The Legend (47 page)

Picking up
the picture, he handed it back to me. “I thought Spencer was joking about that
picture.”

I stuffed
it back in my bra. “No, he wasn’t. I’m keeping you safe.”

“Oh,
well,” he laughed again pulling my hands into his. “I’m happy to be kept safe.”

We stared
at each other silently when his eyes darted to my lips again.

“Kiss me.”
He said his voice low and husky.

With
extreme caution, I leaned in and touched my lips to his. Fumbling with my
fingers, he removed his hand from mine to cup my cheek and then he was holding
me closer. So far, we hadn’t done more than a quick kiss. This wasn’t quick and
I knew that he was getting turned on. His breathing, the monitors and his
actions, all told me that he wanted more. A soft moan escaped his lips, his
tongue found mine and we both gasped at the sensation, his body shifted
involuntarily trying to get closer to me. The movement ended the moment a pain
shot through him and he tensed as it radiated through him. He moaned jerking
away from me and then moaned again when the motion of jerking way caused more
pain.

Settling a
safe distance from him, I gave him a smile. “Hopefully soon it won’t hurt as
badly.”

Jameson
was quiet for a few moments, the pain fading, and then found his window again
with a sigh. “I hope that a lot of things don’t hurt as badly.”

I hoped
...
that he was right. I hoped that we were
making the right adjustments for him, for us, for our family.

Set-up – Jameson

There are
times that I wished I would have paid better attention to warnings. Not that it
would have helped now but it might have. In a lifestyle sent soaring and then
crashing to a wall, that’d you would have listened to that vibration a little
sooner, checked that rising temperature, listened more, loved more, kissed
more, made love more often, more of anything. Wisdom ignored, you fall for so
long that you almost feel relieved to have finally stopped falling. You’re
allowed to want more, feel more, and love more.

Time was
all I had these days. I thought a lot, felt a lot, and remembered even more. I
thought that he was full of wisdom that I ignored. It was right in front of me
like a rising temperature or a vibration.

Since time
was all I had, I thought about my dad mostly and the affect this was having on
my family. Eventually I didn’t want to think anymore. Instead, I wanted out of
this damn hospital.

Around
that time, I hurled every ounce of hatred I had for the situation into
recovering.

Within
five weeks of coming out of the coma, I was starting physical therapy.

No one thought
I would come back to racing. I watched the news. I knew what they were saying.
The media, the fans, my family
...
they all
thought I would retire. Sure I was forty-two years old and was nearly killed a
month ago but that right there is what kept me going.

My dad
wouldn’t have wanted me to quit just because he was killed in a wreck, with me.

He would
have said something along the lines of, “Are you a fucking idiot?” if I told
him I was retiring because of him.

But I did
think about it.

Did I want
to get back inside a race car?

Yes, I
did.

Why,
because I needed to know that I could. A man like me, someone who has been so
single-minded on one specific goal for the last forty years of his life,
doesn’t just quit like that. Not without thought at least and I had a lot of
time to deal with that thought.

I’ll tell
you one thing though; no time spent inside a hospital was a good time. In fact,
it was horrible. I think mostly because over the years, if I didn’t want to
hear what you had to say, I left.

Now I couldn’t
do that.

What
bothered me most about this, was the one person I did it to so often, was no
longer here. It was waves of emotions, one minute I was fine and then next I
wanted to say fuck it all.

Reality is
fucking stupid. That was my general conclusion.

I love it
when people bitch about a bad day now while me, and my walker, are strolling
around the hospital trying to get away from my family. I wanted to say, “Fuck
you, wish for that! Wish that you didn’t get your coffee or the nurse didn’t
get your extra pillow, jerk off.”

I’d take a
bad day over this overwhelming anxiety any day. It doesn’t make the shit any
easier. Knowing that it is reality only makes it fucking real. When your life
is ripped apart so suddenly like mine, it makes not getting your coffee pretty
fucking desirable.

I wasn’t
left alone very often but when I was, that’s what I thought about.
Reality.
I thought about what I would have left everyone to
deal with. My family, my team, my sponsors, it was reality.

Other
times my room was filled with family and though I enjoyed that time with them,
it was a constant reminder that our family was now one short.

My kids
helped as did
Sway
. They knew me better than anyone
and were always trying to make me laugh. Which hurt but Arie claimed laughter
was the best medicine.

Because of
this, they sent Casten in a lot. That was when he had time. He was trying to go
to school and help out as much as he could with the sprint car team. I felt bad
but he claimed he was having fun doing it.

Casten may
have quit racing but he still relished in race life, always fast paced.

“I need a
favor.” I told him one morning after he arrived to watch Sports Center with me.
After I broke a TV last week, I could only watch television supervised now and
then never handed me the remote when they left. That was probably because
that’s how the television was broken in the first place.

 “Uh,
I’m leaving.” Casten said jetting for the door.

“No
...
help
me!” I yelled after him. I didn’t yell,
yelling hurt. But I did raise my voice.

Casten
frowned, his brow pulled together in disgust. “I have no desire to see you
naked. I’ll get mom.”

“Casten,”
I chuckled trying to shift in the bed but decided against it when moving my
hips shot excruciating pain throughout my body. “I just need the remote.”

“Oh yeah,”
he grinned reaching for it. “Here,” then he slouched in the chair holding his
cell phone. “Now about that nurse of yours
...
how
old is she?”

