Page 128 of Happy Hour

“Did you sexually assault her?” Marcus asked, his hazel eyes probing and accusing.

Wanting to get my point across, I maintained eye contact with him as I responded. “I would prefer to answer that for you, but unfortunately I’ve been advised by my attorney that since this case is still under open investigation, I’m notallowedto discuss specifics.”

“I’m sure you’ll understand then that we cannot discuss further sponsorship obligations until these charges have been settled.” Bill advised with hard gargoyle eyes. “Wewillcontinue to sponsor you, for now. But please keep in mind that we do not condone this type of behavior nor do we appreciate the aggression you’ve been displaying on the track. That’s not an image we want portrayed.”

I took a deep breath attempting to control myself.

Why the fuck they couldn’t tell me this over the goddamn phone had me seeing red. I barely had had enough control to continue speaking in a normal civilized manner. Inside my blood was boiling,

I wanted to snap but instead, I said. “Yes sir, I understand,” through a clenched jaw, “Thank you for meeting with me.”

I didn’t say anything else. Though I was seeing, I didn’t trust my tongue not to keep me out of trouble. My mouth had gotten me in enough the last few weeks.

Phillip had advised me that it was in my best interest, not to discuss specifics with anyone and I agreed. It wasn’t their business to begin with. He was working with Chelsea’s attorney to come up with some kind of agreement regarding the charges brought against me. She told the police that I assaulted her and forced her to give me oral sex. She even went as far to say that I held her head down while she did so, causing bruising—which she had. I never touched her aside from holding my arm to her throat. The bruises she had were on the back of her neck. I had a feeling Darrin was involved and I wanted to figure out what the hell he was trying to prove.

With everything that happened, I knew something was going on but I also had a job to do, a sprint car team to run and a girlfriend that needed to know how much I loved her.

I tried once again to contact Tate but of course, it went straight to voicemail so I left yet another message of: “Hey dude it’s Jameson. I need to speak with you, call me,please!”

Tate had been avoiding my phone calls since that night in Sonoma and I had an inkling he would be for a while. The fucked up part about it was we’d been friends for three years now. How he could believe that deceitful bitch over me was appalling. What’s worse was that he had the nerve to call Marcus up without even speaking to me about it first.

Who does that?

Still fuming over my interactions with Bill and Marcus, I was now on the way to Loudon New Hampshirewithmy dad—not exactly my idea of fun.

He was once again giving me his insight whether I wanted it or not.

He only had a few hours before he needed to be in Nebraska for a race tonight so heinsistedon flying with me. Like I said, this was not my idea of fun. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my dad; it was that I didn’t want to hear what he had to say today, that’s all.

Quietly keeping to myself looking over paperwork, I moved on to signing autographs for the Dartmouth Children’s hospital, trying to avoid conversation that would likely result in the any man worth his salt speech again. Hell, I was still confused from the last one.

Avoiding him the best I could, my silence was over quickly.

“What the fuck!” Jimi yelled across the cabin towards me.

Why he was yelling when we were not more than three feet from each other wasn’t my main concern. The vein pulsating in his neck is far more troubling at that point.

“How did you do $25,000 damage to afuckinggolf cart?”

“What?” My eyes didn’t move from the posters.

I already knew the look I was receiving. It was the same look I got when I threw the baseball through his car windshield, while driving, because he wouldn’t let me have a Happy Meal. It was the same look I got when Spencer and I glued Emma to the wall of her bedroom and left her there for an afternoon. And it was the same look I got when I took my sprint car out for a spin on the high schools running trackduringthe home coming football game.

“Do golf carts even cost that much?” he wondered and then shifted his eyes back to me. “You need to grow up!”

I laughed feeling his penetrating gaze upon me. “Spencer wrecked the other one.” I defended finally looking up.

It was the same look.

“I expect that from him.Well fuck, I expect that from you too but regardless, stop it.” His eyes bulged again. “I’m not okay with this.”

“I won’t wreck any more golf carts.”

His eyes narrowed for good reason. “Or haulers...and motor coaches.”

“Or haulers and motor coaches.” I agreed with a grin attempting to lighten his mood.

“Don’t get cute. I’m not amused.” He let the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile but corrected it quickly. “You need to be medicated.”

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