Page 29 of Trading Paint

Justin was pissed and he had every right to be.

When he came to my pit after we made it back to the pits, I just stood there. I had no excuse. It was my fault and I knew it.

“You know,” his eyes met mine, hard and irate. “I take a lot from you out there Jameson. We’re friends,” Justin barked. “But that was bullshit and you know it!”

“I know,” I dropped my head as Tommy and Sway approached us. They hung back trying to judge what Justin was about to do, his fists clenched at his sides.

I wasn’t sure what he had planned. I was sure I could take him but seeing how it was Justin West, a kid I respected, I probably wouldn’t have put up a fight.

Justin stepped closer, and for a moment, I thought he was about to punch me but then again, that wasn’t Justin’s style.

“You’re talented Jameson, I’ll give you that.” His head nodded at the mess in the hauler from earlier. “But your temper will destroy everything you’ve worked for.”

He turned sharply and walked away.

Thankfully, he did because I was so pissed that I had ruined my chances of a good finish at a World of Outlaw event because of high school bullshit that I had taken it out on Justin, and that’s not at all what I wanted to do. Justin was my friend and these days I had very few.

I sat there huddled in the corner of the hauler against the tires with my head buried in my hands for a good thirty minutes before Sway approached me when the feature was finished. She didn’t say anything, just sat down next to me.

After a moment of silence, she sighed pushing her auburn locks away from her face and pulling her knees to her chest.

“I fucked up,” I muttered watching her trace the outlines of a two-inch scar she had on her left knee from when she fell trying to escape from being chased by a bull the first summer we met.

“Who doesn’t fuck up at one time or another? You just need to focus.” Sway said. “Too many distractions...you know?” her knees knocked against mine.

“Yeah, I guess. What did Chelsea say to you?” I asked. I crossed my arms over my knees, resting my forehead against my forearms.

“Nothing really...normal high school insecurity shit...the usual for her.”

“Figures,”

“Why do you even bother with her?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

I didn’t have a clue either. I didn’t love Chelsea. I hardly even liked her. There wasn’t a single redeeming quality about her but yet I found myself giving in to her. I began to comprehend I was comfortable with her for some reason. I knew she was using me but it seemed tolerable because I was doing the same thing. No one would get hurt because it meant nothing.

Once we arrived home, my mom, who had stayed up, caught me before I made it into my room. Her face was the same shade as dad’s was earlier which confirmed my theory he told on me.

“I will not have my son acting like a spoiled asshole all the time!” she said pushing me against the wall. I offered a grin down at her but that didn’t work. “Your dad told me what you did at the track.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Jameson...you need to pull your head out of your ass. Your dad is trying to help you. Judging by that hauler outside,youneed help!” She poked my chest before walking down the hall and slamming her door shut.

Dad strolled up the steps as I sat in the hallway. I had intended to go to my room but instead sat in the hallway.

He didn’t say anything, just smirked, as he made his way past me to their room. It was late, at least two in the morning by now but mom always waited up for him when she knew he’dbehome.

I never paid real close attention to the relationship they had but I knew it was a good one. I’d never seen them fight at least. She’d tell him to shut the fuck up at times but they never all out argued, at least not in front of us kids.

With the lifestyle we lived, you would think it would cause tension for them but it never seemed to, from what I saw.

Picking myself off the floor, I made my way inside my room and was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I was exhausted.

I ended up working offeverythingI broke in the hauler that night and wasn’t allowed to race the following weekend. Not because dad wouldn’t let me but because my hand was most certainly broken.

I skipped school that week to get my car ready for Chico the following weekend. I had some shit to fix on it.

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