Chapter 33: The Handfasting

Sherrill’s Ford

Darrell stood by the big bay window in the family room watching the advancing thunderstorm. He couldn’t sleep even though he had been a guest in the house on many an occasion. An arc of chain lightening turned the room a blue-white flash as the rain suddenly whipped against the old house in sheets of fury. Something was wrong-he could sense it in every one of his old bones. Michael’s in danger, he thought, I just know it! The sound of tiny feet behind him startled him so he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Uncle Darrell...?" Mick starred at him with his wide, frightened blue eyes.

"Boy, whatchu doin’ up?" he asked softly. "It’s way past yer bedtime."

"I was worried ‘bout Mum and Da-they didn’t call tonight..." Darrell pulled the boy into the big recliner with him as the lightening continued to dance about the room. He didn’t want to worry the boy further but he knew he couldn’t hide his own emotions very well. When it came to his brother, he never could. Sighing, he glanced at the clock and knew it would be about 4:30 in the morning in Ireland.

"We could call ‘em...I don’t know what harm it would do ‘cept make ‘em madder than heck.." he grinned, trying to re-assure Mick. God, I hope he’s just screwin’ her brains out, Darrell thought as he dialed the phone, at least he’d be there...

The cold hand of fear itself gripped Darrell’s heart as the line on the other side continued to aimlessly ring unanswered.

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The blazing fire continued to occupy the fireman, the police and the crowd of bystanders-all were completely oblivious to the dark scenario that was being played out in the back parking lot behind the pub.

"What the fuck do you want? Money? Credit cards?" Michael whispered hoarsely as he felt the cold steel of the gun’s barrel pressing into his temple. "I think there’s some mistake here..."

Paddy Keagan coldly regarded him, "Oh no lad, there’s no mistake here. See now-the mistake was made when me own father was gunned down my yer woman’s brother. I seen with me own eyes an’ grieved ever since. ‘Tis time we settled up, Rory."

As she stared up at Keagan, Rory knew one wrong move, one wrong word and they would both be dead. She thought little of her own safety, but that of Michael and her children. "Please do what you will with me but for God’s sake, let him go-he’s not part of this." she said quietly. Stunned, Michael stared at her. Keagan uttered a short, cruel chuckle.

"It’s not that easy. You have no idea how much pleasure it would be to watch you suffer and grieve while I blow yer man’s fine head off with you a-watchin’."

"Let’s get it on, then." Michael growled tightly, "Just promise me you won’t hurt her."

Keagan was running out of time-this had to be done and done quickly before somebody noticed them. Sooner or later, someone was bound to see what the commotion was and Keagan had waited too long for this day to arrive to abandon his father’s revenge. He shook his head-indeed it was too bad about this Waltrip lad-aye, he was only a small part in it. "Too bad about that Earnhardt-ye can give ‘im me regards on your way to hell!" Michael cast one last look into Rory’s eyes as the click of the hammer being cocked sounded with a finality in the void of the night. A sudden breeze blew up from the sea and from far away, distant thunder rumbled....

It is an old legend that the spirits of the departed were summoned by the sound of their name being mentioned. As Keagan was about to depress the trigger that would sent Michael to his grave, he looked up at the sound of wheels on gravel as the black car barreled down on the three. Keagan’s heart almost stopped as he caught the gaze of the mysterious vehicle’s driver-that cold, unforgiving glare all but froze the very blood in his veins; the specter was unseen by all except Keagan. In the name of the Father, what have I invoked?

The seconds crept by like hours and the sudden hesitation on the part of their assailant was all the time Michael needed to finally unleash the fury that had been quietly building inside him. No way-it ain’t endin’ like this! It can’t end like this! He quickly brought his elbow up and sharply into Keagan’s groin. As the man doubled over, Michael wheeled around lunged snarling on him. Keagan realized too late that he had underestimated his opponent badly as 220 pounds of fury descended upon him. Meanwhile, Rory scrambled to her feet and screamed for help as Keagan, still clutching the revolver fired harmlessly into the air. Michael was on top of him, pummeling the man’s face with one ham-sized fist while holding him down by the throat with the other.

