The Rookie (Racing On The Edge #7) (3 page)

Didn’t matter what city my dad was in or what he was doing. He knew what all of his drivers were doing and where they finished each night.

When Easton finally pulled into victory lane, Easton didn’t even take off his HANS device or his helmet. Instead ripped his belts away and climbed from the car. Swinging his legs over the familiar black and red number nine, he stood on the edge of the window frame, arms raised over his head screaming and yelling to his crew. They showed the same excitement as he did, probably because they knew without them, this win would have never come.

His visor was still down and it made me smile, he looked sexy like that. Jumping down he took his helmet off and stripped away his gear.

That’s when victory lane roared to life around us, roused by the night and adrenaline filled moment. Easton reached for me, his eyes full of life, but lost in the moment. I wasn’t sure he even saw me. Regardless, his arms wrapped around me pulling me against his warm wet body, beer and champagne spraying around us.

We kissed, a brief moment, before the media took over.

Victory lane nowadays is a planned affair and nothing like it used to be. Drivers do and say exactly what they’re told to please their sponsors. There’s very little said that is what they would
want
to say. They know, as well as everyone else, it’s not about them. It’s about the perception of the sport.

A reporter caught him in the middle of celebrating after Brody hugged him. “That was an incredible run, Easton. Take us through those last few laps.”

“I…uh…I wasn’t very happy with the way the car was handling and then we got that last caution and fell behind.” He looked over at me when I handed him a towel for his face as he wiped sweat and beer away. “But we managed to get the lead back. We were really good on the long runs. I wasn’t expecting Brody and Asher to come on so strong there at the end though.” He laughed, his smile wide as he looked at me. It caught my attention because I saw the child in him still when he smiled like that. “I swear those last few laps were the longest laps of my life.”

I gave him a smile as he pulled me from the crowd and squeezed me next to his side. Ignoring the questions from the reporter, he drew me closer and kissed me in front of everyone. The crowd cheered, more beer spraying around us.

It’s moments like this, this closeness where I do feel like I’m the center of his world and give me hope that make me believe this lifestyle wasn’t all that bad.

Sometimes the best comes from something you thought would never work out. When I was eleven, I wanted to make my dad some cookies for his birthday and take them to the track with us. Well, I was eleven and nowhere near ready to be left alone in the kitchen. After using every bowl and spoon we had and forgetting the difference between tablespoons and teaspoons, I had cookies that resembled biscuits. In the process, I had added chocolate chips, pecans, coconut, and anything else I could think of to make them taste better.

When I gave them to him before qualifying, he grinned, that grin only my dad had and took a bite of one. Honestly, I half expected him to choke on them, but he didn’t. Instead he said they were the best cookies he’d ever had and asked me to make more.

Around the time Easton and I got together, it was at a point in my life when I wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t seeing the good that was coming from something tragic.

When we lost my grandpa and my dad was nearly killed, I was sorta thrown into helping with everything and Easton was there. We were the same age and experiencing something new together. I was also at a point when I really needed someone like him in my life.

We bonded in a way I couldn’t explain.

Four years later, I can’t explain how we got to where we were, lost and all alone but surrounded by people and things that wouldn’t be in our lives without this sport.

When Easton told me he wanted to race in all three divisions and compete for the title, I knew it would end like this. It can’t be done without losing yourself and even my dad tried to tell him he was in over his head. He had one day to himself. One. And that was Monday.

After a while, three weekends into that triple duty, he didn’t even have Mondays anymore. Especially not after a weekend sweep.

As I watched him, surrounded by fans and media, I didn’t want to feel this loneliness and sadness…an uncompromising void I felt. When I closed my eyes, I wanted what we had together to be fulfilling, not pressured like it was.

I’ve been through a lot in the last six years. Maybe more than most twenty-two-year-olds have. But then again, maybe not.

If someone asked me if I was distanced or desired by the fame around me, my answer every time would be distanced. I was so far distanced I might as well be on the fucking moon compared to them.

Was Easton distanced or desired by fame?

Easton, well, look at him celebrating his nineteenth win in his third full time season in the Cup series. He’s desired. Without a doubt.

The problem I see is that Easton is a numbers guy. He wants to know lap times and how fast was that last pit stop. He wants to know how many cars are ahead and behind him. He wants to know how many laps are left.

There’s a number on everything. It’s his momentum. How many top tens or top five finishes. How many wins, points, and you name it, there’s a number on it.

Some days I want to tell him it’s just a number but there will always, no matter what I say, be one number he compares himself to.

Number nine.

Easton’s not a rookie anymore. No. He’s a third-year driver in a sophomore slump trying to do what no one else has done. In a sense, he’s a rookie again.

He won the rookie of the year his first season, the year we got married and he deserved it. No one would ever argue that. But right now I think he’s lost. He thought he had to prove himself, be that rookie of the year, in turn he’d lost the groove and was still just a rookie at times. We both are.

