Page 12 of Dirt Driven

“Shut up. You’re the team owner. Stop them.”

“Nah.” And then he laughed. My dad laughed in my face and shook his head, his cheeks red from the heat of the night. “I want to see him hit Easton. It’d make my night actually.”

It’d make mine too. With my back pressed against the hauler, I could see Rager’s face in the glimmer of the pit lights. A few fans in the pits noticed the altercation and stopped to watch, pointing and talking amongst themselves. Even took pictures, and though I knew I’d have to explain this later, I didn’t stop them.

I tried to get a good look at Easton to see if he was serious about this, but I couldn’t because he was wearing sunglasses. At night. He really hadn’t changed much.

“That’s entertaining.” Rager smirked, taunting, and reached for Easton, but he took a step back. “You think because you’re a NASCAR driver you can come here and take me out?”

Easton relaxed against his car, shrugging. “It’s not my fault you got in the way.”

That was the worst thing he could have said to him right then. The worst!

Rager raised his hands and gave Easton another hard shove. “Is that so, Hollywood?”

“Hollywood.” Dad laughed beside me and tipped his beer toward them, nudging Casten in the ribs. “Now that’s funny.”

I think Rager knew he could only shove Easton a few times before he reacted. And he did. He swung at Rager and missed. Rager got the first hit in, a heavy blow that connected with Easton’s jaw and then another knocking those stupid fucking sunglasses off his face. He certainly wasn’t wasting any time, was he?

I tried to think back to the last time these two had any interaction together and I could only remember when I was married to Easton and they were constantly at it. Maybe this had something to do with it. Easton would always hold a grudge against Rager because in his mind, Easton thought Rager stole me from him.

In Rager’s mind, I was never Easton’s to begin with. In all honesty, I side with Rager. Especially finding out Easton has a five-year-old son. Which meant the kid was born while we were still married. Conceived well before he asked for a divorce.

Regardless, the intensity of the next few moments were breathtaking.

I’d seen Rager in a handful of fights over the years, but this seemed… different. It went back to the history between them.

They collided and fell to the ground, wrestling around in the dirt, still in their driving suits, taking swings.

Spencer groaned, trying to stop them and then started yelling at Dad. “Do something, Jameson.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “What am I going to do? They’re grown men. Let them fight.”

Rager’s swings came quick and with a force I never imagined he was capable of. I’d been on the receiving end of his passionate strength, but never the angry strength being fueled by rage and pent-up emotion he’d obviously had buried for Easton until now.

There was something more here than Easton taking him out in the race. Each blow confirmed that this was something else entirely. And Easton, he was trying to prove he was something to consider still, though he was married and had a son.

To outsiders, this altercation would have appeared to be total chaos of men battling for dominance when, in reality, Rager exerted complete control over every hit. He wasn’t going to let Easton walk away without getting the vengeance that was rightfully his to recover after that race.

I could hear the officials making their way over and about thirty fans surrounding us, all taking pictures and videos. Jessie, who had been in Easton’s hauler, was screaming for them to stop, and at me. My dad, Axel and Casten were watching, tossing money back and forth with Tommy and there I was, stunned stupid at what was happening.

I could imagine the headlines.Outlaw vs. NASCAR.

“Rager, stop!” I shouted, but between the rush of my blood and my pounding heart, it sounded like a whisper. I looked to my dad, still shaking his head. He was drunk, but I thought he knew if we didn’t step in soon, something bad was going to happen.

Rager’s head turned when he heard me, the back of his hand sweeping over his busted mouth, and easily pulled away from Easton who had gotten a hold of the front of his racing suit.

They exchanged a look. I couldn’t see Rager’s eyes in the darkness of night, but I could see Easton’s, and he was backing down, spitting blood and in obvious pain.

Easton then smiled, holding up his palms to Rager, Spencer, and two track officials separating them. Easton reached down to retrieve his sunglasses in the dirt but Rager kicked them away from him.

You could see the torment in Rager’s eyes—he didn’t want to stop. I knew then he didn’t think Easton had paid enough.

When he turned around to face me, his face was red, his mouth and hands bleeding, eyes swollen with a busted lip. Blood drenched the front of his suit but his eyes, oh God, those eyes. They asked so many fucking questions I didn’t know what to say to him.

With a renewed sense of urgency, and a feeling of testosterone-laden accomplishment, Rager twisted around to Easton, after stepping on his sunglasses and gruffly said, “You mess with me or her again, and I’ll shove those fuckin’ sunglasses down your goddamn throat.”

Rager reached for me next, his hands on my waist, pulling me into him, his breathing heavy and intense as he attempted to control himself. His eyes met mine as his face twisted into a tight grimace of pain and regret. His head shook, giving me a look I didn’t understand.

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