Bridy whirled upon hearing her sister-in-law’s scream accompanied by gunfire as she was conversing with the fire marshal and local constable while her life’s blood of twenty years burned to the ground. The constable pulled his own handgun and followed as Bridy ran frantically to the back parking lot. A knot of curious regulars quickly fell in behind them.

Keagan managed to land a brutal kick in Michael’s stomach that sent him to the ground in blind agony. Gasping, he vainly attempted to rise again but the wind was literally knocked out of him.

"Fuckin’ bastard! Now you’ll die!" Keagan screamed as he aimed the gun at Michael’s head. He was about to pull the trigger when his own head was nearly split by the rock that Rory slung from behind. The impact of the blow resounded by a bone -splintering crack accompanied by the dull thud of his heavy body hitting the tarmac. She briefly considered grabbing the dropped revolver and finishing the bastard off but one look at the pain-filled expression on Michael’s face, sent her immediately to his side. She gently cradled Michael in her arms as he gazed up at her with all of the undying love in his heart. "My poor, brave darlin’..I almost lost you tonight..." she whispered as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against her bosom. She looked up again as the constable slapped the cuffs on the now -conscious and sputtering Keagan. She knew he would never see the light of day again outside of prison. A strange but welcome sense that everything was right in their world settled upon them as they watched the Gardia led Keagan away. Unseen by all, the shade of Dale Earnhardt-now reassured that his old friends were out of death’s grasp-quietly slipped into his car and disappeared into the sea’s mist.

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Once safely ensconced in their palatial suite, Rory picked up the phone. Exhausted and aching, Michael collapsed on the bed, "Who ya callin’, babe?" he whispered.

"Home. All I could think of through that whole damnable ordeal was the children." she turned to the bed, "We should leave, Mikey-let’s go home. I’ve no spirit to continue this adventure-I’m done. Last night was enough adventure for two lifetimes!"

Sorely rising, Michael slipped his arms around her and leaned his head on hers, "Hon-we’ll go if you really want to. But I’d like to stay and give it another chance. This trip meant so much to the kids-I think it’d really hurt them if we came back early. Remember, this was their gift to us..."

Sighing, she looked up at his tired and drawn face. "Ok-we’ll give it another chance. We’re drivin’ to the west coast tomorrow-the Cliffs are supposed to have some healing qualities." After a few rings, Darrell’s excited voice demanded, "HELLO!?"

"Darrell-? Aye....we’re fine." Rory cast a furtive look at Michael, "Aye, Darrell-he’s fine too..where were we? Well, we were visitin’ my sister-in-law’s pub in Malahide last night...there was a terrible fire.....no...we just got back....we’ll call ya when we get to lodge later tonight...give our love to the kids...I’d let ya speak to Mikey but he’s out...ok now, bye." Indeed, Michael had fallen back on the bed and was snoring heavily. Rory grinned and curled up wrapping her arms tenderly around his bruised side. Sure now, it could only get better from here.

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It took them the better part of the day and well into early dusk driving across the tiny country on their way to the Cliffs of Mahar. The views of the tiny villages and gently rolling hills along the narrow winding roads chased the memories of yesterday’s horrors away. Michael must’ve snapped hundreds of photos of everything from the historic round towers, dilapidated estates and moldering castle walls and battlements. Driving alone was an adventure in itself as they would tear around a narrow turn to find a herd of sheep or cattle in the way. As the sun was setting over the Atlantic, they finally found themselves at their destination as the two looked down from the sheer drop of the cliffs at the pounding surf below.

"So tell me what this handfasting thing is." Michael said softly as he held her, watching the sun paint the sky and sea crimson.