I guess to understand how much pressure Easton had on him, you had to understand what he was thrown into. Jameson was Simplex Shocks and Springs investment. They were a family owned business looking to expand. With the help of Tate, they came to my dad that first year and put their life investment in him. Everything that company had went into that sponsorship. And they stayed with him through it all. Twenty years of my dad is a lot to handle. But they never wavered when it came to sponsorship and even sponsored a sprint car for him. He was part of their family. When he retired, they remained the primary sponsor out of respect for him being the team owner.

The number nine team has always been a winning team and they expected to continue doing that. In turn, the pressure for Easton was suffocating. His primary focus became not letting the sponsor down, not letting his team down, and, more importantly, never letting my dad down.

It was nearing one that morning when we got back to our house in Charlotte. I was tired and ready for bed but Easton wanted more. His hands were all over me on the plane ride back, a product of the beer in victory lane and the rush of the weekend wins.

I wanted him too, just him, in this way where I know there’s no one else invading our lives. It’s just two people. We always did this after a win, sometimes for hours and it started the day we said I do. Easton and I waited until we were married to have sex and from then on, we’ve always had that. After every win, we’d fuck for hours, and I say fuck because that’s what it was, fueled adrenaline taking what it wanted.

I smelled victory on him. It’s on his breath and skin and consuming his head as he moves above me, consumed by his need and still going for speed.

We managed to make it inside our bedroom, he’s racing and I’m trying to keep up, just like everything else, if it’s even possible for me.

“Goddamn…” he grunted shifting our positions so I was on top of him, bathed in moonlight and gripping his concrete shoulders. “You’re so fucking sexy baby…so sexy…” his voice was drowsy but sparked with need.

He’s hugging the turns, gripping me so tight I feel his passion racing through me. It’s the same need I had right then, wanting this so much I could bleed the desire and it still wouldn’t be enough.

I moaned, my back arching my hair cascading down my spine. My eyes fell to his but they’re closed, scrunched in concentration as his chest shook, head thrown back and hands on my breasts now. He didn’t wait, frustrated maybe, and had me pressed into the mattress in one quick movement.

There’s no pacing him now and I give up trying.

His body tensed in anticipation, my eyes traveled over his body, honed to perfection and burning, and back to his face watching him let go. It was times like this when he’s bare for me. I see the side no one else does as soft grunts escape his lips. His hands squeezed my hips guiding my movements a little faster than before gripping the cheeks of my ass, his legs tensing as his stomach flexed.

Losing the rhythm, his body begins to shake beneath me as he pushed in and out of me faster. He let out another groan as he stilled, coming inside of me, and then finished off by grinding his pelvis into me slowly.

Taking a deep breath, I watched him, waiting to see what he’ll do next, knowing I didn’t get there. It’s disappointing yes, but sadly, used to it. Especially after a night where he’s won.

He laughed, soft and raspy, pulling me down so he could wrap his arms around my back. My heart thuds at the endearment he offered, but still, somewhat confused as to where all this was going, where my feelings were going. One of his large hands traveled from my neck down my spine until it reached my ass and cupped it. I couldn’t help the shiver that ran through my body. Slowly, he twisted to bring me to my side and laid next to me.

“I love you…” his words mean something, I know that. They feel a bit forced though, as if he knew I needed to hear these words that feel so empty, not necessarily that he wanted to say them.

He gripped my shoulders to bring me closer, against his chest once more. My hands went to his shoulders as well, staring at the soft brown looking back at me. There was a long pause, and then he spoke slowly, softly, barely moving his lips. “Sorry…”

See. He knew. Does he know what he’s saying though?

He knew that this wasn’t a joining of two bodies in passion but a release to the finish for him. Does he know where his desire will take us both? To a place where lives are lived separately, minds are jaded, and hearts possibly seek out others who can fill the void that our togetherness causes? Does he really and truly know?

Concrete Barrier – This refers to the wall around a particular track to separate the grandstands from the racing surface. Most walls are made out of SAFER barriers now, however, some tracks still have concrete barriers.

Each week, I wonder if this will be the week that Easton breaks down. The warning signs were there. Everyone around us saw it too.

By Tuesday we were on our way to Talladega for the weekend. Fresh off the wins in Richmond, there wasn’t a lot of time in between one weekend and the next.

As we sat on the plane, Kyle and Easton are engaged in a conversation about the Truck race coming up on Friday night, going over strategy and notes after the nine races so far this season. He’s won six of the nine Truck races this year and four of the nine Nationwide races with two Cup wins in Vegas and Richmond.

My phone grabbed my attention, a text from Lexi, my cousin wanting to know if I would be at the track this weekend. She stayed back in Mooresville with her parents last weekend and skipped the Cup race even though she was Brody’s exclusive girlfriend now. They weren’t married, and I didn’t exactly think Brody was the marrying type, but he was faithful. At least from what we thought.