The Legend (27 page)

My fingers
held onto his shoulders while his lips kissed across my neck and shoulders.
When his mouth moved down, kissing as he went, they moved to my hair. His hands
held my hips in place, keeping me from squirming away with the ecstasy that he
brought me to.

He helped
me from the floor to the bed, slowly crawling up my body, kissing his way to my
lips. I let my hands slide from his hair, over his shoulders and down his ribs
to rest on his hips.

The force
of his kiss pushed my head against the pillow and his pelvis against mine
anchoring me securely to the bed.

“I’ve
missed you honey.” He panted scrambling for control. His body was trembling
from weeks of being deprived. “Fuck, I missed you so much,”

Poor dirty
heathen. It was evident he wasn’t lasting long.

We tried
to take our time but the need was too strong. My legs wrapped around his hips,
moving with him. I couldn’t get close enough and he seemed to be feeling the
same way. He leaned away, pushing his upper body away and reached to balance
himself on the headboard. I watched the muscles in his biceps and forearms flex
as he held himself up right, the veins in his arms puffed up.

One hand
slipped off to grasp my thigh, holding me against him. His head fell forward
and I tried to memorize every inch of his face that was strained with pleasure.

“Jesus Christ,
Sway.” He moaned, kissing and biting my neck. His whiskers brushed against me,
fortifying my rapture.

Leaning up
on my elbows, I gently kissed his chin and then his lips. “Don’t stop. For the
love of god, do not stop,” I whispered, “
Please
.”

He didn’t.
He leaned in pressing his lips hard against mine. His forceful movements pushed
me against the headboard. Every nerve ending began to fray but Jameson’s voice
brought me back.

“Look at
me.” He commanded huskily his movement slowing to draw my attention to him.

I did and
fell entirely. His breath fell against mine, hard and heavy his grip tightened
around my leg. It never failed to amaze me how entranced I could become
watching Jameson in the midst of an orgasm I was bringing him to. His features
tensed, his body vacillating between still and shuddering.  It was
captivating and fascinating all at the same time.

When his
body collapsed against mine and then rolled to the side, his hand fell against
my stomach, tracing circles around my belly button. “I don’t think I can wait
that long again.” He gasped trying to catch his breath.

“Me
either.” I laughed. “But we say that every time.”

No matter
how long the separation between us was, we had no problem cleaning off the
tires and getting up to speed again.

Compound – Jameson

If you
would have told me at the beginning of this season I would be emerged in the
closest point battle in the NASCAR Cup Series history ever, I would have
laughed in your face. Not only that, after Richmond, would I have told you that
you were smoking crack because that wasn’t happening. Not this year, I was sure
of that.

By the
time the series rolled around to Pocono in August that year and I managed to
destroy our tenth car in the last nine races, I got the message: This was not my
year. Things seemed to turn around in Loudon and I started winning
...
a lot actually. So when I made it into the
chase, I figured you know, let’s just stay out of trouble and finish out the
season the best we can.  Winning the Monster Million helped me, and my
teams confidence but we struggled those last few races. With heavy hitters like
Tate, Paul and Bobby all in contention, I honestly thought I had no chance.
Thankfully, once in the chase, Brody had no consistency and proved to be an
average rookie. He needed more experience.

I won at
Loudon, Dover and Texas putting me within one point of Tate going into
Homestead. Turns out, I had a chance again at another championship. But there
was only ten points separating the top four drivers. It was anyone’s championship.

The
problem was that Tate was consistent and pulled through with top ten finishes
in every race in the chase. He was going to be tough to beat.

The
morning of the final race, I was in a good mood. Mostly because of my wife’s
arrival and took care of some much needed pressure release to calm the nerves.

She stood
by my side through all the race interviews and media appearances as she always
did. My other mood boosting turn, it rained last night leaving the track green.

There was
nothing better for me than a green track because any rubber that was tearing up
your tires before was now gone leaving a fresh surface. It had its downsides
sure, no grip but with my dirt track skills, loose was okay with me. I liked
having a softer tire and
less grip
.

Kyle was a
nervous wreck though, having set the car up for a surface that had already been
raced on, now we had to start over with wedge, tire pressures and spring
adjustments.

I wasn’t
worried so much about myself that morning as I was Kyle. He seemed on edge most
of the weekend.

Over the
years, Kyle hasn’t had much of a personal life and puts everything he has into
this team along with Mason. Here are two people who have dedicated their lives
to Riley-Simplex Racing and stood by all of us through it all. They didn’t have
family outside of us. Kyle got married once but that quickly ended when she
realized being married to a crew chief was worse than being married to the
hotheaded driver. You never see them. With Kyle being the best crew chief in
the business, he had
no
life outside of racing. But he was okay with
that.

The thing
with Kyle was he was more than a crew chief to me. When I lost my cool, he
anchored me to the tide so to speak. The rocks may have beaten the shit out of
me but he kept me from going under. I like to think I provided him with the
same but there were times when I wondered about his mental sanity. Let’s be
real, I wasn’t exactly the easiest person to work with.

“You
okay?” I asked him as we sat around the hauler eating breakfast that morning
before introductions. “You don’t look so well.”

He didn’t
answer right away, his eyes trained on the clip board in front of him making
sure everything was in order. When I kicked his foot under the table, he looked
up. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled looking back at his clipboard chewing on the
end of his pen.