"Well, it’s a ceremony that goes back to the time of the Druids. It’s basically what the early Celts considered a marriage; performed by the village Wise Woman. It’s come back these days with the rise of the Neopagan movements. It’s all very solemn and there’s a spiritual element to it that’s very visceral, very deep. Bridy and Kevin went through it and I thought it’d be fun for us-if yer up to it, that is. The woman who runs the lodge where we’re stayin’ does this all the time, especially around now. The Celts called this time of year ‘Bealtane’ and most of their fertility rites were performed now."

Michael smiled, chuckling. It was no secret that Rory wanted another baby with him. And it was certainly not from a lack of trying-but her age may have been working against her now. She was but a few months younger than Michael and Mick’s birth had been very difficult. The odds of ever getting pregnant again were slim at best. The idea of a Pagan-style ceremony flew in the face of everything he had been taught as far as spirituality was concerned but for Rory he would try anything.

"Ok, baby-it might be fun. I’m willin’ if you are." he grinned as she held him tightly. The thought of a new baby thrilled him as well; remember how beautiful she looked and how happy they were when Caitlin was born.

Later that evening, as Michael looked out the window of the tiny room they shared, he could see several distant bonfires burning in the hills and the wailing of the pipes in the distance. Brows furrowing, he wondered aloud, "What’s goin’ on over there."

Rory pulled on a simple cotton robe and stood beside him. "Many of the country people around here haven’t given up the Old Ways and are celebratin’ Bealtane. Come on, luv-she waitin’ for us downstairs."

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Michael nervously cast a glance at the 40-ish woman who quietly lit a red candle on what appeared to be a simple alter. A single white candle was already glowing warmly amid the simple alter tools: a bowl of anointing oil and a stag-handled knife. A smudge of incense curled blue smoke lazily in a thick haze above the altar. He fidgeted in the coarse linen robe he also wore-the scratchy material threatened to drive him absolutely mad at any moment.

Rory stood beside him, also robed with a sprig of willow braided into her long hair. She looked like an enchantress and smiled gently, re-assuring her mate. Their Priestess rose and stood before them, "If you would please remove your robes and stand skyclad before the God and Goddess." Michael’s eyes bugged and he looked frantically at Rory, you didn’t say anything about gettin’ naked! his panicky gaze exclaimed.

Rory shook her head, "It’s ok-it will be ok" she whispered. She calmly dropped her robe and ever-so reluctantly Michael did likewise.

"Merry meet, my friends on this most-holy of nights. Blessed be these who seek union before the heavens." The Priestess offered a drink of strong mead to both Michael and Rory in communion. The heady, sweet drink immediately went straight to Michael’s head. She dipped her fingers in the oil and crossed to where Rory stood and placed the mark of Trinity above her heart before tenderly placing a kiss on each breast and once just above her pubes. Michael took all of this in, trying hard not let his mouth fall open. It was strangely at once primitive, beautiful and erotic. "Blessed be thy heart which beats for none but your beloved. Blessed be thy feet that brought you to him. Blessed be thy womb that it may bring life into this world."

She then turned to Michael and gently took his hand. He gasped as she pressed the blade of the knife across his palm drawing blood. Taking Rory’s hand, she also made the same cut and binding their hands together with a silken braided chord of scarlet and ivory, she intoned, "Before the heavens, may their love flourish and prosper until their time among mortals comes to an end. Before the heavens, Rory and Michael are one. So mote it be." With this blessing, she unbound the chord and offered both another sip of the mead. She silently intoned an ancient prayer in Gaelic as she turned to leave the room, leaving Michael and Rory alone.

Michael took a deep slug of the mead as Rory walked over to a large mattress covered by an inviting feather bed. A peat fire crackled merrily away in the fireplace casting dancing shadows about the room. Michael slipped behind her, now completely aroused by the mead and his now-burning lust. Moaning, Rory pressed her buttocks tightly against Michael’s groin as his hands caressed her. His kisses alternated between playful biting along her neck and shoulders as he gently but firmly eased her down on the bed. Quivering and dripping wet with anticipation, Rory eagerly parted her thighs as her stallion mounted her from behind. Michael held her hips tightly as he rocked against her; Rory wildly matching his deep thrusts stride for stride. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he shuddered violently as he came. Panting, he gently rolled her over for he was far from done yet. Devouring her mouth, her throat and breasts, he feverishly kissed her and continued to drift ever lower. Nostrils flaring as his mouth covered her swollen clit and mindless of the taste of his own seed, he relentlessly continued to take her with every fiber of his being.

