, than it was to work for him. He taught me everything I knew about open wheel racing, and how to handle myself in a sport that gave very little in return. That was what I called dirt driven. Jameson Riley.

  In the distance I could make out the row of JAR Racing haulers lined up together. All in order. Casten, Axel, me, Jameson and Caden. Always in that order. I refused to park next to Casten. Ever. Axel was forced to because he was his brother.

  “Can you believe I started this team when I was twenty-two?”

  I nodded.

  “Thirty-three years I’ve been running this same tour. And kept the same original three drivers until five years ago.”

  Jameson was incredibly business savvy. It was why he owned a sprint car team, a NASCAR team, the engine building company his grandfather started, a racetrack, a restaurant, and three more side businesses. When he saw opportunity, he took it.

  “It’s impressive,” I told him, shoving my hands into the pockets of my cargo shorts. “Especially with the level of competition these days.”

  He tipped his head and watched the kids following Arie toward the motor homes. “It’s something special, you know? To be able to get a group of guys and have them work together.”

  I laughed. “I wouldn’t say Willie and Dave work together,” I teased.

  “Sure they do. On killing one another.” We both laughed and kept walking.

  It was then I looked over at Jameson and the way the sunlight hit his face and the rusty brown in his scruff jaw. He sighed, as if he was trying to figure out how to tell me something.

  “I want to ask you something,” he began as he stopped walking. I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. My heart thudded harder in my chest. Maybe he was upset about last night. Or the fact that I hadn’t won a race yet this season. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. But I gotta start off by saying, I wasn’t lying when I told you I’ve always thought of you as a son, Rager. You are the only driver with an indefinite contract with me. I mean, the boys don’t have contracts, but you get what I mean. You’re the only driver who isn’t blood and has an indefinite contract. Even if I couldn’t find sponsors, I would back you, because I trust your ability and your business sense.”

  I knew what that meant. And I never took it for granted. I also knew if I fucked up bad enough, he’d cut his losses like any business owner would. But nothing prepared me for what he said next.

  He made eye contact before he said, “I’d like to offer you partial ownership in JAR Racing.”

  Partial ownership? I was silent, unsure what to make of what he said, or if I’d heard him correctly. When Jameson signed me on as a driver for JAR Racing, I was fifteen years old. I wasn’t old enough to race with the World of Outlaws yet, but he hired me anyway. For three years, I raced for him in various midget and sprint car races, but when I debuted on the Outlaw tour, he never hesitated to give me a full-ride and lined up sponsors for me. From then on, I was a permanent part of JAR Racing.

  Never in my life did I think he’d ask me to be a partial owner someday. Didn’t he want one of his sons to take over? It didn’t add up. I knew Casten wouldn’t want anything to do with it though. The less responsibility he had, the better as far as he was concerned. But Axel, I wasn’t so sure.

  Clearing my throat, I shifted my weight from one foot to the next, trying to appear casual. “What about the boys?”

  Jameson shrugged, his stare shifting to the pits. “Casten owns CST Engines now, and Axel, he will inherit Grays Harbor Raceway if anything ever happens to Sway and me. JAR Racing… that’s for you and Arie. She won’t want to own it, and legally can’t while being the director of public relations. I’d like you to be partners with me. I can’t do this by myself anymore, and frankly, I don’t want to. I love showing up at the track and racing. I don’t want to worry about where my drivers are and finding sponsors for the next season. At least not with just me anymore.”

  I had no idea what to say or think about any of it.

  He slapped his hand onto my shoulder. “Think about it. Talk to Arie and see what you guys think. If you’re interested, we’ll do up the contracts.”

  And then he walked away and left me with the decision.

  He wanted me to be partial owner of JAR Racing.

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  “I told him all I wanted for Valentine’s Day was a ride in a two-seater sprint car.”

  Arie looked up from her phone to Hayden. “Did he do it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s okay.” Arie shoved her phone in the back pocket of her shorts. Her eyes slid to mine. “That’s okay. My husband didn’t get me anything for Valentine’s Day,” Arie grumbled. “Not even a card.”

  “Valentine’s day is a stupid holiday. I don’t see why anyone celebrates it.” I probably shouldn’t have said that to my wife, but Arie wasn’t like every other wife. She’s a dirt track wife. Our lives are lived out between tracks, and she was far more understanding than most. And I say most because judging by the way she was looking at me, something told me my assessment could be off. By the way, it wasn’t Valentine’s Day so I couldn’t understand why this was brought up in the first place. If you knew Hayden, who started this, you’d understand she loved to create arguments. Her and Casten were a perfect match.

  Beside me, Hayden smirked and lifted her sunglasses. “Only husbands who didn’t get their wives anything say shit like that.”

  My point exactly.

  I didn’t believe in buying gifts for every holiday. I saved them for the ones that mattered. Birthdays, Mother’s Day, and our anniversary. Those three days should be celebrated the fuck out of. Everything else was stupid. If you asked me, and again, judging by the look on my wife’s face, she would not ask my opinion on this one.

  Arie kissed my cheek, regardless of her mood. “I’m heading to work the merchandise trailer.”

  I slapped my hand to
her ass. “I’ll work you, later.”

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbled, pulling away.

  Willie walked inside the hauler, pink-cheeked and frowning. Normally, I wouldn’t have asked, because obviously, I didn’t care why Willie would be frowning. But today, I asked, and quickly wished I hadn’t. “What’s with you?”

  Willie snapped his eyes to mine, like he’d been caught stealing something. He really was acting like a weirdo today. “Your fucking wife is what’s up with me.”

  I had to laugh because lately it seemed Arie had been pissing everyone off. “What’d she do?”

  He swallowed, almost like he was nervous and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he tugged at the front of his shorts. “Dropped one of those vibrating back massagers in my lap.”

  I wasn’t understanding where this was going, nor did I like that he was tugging at his shorts in front of me. This screamed inappropriate. He still wore a look of embarrassment and maybe confusion? “So? You said you threw your back out in Vegas.”

  “Well, I kinda liked it.” He dropped his eyes, almost ashamed. “To be honest, it gave me a chub. Does that make me gay?”

  Suddenly, the hauler felt incredibly small and I wanted nowhere near Willie and his chub. “No, hanging out with Dave makes you gay... enjoying vibration... well, okay, maybe a little. I don’t fucking know. Don’t talk to me about this.”

  Zac, one of the mechanics on Caden’s team, walked in with Tommy, deep in conversation on shock setups for the night. I wasn’t sure what to think of Zac. To be honest, I was worried about him hanging out with the wrong crowd. But I guessed that was to be expected around a dirt track. He seemed like a nice kid, raised around dirt racing, but the fact that he looked up to Tommy and Willie shouldn’t have been a good thing.

  My theory was confirmed when I caught the last half of the conversation. “And then she said, put your banana in my coconuts.”

  Tommy dropped the shock in his hand on the counter. The sound rang through the metal hauler with a thud and he leveled the kid a serious look. “Really? Was it that chick in Vegas?”