Page 191 of Trading Paint

“Yeah,”

“Oh yeah, they don’t like that sort of thing. Emma said he’s been summoned to the hauler already.” Before Fox Sports went to another commercial, they caught up with Jimi heading toward the NASCAR hauler himself.

“Looks like Jameson got a little fired up at the end there with Darrin.” They hinted probing.

“You can’t expect him not to get fired up like that. He’s passionate about what he loves.” Jimi told them. “For the most part I think he’s handling it well considering the way he’s provoked.”

“So you feel he’s being provoked by Darrin?”

“Without a doubt,” Jimi said matter-of-factly. “Each week it’s a different track but the same thing with Darrin...but you have to understand Jameson has been in this game since he was four. There have been times he’s pushed to his limit and times he doesn’t handle it in the best way. He’s a racer. At times, we don’tthinkbefore we react.”

Roundy Round – Jameson

I had just won the Winston. I was supposed to be happy. But no, fuckno,there I was sitting in the NASCAR hauler defending my actions.

“This is your warning Jameson.” Gordonsaid,his voice hard but controlled. “I don’t want to ever see something like that again.”

“You should be having this conversation with Torres. He started that shit coming out of turn four!” I shot back slowly rising to my feet.

Once back at my hauler, I forgot all about the fact I just won the race, against all the All-Stars in the series.

Instead, I focused on the fact that I was once again, dealing with a pugnacious asshole on the track. It never ended, every year it was another driver. And though it came with racing, I fucking hated it. When all you want to do is race, this paltriness bullshit was enough to make you second-guess the choice.

“Goddamn it!” I roared slamming my fist into the side of the hauler. The sheet metal flexed but didn’t give the way I’d hoped. “What the fuck is that asshole trying to prove!” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement and as I expected, no one answered. Alley and Kyle just stood there staring at me as though I’d lost it again.

Dad walked inside the hauler, slamming the door behind him. He glared at a few team-members who had just straggled in to which they scurried right back out.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded—his voice sharp as he looked directly at me. “Did you hear me Jameson?”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Holding on to the only self-control I had left, my hands grasped the stainless steel counters.

“Do you have any idea what that’s going to cost us?”

Refusing to look at him, I just nodded.

“I don’t want to be the dad that constantly reminds you of what’s at stake...but I think Ineedto remind you at times.”

“I already know.” Though my voice was unsure, I knew. Believe me I fucking knew what was at stake. I was harked to every word spoken by the media, fans, sponsors, drivers and friends at what was peril here. I knew. How could I forget when everyone was so unrelentingly reminding me?

“Do you? Do youreallyunderstand?”

“I understand!” I yelled and turned to face him. “I understand completely. Do you honestly think anyone is going to let me forget how much is at risk? You won’t, Simplex won’t, NASCAR won’t and Torres sure as shit won’t!” By now, I was yelling just as loud as he had been when Alley came back inside.

Her eyes gaged our tempers flaring.

“There fining both you and Darrin five thousand each.” She told us leaning against the counter beside me.

“Five grand...are you fucking serious?” This was unbelievable.

“Yep,”

“For what?”

“Conduct detrimental to stock car racing.”

I wondered if NASCAR found the increased ticket sales from our little brawl detrimental tothem?Doubt it. They’re probably grinning like sonof a bitchescollecting five thousands from us.

So, I won the Winston and got fined $5000 for brawling on the finish line in front of a frenzied crowd that NASCAR sales benefited from.

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