Lasting well until the first streaks of dawn arched above the distant horizon and the first rays of the sun chased the stars away, their lovemaking finally left them both sweetly exhausted. Any further exploring of the outside world would have to wait as they preferred to explore the delights of each other. As Rory gazed into his gentle, loving blue eyes-the impassioned wild, glazed look now departed-she gave a quiet ‘thank-you’ to the Goddess for sending her the love of her life. She drifted off peacefully in the protective sanctuary of his embrace.

Michael lay beside her, quietly contemplating the events of the past few days. It was enough to make the head spin. He also took in all that he endured these past eleven years and knew deep in his heart that this tender moment made all the pain worthwhile in the end. He sighed, wishing that this moment could last forever and dreading the fact that in two days they’d be back in Charlotte. In three days, he would be getting set to qualify for the Coca Cola 600....oh to never have to look through that windshield again! He was seriously considering how wonderful it would be to retire and never have to risk his life again. But then again, it was the love of that world that both brought and bound them together. In essence, he was as bound to that 3400 pound midnight blue mistress as he was to the angel sleeping so soundly at his side. He buried his face in her hair, shaking all the cluttering thoughts from his mind. Just enjoy the ride, dumbass! he thought as he also drifted off into a peaceful realm of sleep.

Chapter 34: Comedy of Errors-Daytona Again

All she had to do is sign it and it was done; over. Buffy regarded the large ream of divorce paperwork that sat on the table wishing she could re-write the past. Two years ago, she would have signed the dotted line in a heartbeat-hell, there were days she couldn’t even look at him. What happened? She mulled this over in her head a dozen times. He hasn’t changed a bit-still very much the same man she married nine long years ago. But she changed. It started around the time of last year’s Pepsi 400; she started to see him in a different light. Perhaps it was the new confidence he had after winning the 500 and driving for a new team with the best equipment in the business. More than likely, it was his re-kindled relationship with Rory-he looked so good in love. It came down to wanting something that could never be hers again. Buffy had her chance, but she pretty much blew it and that realization ate at her. Every cruel word, every insipid argument, every time she denied him her love came back to haunt her. She would be provided for and Macy would never want for her father’s love and attention; she would even retain her owner’s position with the Busch car- "custody"-as Michael jokingly put it. So deep in thoughts of the old "could’ve-should’ve’s", Buffy didn’t even hear Teresa walk into the kitchen of her spacious coach.

"Hey! Mornin’ sunshine!" she chirped as she plunked down a small box of Krispy-Kremes. Helping herself to a cup of coffee, she sat back in a chair; kicking her long legs up on another stool.

"Hey, yourself. Junior ever get around picking up Taylor for the weekend?" Buffy could honestly care less what Junior did, but she was grasping to talk about anything besides herself. No such luck as Teresa immediately spied the divorce contract.

"Looks like the lawyers finally finished it, huh? Free, white an’ over 21!" she grinned. When Buffy failed to return the grin, her brows furrowed. "Ok-what’s up? I thought you were waitin’ for this for years!" "I miss him, Ter-I want him back..." she whispered as she felt her throat tighten and her

eyes began to well up. "I’m so sorry for what I did to him, so fucking sorry..."

But Teresa wasn’t having any of it. "You listen to me," she began steadily. "Honey, you brought this on yourself. You’ve stalled this divorce for almost a year now-if you have any love in your heart for that man, you’d let him go. You’re not going to accomplish a goddamn thing by hanging on to those papers!" "I know, I know! I was gonna take ‘em over to Mike after qualifying. I just wish...." her

voice broke. I wish I could hold him again...wish I could taste his lips...I wish he’d look at me the way he looks at her again......shit-I wish I’ve never been born....

