Page 101 of Trading Paint

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Page 101 of Trading Paint

I’m not saying I was a saint, because really, there were times where I didn’t like myself, but I like to think I would never purposely wreck someone...unless they asked for it.

While running the last night of the World Finals for the World of Outlaw series at the Dirt Track at Charlotte in Concord North Carolina, I ran into a driver I’d heard a lot about these days, Darrin Torres.

He just started in the NASCAR cup series this last year. He thought he was hot shit whereas I had my own theories having seen him race before. Most of the cup drivers who started out in open wheel racing reverted to it in the off-season or on Saturday nights when they weren’t racing so I wasn’t surprised to see him there.

Dad was there since he was an outlaw driver but what caught me off guard was the conversation before my heat race.

“Listen Jameson, be careful out there.” The intensity in his voice was enough to make me look up from strapping on my belts. Everyone was still a little shook up with what happened to Ryder, so I wasn’t all that surprised but we’d talked about this already. I knew the dangers but I didn’t suspect this had anything to do with Darrin.

“Darrin isn’t someone you can trust out there. Hold your line but if he pushes, back off.”

I scowled. I never gave my line up. Why would he even suggest that? He wouldn’t lift if it were him.

“It’s just not worth it.” He muttered tucking his helmet under his arm. “I’ve seen too many guys wrecked by him.

I nodded and slid down into the narrow cockpit when he walked away. There wasn’t much I could say.

Sway and Emma came by with Lane prior to the race and said hello. I got a baby high-five from Lane. He was seven months old now and got more adorable every day. Sway hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek for good luck and Emma kicked me in the shin.

In the feature, Darrin and I lined up in row four, beside each other, with me on the outside.

Dad was right about Darrin. He was reckless on the track but I was faster, stronger and outsmarted him, taking every line he chose and pushed him up the track. I knew my abilities on tracks like Charlotte. He wasn’t even in the same league as me and judging by his movements inside the car, he wasn’t adjusting well to the difference in handling from the cup cars.

He was on my ass mercilessly though but I was satisfied to note that he was using his tires up just trying to catch me.

I ended up taking second. My car was no match for Justin’s and Darrin came in seventh. After the race during the cool down lap, he shot around and clipped my rear tire.

I think I’ve said this before but what happens when you clip the rear tires on these beasts? That’s right; you’re flipping quicker than you can blink.

It was a cheap-ass hit. It was deliberate and I lost my temper.

I jumped down off the wrecker tossing my helmet and gloves in the same motion once we were back in the pits. Rage roared through me. Fuck being calm and reasonable.

“What the fuck was that?” I snarled at him.

I didn’t give him a chance to answer. No way was I letting him get away with that shit. I struggled furiously against the hands and arms of crewmembers and officials fighting to separate us.

I was too caught up in my rage to listen to the officials that had a hold of me as I fought to get at him again. I lunged against the restraining hands, wiping the sweat from my eyes, and suddenly I realized it wasn’t sweat but blood coming from my eye.

I growled doubling my efforts to get at him when my dad yelled. “Jameson! That’s enough!”

Getting light headed, I realized it was enough when the officials pulled Darrin away from me; either that or we were going to kill each other out here.

Stomping my way toward my pit I realized the blood was now pouring out. I had no idea he even got in a hit to do that damage but I was hardly paying attention.

Head wounds bleed like a bitch and I had enough sense to know this one needed stitches. I stormed back to the hauler with Tommy, Sway and Spencer following. Everyone that knowsme,knows my temper is legendary and I proved it that night. It took me a good four hours and six stitches above my eye to calm down.

It was all over the papers the next morning that Jimi Riley’s son tried to teach the NASCAR Winston Cup series Rookie of the Year a thing or two about retaliation. I’d like to say that was our last run in with each other but it wasn’t.Far from that.

That night was the end of the racing season and once again, I was thankful. Not only for a break but my head was pounding and I had a feelingit wouldbe for a while. I’d taken some hits this season. I was becoming used to double vision these days and after a while, it seemed normal.

I was heading to Turkey Night in a few weeks but this also left a little time for a vacation and then for the first time in my racing career, I was finally racing in the Chili Bowl in January. Schedules lined up with an open seat in Bucky’s midget car. I couldn’t wait.

Ryder was still in the hospital in Pittsburg so before flying home to Elma I decided to make a detour to see him. Justin came along with me and we spent most of the night there recapping the last few races for him. He was doing better, still not up and walking around but the doctors assured himeventuallyhe’d be able to get back into a race car if he wanted. He was young, just a year younger than I was, so it meant he’d heal faster.

Justin flew home to Bloomington and I flew back to Elma later that night. It felt good to be home but I was so amped about the Chili Bowl I couldn’t wait for January to roll around.

Dad decided not to race in Australia this year and forced us all to go on a vacation for Christmas. With some persuasion, I convinced Sway to come with us. Charlie was also going to come but cancelled at the last minute because he said he wasn’t feeling well.


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