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

  Zac sighed and nodded. “Pretty sure she was a stripper, but that’s weird to say, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Tommy laughed and picked the shock back up. “Sounds like a gay porno I watched once and the dude shoved his coconuts up his ass.”

  Cringing, I reached for the spare tear-offs on the counter and attempted to leave without hearing anything else. Unfortunately for me, I dropped them on the floor and Tommy stepped on them. Smiling at me, he shook his head. Fucker wasn’t going to lift his foot for me.

  “Get off them,” I snapped, trying to shove him back with one hand.

  He didn’t budge. “I can’t. My foot is stuck.”

  “The fuck it is.” I scowled. “Move it or I’m going to break it.”

  Zac nudged Tommy with his elbow, still concerned about his one-night stand. “He shoved his coconuts up his ass, or actual coconuts? I’m confused.”

  Tommy stared at me as he spoke, like he fucking knew this wasn’t a conversation I wanted to hear. “Yeah, his coconuts. Right on up there like it was some kind of kangaroo pouch.”

  I glanced at Zac, who was now putting the shocks on the dyno. I didn’t know what possessed me to do this, but I asked, “Why are you watching gay porn?”

  “You can learn a lot from gay porn.” Lifting his foot from the tear-offs, he crossed his arm over his chest. “I usually just watch chick on chick, but sometimes they come up. You can’t turn it off. It’s a waste of good airtime.”

  Speechless, I ripped the tear-offs up and rushed out of the hauler, only to run into Jameson unzipping his racing suit. “What are those fools doing?”

  “Talking about gay porn.”

  Pulling his arms from the racing suit, he tied it off around his waist. It was only April, but California was unusually hot, and wearing a fire suit today was miserable. I’d thought about stripping too, but after the conversation with Tommy, I wasn’t so sure about it.

  Jameson’s brow bunched together, sweat beading on his forehead. “Girl-on-girl porn?”

  “Nope. Cock on cock.”

  Jameson turned on his heel and practically ran the other way, me following him. He caught me near the cars and smiled. “Did you make a decision?”

  “On porn?” I snorted, watching Lane and Jensen making adjustments on my car. “I’d rather not.”

  For the past week, I’d been thinking about Jameson’s offer to become partners with him. I couldn’t think of a reason why I didn’t want to. “It’d be an honor to work with you,” I told him, leaning against the hauler. The metal heated my shoulder instantly. Sighing, I stared in the distance to where Arie was standing with her phone in one hand and Hudson on her hip.

  “Legally we have some forms to sign. I’ll bring them by later. Alley drew them up already.”

  “Sure of my answer?”

  He winked. “Hopeful.”

  I nodded and Jameson reached out and shook my hand. “This is a whole different world than you’re used to. Don’t hesitate to come to me. It’s a lot more than just racing.”

  I knew that, or at least I’d prepared myself for it. But what I hadn’t done, was discuss it with Arie. I assumed she’d be okay with it, given it was her dad’s team, but something stirred inside me as I watched her in the pits that afternoon.

  “Don’t keep this from her,” Jameson noted, seeming to know why I was watching Arie so carefully. “I’m not saying you have to ask her permission, but it’s a hell of a lot easier than asking a race wife for forgiveness.”

  He certainly had a point. Lane approached me, Caden’s car idling beside us during motor heat. Beside it, Zac and Willie adjusted tire pressure as Caden sat in a trance staring out the rock screen. A low rumble vibrated my chest.

  Lane leaned into me. “How’d it handle?”

  I set my tear-offs down next to my helmet. On any given night, there were so many different elements that changed the way it drove. “Felt like the right rear was folding under a bit.”

  He nodded, watching Jensen spray down the front of my car and the side panels with the Sure Shot sprayer. I hoped he grabbed the one with mineral oil and not brake cleaner. Casten had been using as a flame thrower earlier. “Okay, pressure’s too low. I think we had it at seven pounds.”

  The night got into full swing and I didn’t have a chance to talk to Arie again. The top sixteen drivers were inverted in the heat race, which left me with a shit start to the night after snagging quick time and breaking Jameson’s track record that he held for last fifteen years with a 10.88 second lap time.

  In the main event, the opening laps were slowed down by two early cautions. One for me where a new driver on the tour got into my left front and sent me into the wall.

  Since there was more than halfway in the main, I was able to go to the pits with a two-minute time limit. Lane, Tommy, Willie and the rest of the JAR Racing boys got to work changing my right rear tire. “Lift it up!” I heard Lane yell as they worked to get the tires changed.

  “Fifteen seconds!” an official reminded us, waving his hand at Jensen who was screwing on the wheel covers we used to keep the mud from caking up on the wheels.

  “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.”

  I smiled and took the envelope he handed me.

  “Here’s your copy of the contract.”

  I stared at it. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What made you decide to give up full ownership?”

  His eyes moved to the hauler and the row of engines underneath the cabinets. And then to the stack of tires on the wall. “There comes a time when you need to think about what’s important. Time or money. And one day you wake up and realize you need less shit to deal with. That’s where I am.”

  That I could understand.