"Remember what I said about wishes? If wishes were horses, we’d all be ridin’! Now for Chrissake Buff-for once in your life, do the right thing!"

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Michael sat at the table, wolfing down a sandwich and reading the latest issue of the Scene while Schrader, Junior, Kenny Wallace, Johnny Benson and Steve were thumbing through the dozens of pictures from Ireland. It was a typical gathering of the tribe-raunchy jokes and copious amounts of Budweiser being put down. Being rather hot and muggy, Michael was stripped down to a simple pair of shorts and little else. What got Schrader’s attention, was the blue ice pack that Michael was sitting on.

"Uh, Mikey-why don’t you just get the A/C fixed?" he innocently inquired, "That way, you wouldn’t have to freeze yer ‘nads off."

"Huh?" Michael mumbled through a mouthful of coleslaw. "Oh that. Me and Rory are tryin’ for another baby."

Now this bit of information seemed of interest to the rest of the group. "Wanna elaborate, BlueBalls?" Schrader inquired.

Swallowing his food, Michael continued, "Well I planned on spending a little *ahem* quality time when she gets back from Andretti’s garage after practice. I heard that if I keep my boys cool or slightly below body temperature, they’d be a little more perky."

"UUUUGGGHHH!!" came the howls.

"Ech-thanks for the visual!" Schrader rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"Shit-that’s more info than I need to know! I’m outta here!" Junior was already bounding away from the table, shaking his head in disgust.

Steve pressed on, "Really?? I didn’t know that.."

"Yeah-bakin’ in that car for three and a half hours isn’t what ya call conducive for the best results if you know what I mean. I sat and figured it out-every time one of the kids was conceived, it was either off season or just to the end. Just a thought really..."

"Weeeelll Awwwwrighty then! Learn somethin’ new every day." Kenny let loose with one of his trademarked loony cackles. "Mikey’s boys be chillin’!"

Michael continued, "Y’know me an’ her even did this ancient Pagan fertility ceremony thing when we were over there. We had to get nekkid." Schrader snickered at this as all eyes fell on Michael. "Yep-we had a real Priestess-she was nekkid too-and she rubs this scented oil on Rory..."

Kenny leaned closer while Steve and Benson sat with their mouths open. "Rory was nekkid...? Do go on, Michael..." Schrader’s eyes bulged and he licked his lips like a large frog waiting for a fly. Too bad Junior was missing this....!

Their host graciously continued, "So this priestess gal goes over to Rory and kisses her right on each boob and just above the ol’ snack bar..." (At this, Kenny fell out of his chair with a thud. "Dammit! Yer killin’ me!!" ) "An’ I’m thinkin’, sheeiit! Two nekkid wimin and I ain’t even got a hangover!"

Kenny pulled himself back up on the chair and whispered, "Did she use her tongue?" As one, the rest of the group inched closer to Michael-damn! this was getting good! "You didn’t get any videos of this, did ya? That could be REAL interesting for your next ‘Roving Reporter’ bit -What I Did On My Vacation!" This last statement elicited a few lascivious grunts of approval.

Steve cleared his throat, "You mean to tell me that you’re standing there naked and you didn’t jump on ‘em both??"

Michael grinned, "You have no idea how temptin’ that thought was! Hell, I was tryin’ like crazy not to pop a boner-shit, Rory’d kill me! As it was, neither of us could even walk the next day!" He chuckled wickedly at the memory.

Darrell and Jeff Hammond walked in the kitchen as the group was still contemplating Michael’s fertility rites.

"Hey guys..." Hammond plopped down with a fresh beer, "Wazzup..?"

Darrell himself was already digging in to the food, "Hey Mike, wanna do Trackside tonight?" He just noticed his brother’s nearly naked appearance, "Put some damn cloths on, boy! I don’t wanna see that hangin’ out!"

