Page 83 of Dirt Driven

Jameson stared at the case for the longest time and Caden’s helmet. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but then again, I didn’t think I needed to know. This collection had been his for so long, and some of them, Jack’s. And now one had been added to it that he didn’t feel belonged there.

I thought about the first conversation I had with Caden after the accident.

He took one look at me, laughed because I tripped trying to use the damn crutches, and then went into his speech I was sure he practiced. “Don’t you dare apologize or feel bad for me,” he told me. “Because I’m not mad, or bitter, or whatever else you think I might be feeling. I’m… thankful to still be breathing and given a second chance.”

Taking a seat next to his bed, I sighed, searching for something to say to him that would be meaningful, but I couldn’t.

We talked about the races since the accident, the points, but then he sighed, the bruises in his face slowly turning from green to yellow in spots. “Every time I wake up, I have this moment when my eyes open and I think it’s not real. And then I try to move my legs, can’t, and then it hits me again.” His voice shook with the words, blinking back tears. Nineteen. He was nineteen and the career he’d worked so hard for was over. “They said there’s a spinal cord rehabilitation center in Atlanta that I can go to after I get released.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “Are they hopeful they could get you walking again?”

“Maybe. I’m going to do everything I can. There’s new advances in medicine every day. I heard there’s some electro-therapy where they can shock the nerves into waking up.” His eyes moved to mine, bloodshot and wavering. “Maybe someday I’ll be behind the wheel again.”

“I’ll be waiting for that day, man.”

We didn’t say much else. There really wasn’t anything to say.

Turning, he smiled at me. “You leaving tonight or in the morning?”

“Lane and I figured we’d head out about midnight.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you at the shop then later?”

“Yep.” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts, shifting my stance. I was curious if he was going to say any more, and then he looked up at me.

“For now, we’re gonna drop Caden’s car next season. We’ll talk about what happens next if his situation changes. I’ve spoken with the director for the World of Outlaws about what it would take to get him into a car, but currently there’s no rules for it.”

I nodded. “I talked to him a couple days ago. He was able to stand up, assisted of course, but it’s hopeful.”

Jameson sighed. “God, I fucking hope he walks again. I’m not one to pray, or whatever, but I pray for that kid.”

I chuckled. “I know what you mean. I’ve never known anyone more deserving.”

Jameson clasped his hand on my shoulder. “I know a few.”

And then he walked away.

I met Arie in the office where she’d been going through merchandise boxes all afternoon. She was in there with all the kids and Casten.

“Can I design the paint job?” Pace stared at the screen over Arie’s shoulder with the markups for the latest paint schemes of the JAR Racing cars. Someone had the bright idea to let the kids design the cars for the next race in memory of Jack for the West Coast tour. While I was on board with showing our support for Jack’s birthday, I wasn’t excited about what they had in mind. “It’d be cool if it was all black with no numbers.” Pace waved his hand around at the screen. “All black. Like a panther.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Oooh, ooh—Stars and rainbows!” Bristol added, trying to twist the screen her way. “And flowers with a big swirly thingy down the middle on the wing.”

I was wrong. “I don’t like that. Not one bit,” I voiced, as if I thought my disapproval meant anything.

Arie waved me off, her hand flopping back behind her head and inadvertently, or purposely, smacking me in the lip.

“Please, Daddy!” Bristol motioned around with her hands, smacking Pace in the eye. Hand motions were a common theme between these two. “It’d be pretty.”

Glaring, Pace shoved his twin sister away from him. “You did that on purpose!”

“Did not!” Bristol picked up a pen and held it in the air. I knew from experience you shouldn’t take Bristol’s threat idly. She’d totally stab her brother and not feel an ounce of remorse. We had the ER bill to prove it.

“Knock it off,” I ordered in my fatherly tone I had to use when outnumbered by heathens. Grabbing my rebel son by his shoulders, I separated them.

“Flames and fire!” Knox added and we all looked at him strangely. We shouldn’t be surprised after he set the carpet on fire last week. The kid was a pyromaniac in the making.

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