  He shook my hand and we went about the rest of the night. No big deal. But it was. I hadn’t told my wife and had signed legal documents. How was I going to bring this up to her? I also wouldn’t go as far to say I had this marriage thing down, because believe it or not, Arie was my first relationship. And surprisingly, other than her being pregnant for the first three years of our marriage, we hadn’t had any life-changing dilemmas to discuss. Other than the time I tore a hole in the side of the house with a tractor and told her it was time to remodel. By the way, that did not go over well. Partly because I started with the bedroom, and partly because well, we had a hole in the side of our house and it was the middle of winter.

  Making decisions with logic hadn’t always been my strong suit. Have I ever told you about the time I set my house on fire? See what I mean. Not always made with logic.

  “Did you know Olivia is working for Ricky’s team this year?” Arie asked when I found her near the merchandise trailer locking up.

  “No?” I already knew this, but by the angry expression she wore, I wasn’t about to admit it.

  “Yeah, she is.” She placed the lock on the door to the trailer and secured it. “Lily didn’t seem too thrilled.”

  I had no idea the real story behind the Axel-Lily-Olivia beef, but I also had a feeling I didn’t need to know. Drama I didn’t want any part of. What I do know was that Axel almost slept with Olivia one night while he and Lily had been separated. And that was all I wanted to know.

  “Did he say anything to you after the race?”

  “Ricky?”

  Arie nodded, taking a drink of her Diet Coke in her hand. I watched with rapt attention as her lips closed around the straw to her Yeti cup. Fuck. We really needed to finish what we started last night.

  I didn’t get a chance to answer her before she motioned to the envelope in my hand. “What’s that?”

  Shit. “Documents.”

  “For what? Please tell me you’re not being sued.”

  “No.” I leaned my shoulder into the trailer and sighed. “I’m… a partial owner of JAR Racing now.” As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted them.

  Judging by the livid expression my wife wore, I should have probably warned her about this one.

  Case Temperature Rating – Maximum temperature the motor case can reach without the inside of the motor exceeding its internal temperature rating.

  “I’m… a partial owner of JAR Racing now.”

  I inhaled in through my nose and out through my mouth. What the fuck? “Are you serious?”

  Rager crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “Sleeping with your boss is considered a HR nightmare.”

  “Interesting turn of events,” I told him, showing him my phone with the reports that my dad had asked him to be a partial owner.

  “Surprise?”

  My throat tightened, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. He would have talked to me about this first, wouldn’t he? And then I thought, why didn’t my dad?

  “You’re serious,” I deduced when he didn’t correct me. “Wow.”

  “You’re mad?” He stepped closer, his jaw tight, eyes searching. The hum of the diesel engine vibrated through me. “Seriously?” He let out an aggravated exhale.

  “Yes, you should have said something to me before you signed the papers. Easton didn’t talk to me when he decided to run all three series in one year. He also didn’t talk to me before he stepped out on our marriage.”

  Rager’s face shifted from annoyance to pissed in the blink of an eye, his scowl harsh. “Are you always going to bring him into the conversation, or just when you’re trying to make me feel bad?”

  I blew out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. He had every right to call me out on that one. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “But you said it, so clearly you’re holding some resentment. I’m not Easton, Arie. I did this with you and our kids in mind.”

  “And that was?”

  “Our future.” He reached over and checked the lock on the trailer and then dropped his hand. Turning, he began walking toward the motor home. “I won’t always be behind the wheel. At some point I’d like to spend my life with you and being a team owner allows that.”

  I thought about my dad being a team owner and the stress it put on him every year. “Doesn’t in our family.” I wasn’t meaning for it to happen, but my words came out bitter and
annoyed.

  Rager stopped walking and faced me. His eyes were grave and tense as his jaw flexed, the muscles coiling. “Your dad chooses to race.”

  “And what do you think you’re going to choose when you’re fifty?”

  His breath caught and the furrow of his brow told me this wasn’t necessarily an impulse decision like he made when he bought this motor home over the winter without asking me. Or the time he decided in late December we were remodeling our house. Cupping my cheeks, he forced me to look at him. “Darlin’,” he breathed, his words soft. “Everything I do is with you and our children in mind.”

  But was it? Fear raked through me. Did Rager have any idea what running a sprint car team with the Outlaws meant?

  “So why didn’t you say anything?”

  He kept eye contact and dropped his hands from my face. He blinked quickly, his gaze falling to his hands. When his eyes returned, they were confused. “I wasn’t sure how to.”

  “Rager.” I sighed, leaning into him. “What if this is too much for you?”

  “It’s for us, and I don’t think it’s going to be too much. I’m not taking over. I’m just helping him out.”

  I nodded, knowing he never intentionally wanted to hurt me. Hurting me was the last thing he wanted to do. I understood completely why he had reservations for not telling me. Here was a man who looked up to my father, and to have a chance to work side by side with him, well, that I could understand. But I also wasn’t sure what to say to him. He’d obviously made his mind up already. For the first time in our marriage, I felt alone. I didn’t mean physically, but emotionally.

  STOCKTON DIRT TRACK

  STOCKTON, CALIFORNIA

  IT SEEMED WE went from Chico to Stockton in a blink of an eye. In fact, I didn’t remember the drive. I was probably contemplating what Rager had done, and what this would mean for the smidge of time we had between trying to raise our family, and him running such a grueling schedule already. We also didn’t say much on the drive, or this morning.