The rest of the bunch snickered and Kenny giggled, mimicking Darrell‘s Kentucky twang, "Yeah Mikey, put some cloths on! I think I’m gettin’ a chubby!"

"That’s sick, Wallace!" growled Darrell.

"Hey bro, I gotta bone to pick with you." Michael intoned flatly; his eyes flickered with the quiet anger that had been seething ever since the comment regarding his future at DEI.

"Can it wait? I gotta get back to the media center." Darrell mumbled around his sandwich; he knew where this was heading and he did not particularly care to discuss family politics in front of company. (Even though, said company had seen these two go at it like pitbulls for the past 20 years.)

"I’d just appreciate it if you’d get behind me ever now an’ then. You’re always spoutin’ off without knowin’ what’s really goin’ on."

"Don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout and neither do you." Darrell grunted, wiping his mouth and heading for the door. "Listen-if you’re gonna do the show tomorrow, let us know by this afternoon." And back to the Hollywood Hotel went ol’ Jaws and his henchman. It was going to be a long weekend...

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The crew had just rolled the new 43 out to pit row for the first practice for the Pepsi 400. It was the first time the car had ever seen a racetrack. With the exception of her recent vacation, Rory had spent just about every waking moment building this beast for the past six months. Six months of wind tunnel, studies in aerodynamics and countless binders of notes on everything from templates to wind resistance to tire pressure. It paid off well and The King was pleased. Surely, this was one of the finest cars to roll out of the Petty garage in a long, long while.

"She’s a beauty, ain’t she?" Rory whispered as Kyle stood silently admiring her design work. A shadow crossed his normally bright, friendly countenance. "What’s wrong?" she asked.

"Adam should be in this car." he whispered. "I’m ok-always seem to get like that when we run here...always wanted to see what my boy would do when he got to Daytona..." Rory reached out and gently laid a hand on his.

"We’ll make him proud. Him and Pop both.." she grinned. The low, guttural snarl of the 15 opening up to a deafening scream as she flew by drowned out their thoughts. As much as I love him, I’m here to beat him, Rory thought silently as the midnight blue rocket flew by. She walked over to John as he was strapping himself in. "Good luck, Johnny. Show ‘em what we got and make ‘em remember the name of Petty!" She sprang back up on her war wagon perch as the 43 accelerated quickly down the track.

On the track, one could easily forget this was only a practice session. The drivers were all in high spirits and were constantly challenging one another in mini-duels of the draft. But the cars of DEI cut a swath through the packed contingents. Tony Stewart mounted an assault on the 15, only to be quickly left gazing in wonderment and exasperation as the gold Napa logo faded from his view. "Fuckin’ officials better go over that thing with a fine-tooth comb!" the peppery Home Depot driver growled; coffee brown eyes blazing.

John Andretti held his own, quickly challenging and ultimately passing Steve Park as the Pennzoil car bobbled on the 2nd turn. "One down, two to go!" John grinned as he sailed by the yellow Chevrolet. He had his sights on the 15 and completely failed to notice the crimson streak that was closing quickly in on him. "Bud car on top!" his spotter barked. "Comin’ hard!"

To say Junior was in high spirits was a gross understatement. In fact, he was quite full of beans and he wanted to play. And when an Earnhardt wants to play, they play rough and they play for keeps. Having lost track of Michael, Junior picked his next victim as he swung in low behind the 43. A game of cat and mouse ensued as he drafted close, practically lifting Andretti’s car off it’s rear wheels; the 8 gleefully poking her blazing nose under the rear bumper of Petty’s finest. As the crucial air was absorbed off the rear spoiler, the 43 began it’s drunken bobble. Spying a potential wreck coming on, Junior graciously lifted and watched the hapless Dodge spinning in his rearview mirror. The outside retaining wall that had claimed so many victims in the past, just added another notch to it’s formidable tally.

