Page 163 of Black Flag

I reached up to touchher cheek. “You know exactly what kind of ego healing I need.”

“EgostrokingIsuspect?” Sway smiled widely as if I just gave her a year’s subscription tofree ice cream.

“Yes, yes, ego strokingis good.”

Although we’d spenthours and hours like this over the last day or so, the excitement of her touchhadn’t waned even remotely for me. It was pretty much all I wanted to do, allof the time: hold her, kiss her all over, and feel her skin against mine. Giventhe sound of her heart rate, she appeared to feel the same.

Our lips moved againsteach other for long moments, until I pulled away only far enough to move tokiss under her ear and down her throat. When I shifted back to gaze at herface, her eyes opened and met mine, warm emerald green.

“I love you,” shewhispered tracing my jaw. “And this beard,”

“Morethan ice cream?”

“I don’t know if thatis something I should answer.” Sway tapped her finger to her nose lightly. “Askme again when I’m not pregnant.” She reached up with her hands to pull my faceback toward hers.

“Fair enough,” Imuttered, clutching her torso to mine.

Sway had dosed offwatching television, so I quietly watched her sleep. It felt so good to be homewith her, in my arms where she belonged, where I belonged. I took comfort inknowing I only had three races remaining and I’d finally get a break. As it was,I had to leave Wednesday morning and seeing how it was Monday night now, I wasgetting anxious about the departure already. At least I had a few days with herthough, enough time to basically recharge myself for the end of the season. Ineeded this.

Reaching for the laptopbeside the bed, I checked the NASCAR website and found yet another articleabout me and my mission to success. It’s funny how quickly they wrote about therise and fall of what they called greatness to now the rise again, as though ithad never happened before in the sport.

October 28, 2003 –SteelSpeedNews Charlotte NC

The talk of the racing community has beenJameson Riley, or as some would say, Rowdy Riley. I caught up with him outsideLernerville on Wednesday night before the Bass Pro Shops MBNA 500.

Jameson’s head was bent forward, his armsfolded over his chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was justsome kid, or just another dirt track racer.

Only the JAR Racing suit and the signaturenumber nine combined with the familiar rowdy way stand told you otherwise.

The man next to him held clout at thistrack couldn’t fly under the radar as well.

Jameson stood, nodding to everything hislegendary father was saying. And once again, some might think, “Here’s a kid thatdaddy fed the way, footed the bill.”

The thing was, Jameson worked harder thananyone to get to where he was now and there was no doubt he would be what heset out to be.

Jameson drummed his fingers against a stackof tires during the drivers meeting, uninterested in the conversation aroundhim and the fans surrounding them. He appreciated the fans but in reality, thiskid didn’t see himself as someone to be worshipped. He just wanted to race. Yousee a guy like Jameson Riley wasn’t in it for the fame and never would be. Hewas in it for his love for the sport. Although unavoidable at times, he shiedaway. Avoiding eye contact with most everyone that night, it wasn’t fromintimidation as one might think. It was from vulnerability and hisindifference. He just wanted to race and that’s what people forgot when tragedystuck his family. And that’s how greatness emerged from a melancholy andfatalistic view.

It always felt strangeto me reading articles about myself.

I checked my messages.There were about ten from Alley, going over my schedule of appearances for thenext few weeks. A couple from Van letting me know he’d be back Thursday night,I told him to take a few days off since I’d be with Sway. He needed it afterspending that much time around the girls.

Sway’s Bob Marley tanktop rose slightly when she moved, revealing the bulge of her stomach. I smiledreaching down to touch it. I was utterly fixated on her baby bump these days,knowing that was my son growing inside there. Sure enough, he kicked me back. Iknew he liked the sound of my voice so I maneuvered myself so my head was rightat her stomach.

I ran my hand back andforth, tracing his kicks. The more I touched, the more he kicked me. It waslike a little game between us. I would press my hand to a certain spot and he’dkick me.

Since I knew he likedthe sound of my voice, and I knew Sway did, I decided to sing to him. I didn’treally choose any one song, just hummed a few different ones to him. As soon ashe heard the vibrations of my voice, his kicks stopped.

“What are you doingdown there?” Sway mumbled softly and stretched her arms above her head.

“Singing to the spaz,”We shouldn’t really call our son a spaz, but he was one, an adorable one.

Sway sighed curlinginto a ball beside me, bringing her knees up as much as she could with the bumpin the way.

“Are you hungry, do youwant some food?” I asked kissing her forehead, my hands still resting on thebaby.

As soon as I askedthat, her stomach began rumbling. “You shouldn’t have mentioned food.”

“I’ll get you anythingyou want,” I kissed her again. “You name it and I’ll go get it.”

---