I grunted
flipping through the channels to find something interesting and not that
reality TV bullshit. “Fuck if I know. Older than you,”

These
nurses were making me crazy. They were too attentive. I only wanted that type
of attention from one person, my wife.

“
Pft
...
that
doesn’t
matter.” He craned his neck to watch her walk past carrying a clipboard. “She’s
hot.”

Most of my
time spent with Casten was him trying to win the attention of the nursing
staff.

Axel and I
talked mostly about racing. So far, he’d won the three night show in Barberville
and then the Outlaws at Pike County, the Texas Shootout and just won the Las
Vegas Nationals. He was racing the perfect season this year.

This just
proved to me the kid was a spitting image of me. While he was determined to
win, I was determined to recover and get the hell out of this hospital.

When he
was able to visit the hospital and not talk about racing, he asked if I was
scared.

Was I?

In a way I
guess you could say I was but not for obvious reasons of wrecking or safety.

I was
scared of seeing the look I saw in my mother’s eyes, on my wife.

Arie came
to see me almost every day and forced me to watch ridiculous shows while she
gave me all the dirt around the track. Emma and Arie were
far
too alike
but I found her entertaining to say the least. Even though Sway thought for
sure she wasn’t like her, I saw it in the way her lips pouted out when she
slept or the way she would look at the bright side of everything. She was like
her. Arie also had this way that she needed to disobey every order given to
her.

One
afternoon she showed up with ice cream and donuts; two things we loved to eat
together; and sat down beside me in the chair next to the bed.

“So,
listen dad,” she began flipping the lid of her ice cream and handing me a
donut. “How are you really feeling?”

“Huh?” I
took a bite of my donut biding my time for an answer. I couldn’t lie to my
daughter. Just like Sway, she knew me.

“You know
what I mean.” Her brow furrowed in warning, her green eyes met mine. “You blame
yourself.”

I was
quiet for a while before I answered. “It’s complicated.”

“I know
it’s complicated, but holding
yourself
responsible for
grandpa’s accident, is not healthy.” She set her ice cream aside. “Grandma
...
mom, they need you right now and holding this
inside like that is hurting them too.”

Arie was
right. I did hold myself responsible but she was also right that everyone
needed me now, I needed myself. I couldn’t hold it in like this. But it also
wasn’t something I could just turn off like a switch. Feelings don’t work that
way.

Instead, I
focused on recovery. That I could control.

I had
physical therapy every day along with spa time as the doctor called it. Really
it was just me sitting in a fucking bath. Physical therapy wasn’t ideal. It’s
intense, painful and challenging. Everything I was used to with years of
racing, pushing my body and mind to its limits. Being in excellent physical
condition before the accident played a huge role in my recovery as did my
mindset that I would return to racing.

After
seven weeks in the hospital, I was ready to leave. But no, they wouldn’t let
me. They insisted I stay for nine weeks. I had other ideas and was
contemplating just leaving if I could actually drive. But I couldn’t.

They had
all these stipulations that had to be done before I could leave. I had to
answer all these questions everyday about myself, then basic shit like what
color grass was or what letter comes after C. I had to be able to walk, not
only walk, but also they wanted me to climb stairs. They wanted me to be able to
dress myself too.

Then there
were the physical tests. When you have broken nearly every bone in your upper
body, moving hurts. Hell, just breathing hurts. During the physical tests I had
a nurse who would come in, was burlier than Spencer and wasn’t gentle. Most of
the time I would jerk and wince from the pain but then usually I would end up
trying to burn a hole through her with my glare.

Perhaps I
was being unfair but I was certain that no one had ever had to go through so
many hoops just to get released from the hospital.

This left
me once again depending on others, mostly my mom and Sway.

Emma was
there a lot to and most of the time she was there on business. I didn’t want to
talk business. It was as if I was avoiding reality. Not knowing was okay with
me and actually made the recovery easier. I wasn’t sure what I would have to
come back to as far as my career and that scared me.

Would my
sponsors support me?

Would my
fans still cheer for me?

Would the
other drivers treat me the same?

I still
wasn’t entirely sure that I could race again. Would my body let me?

I was sure
double vision at 200 mph wouldn’t be ideal and when it took me five minutes
just to go to the bathroom, I was positive getting inside a race car wouldn’t
be easy.

Another
reason for my frequent visitors was from my threats to leave the hospital. It
was as though I was now on hospital arrest. It was like a goddamn high security
prison.

Emma was
there the morning of the Fontana race that Easton, the kid driving my car,
qualified for the pole.

“Do you
need some help?” Emma asked when I moved myself to the edge of the bed.

“No, leave
me alone.” I grumbled crutching my way to the bathroom. Those damn crutches
were stupid but my pelvis was still healing and the less weight I put on my legs
the easier it was.

“I was
only trying to help your cranky ass.”

“Could
have fooled me,” I yelled over my shoulder in Emma’s direction. She found the
most entertainment in making fun of me and took way too many pictures of me
crippled.

“Nice,
asshole!” I heard the door slam behind her, thankful she finally decided to
leave.

I sent
Sway
a message when the race began.

Thanks a lot for sending over my sister. I
thought you loved me!

She
replied instantly.

I do love you but you need to
supervised
mister. She’s the only one willing.