Mason
walked up after that and they got into fuel mileage and what each pit stop
would do.

Fuel
mileage played a huge role in race day strategy. Whether it was because of
better performing tires, the new Ethanol-gasoline blend or smaller fuel cells
in the cars, teams had been forced to take gambles to stretch the fuel reserves
to the limit. While some may benefit from the chance, others would literally
sputter out in the closing laps.

Personally,
I think that it was a part of the sport and added to the whole aspect. It
wasn’t just about talent anymore. It was about being consistent and making all
aspects come together.

Your
strategy is simple. Get better fuel mileage than anybody else and make the right
pit calls, oh, and drive smart.

Every team
has a secret. I personally don’t know ours. Kyle and Mason deal exclusively
with that and refuse to share their secrets. I had no problem with that. The less
I knew, the more focused I was on the track. I trusted them. After all, they
guided me to championship after championship.

We’ve made
some bad calls like we did in Michigan in late August when Kyle thought for
sure we could make it on one can of fuel and I ran out on the last lap. It
wasn’t exact science but we won the gamble more often than not.

When it
comes to winning races, it’s the combination of car and driver and what percentage
they provide to the mix. When you add fuel mileage into the mix you add yet a
third element, the crew chief.

Pit
strategy could negate an advantage a faster car may have had on you. Crew
chiefs like it or not, received little credit when calls go right and all the
blame when they went wrong.

The key
was consistency and being a champion was to know when to be aggressive and when
to be cautious.
Two things me and my team we very good at.

Homestead
is a nasty racetrack and I mean that in a good way. It’s hard both on drivers
and equipment. At no point during the race can you just ride around and log
laps. If you aren’t racing another driver you’re making sure you keep your car
out of the wall. For that reason, I loved Homestead just for the challenge.

My ritual
before the race was the same, kiss Sway and then Spencer raised the window net
after telling me good luck. Tate even came by to wish me luck and let me know I
was in for a battle; he wasn’t just laying it down. I knew that already and
that was the last thing I wanted him to do. You never want to win a
championship where the other guy just gave up without a fight. Tate should have
retired by now but with thirteen championships under his belt, I had a feeling
he was trying to match my fifteen before he retired.

I wasn’t
having that but I also wasn’t worried about it either. Of course I wanted to
win but worrying about it wouldn’t help. I race my own races and that’s all I
could do.

Once the
car rolled onto the track, it was all about finding my points on the track,
getting familiar with the lines they were using and where my pit stall was.
With being the last race to decide the championship, I needed to be focused and
on my game one hundred percent.

“You got
me Aiden?” I adjusted the ear buds when the radio cracked.

“10-4,” he
confirmed. “You’re coming up on pit entrance now. The white line is the break
point where the speed starts.”

“That thin one or the thick one?
There are two.”

“Oh
...
uh
...
they look the same from up here. Can you see them Kyle?”

“Thick.”
Kyle told us. “The thick white line is where you should be slowed. What’s your
rpm’s?”

“4300.”

“All
right, that’s your pit road speed. Remember to get some heat in those brakes on
these pace laps.”

“10-4,”

“One to go at the line.
They’re calling a green yellow start.” Aiden told me. “Watch your
shifts and keep distance between you and third.

“What’s a
green yellow?”

“They’re
gonna start logging laps here on the next time by but you’ll stay at speed.”
Kyle said.

“They’re
doing what?” I was confused about the format. Since the rain, they changed it
again.

“They are
trying to dry the track so they will waive the green but stay at pit road
speed, single file with no passing. When the pace car picks up speed, you do.
Eventually it will pull off and they will waive the green again letting you
know when to go full speed.”

“10-4.”

I took a
deep breath and hoped my car held out for me as I pulled on my belts one last
time before taking the green flag. I was worried about being too tight but once
the race started, I had no grip.

Some cars
stayed on the high line whereas I was down low on the line. I knew if I
ventured up there I’d be kissing the wall. There was no way the car could hang
on up there with the green surface we had.

“When I’m
not loose, I’m tight.” I told Kyle once I could have a minute to relax.

“We’ll get
it bud. You’re doing great. Do you need lap times?”

“No, not right now.
It’s all I can do to keep it out of the wall.”

I was all
over the place, brushed the wall every fifty laps or so and was running sixth
with Tate running twelve. If the race ended now, I’d win by one point.

That made
me happy but my car wasn’t happy.

“What’s
your temps bud?”

“210-240,”

“Keep an
eye on that.” Kyle said concerned, “how’s it feel?”

“It doesn’t
feel like I have the power I did in the beginning.” I shifted into third. “It’s
vibrating in every gear. When I come out of four, it lags
bad
.”

With fifty
laps to go, that’s when I felt the vibration shaking the car down the
backstretch. I closed my eyes knowing it was the end.

“Goddamn
it!” I shouted slamming my fists down on the wheel.
“Of all
the fucking luck!”

You want
so badly for each win that the letdown can be just as fretting as the buildup.

By the
time I entered three, it let go completely. I didn’t say anything knowing Aiden
would call it out when he saw the smoke and fluid being sprayed from the tower.

“Engine
let go, turn three.” He said moments later.

There was
really no point with fifty laps to go to try to fix it at this point with it
being the last race of the season, it didn’t matter anymore.