Over the 8’s radio, Ty was screaming, "What the fuck did you do that for?? You just dumped Andretti! Rory’s on her way over to your pitbox with a lug wrench and I don’t think it’s to help the crew with your tires!"

"I just got him loose! I didn’t mean to wreck him!" Junior yelled. "Tell ‘em I’m sorry!"

"You tell ‘em! You should know better than that! It’s fucking practice!!" Tony Eury was now on, echoing Ty’s sentiments.

The yellow flag was out and Michael sighed as he viewed the smoking remains of Rory’s baby. Shaking his head, he called Slugger, "What happened to Andretti? Is he ok?"

Slugger’s voice came back, "He’s ok-your teammate dumped him." Fuck, Michael thought. She worked so hard on that damned thing. "I’m gonna kick his ass when I get back." he growled.

"Stand in line, Mike. There ain’t gonna be much ass left to kick by the time the Petty crew gets through with him."

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Rory stood dejectedly by the hauler as the crew lowered the deck and rolled out the back up car. There was simply no fixing her pride and joy. It looked like a sub-compact now-the whole rear clip was gone and it’s deck lid curled up ridiculously towards the roof. Sighing and fighting back the bitter tears of disappointment, she walked over to the back-up and regarded it as if it too was junk. So much work to do now-so little time. I’ll murder the little fuck, she thought angrily. A well-worn hand gently placed on her shoulder lifted some of those hostile thoughts of Junior’s impending demise. "Hey." she said softly as Richard gave her a hug.

"Just a racin’ deal, hon. That’s all. Been around too dang long to let stuff get to me-you shouldn’t let it either." he said simply.

Kyle also wandered over. "I just got through talkin’ to Junior and his bunch. He promised to help us if he can come Saturday night. I told him, he better! Why don’t you go back to your coach and get some rest-get away from this for awhile." Rory nodded and left for the driver’s compound.

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"Mikey? Are ye back there, luv?" she called as she walked in the quiet coach. "I’m back here, hon. I just sent the kids to Stevie and Darrell’s." he grinned. Rising, he encircled her tiny frame in his embrace. She was too tired, too disgusted to even cry. She draped her arms around his broad shoulders and nuzzled against his warm skin. She looked into his kind, loving face and found his lips.

He gently pushed her down on the bed, slowly removing their cloths. Neither heard the door of the coach opening.

Buffy called as she walked in. It was only 3:30 in the afternoon and upon hearing the stereo softly playing, she assumed Michael was home. Frowning, she figured he must’ve forgot she was coming over with the papers and probably just passed out for a nap. "Mike-I just brought over the-" she gasped at the scene that greeted her as she poked her head in the bedroom doorway. Michael and Rory looked up from their rather compromising position from the bed. While it was just short of coitus interuptus, it was none the less just as embarrassing.

"Oh shit-I forgot you were comin’ over." Michael muttered as he rolled off from his now seething mate.

"I don’t suppose you’ve heard of callin’ before ya just drop in!" Rory snarled, pulling her shorts and an old t-shirt on.

"I-I thought Michael told you -" she stammered as Rory exited the room in a fury. Michael buried his face in his hands, "Let’s just get this over with..." There was no use in trying to grab Rory now-she was too incensed to reason with at the moment. First her car, now Buffy-it was enough to drive the sane to a nuthouse!

Michael joined Buffy at the kitchen table as Rory slammed about the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. "I’ll leave you to yer little conference here! I’m goin’ back to the garage-I’ve got a lot of work to do, thanks to yer worthless teammate!"

"Where you goin’ with that beer? You know the officials are gonna bitch about that!" Michael called after her as the love of his life bounded off the coach steps.

"They can kiss me arse!"

"I just don’t want you to get in trouble, Ro-this will only take a minute-!"

"Everybody can kiss me arse!" she snapped as she headed for the Winston garage. She walked as if she was on a mission from the Almighty. Fed-up and frustrated, the last thing she wanted to do was have to look at Buffy’s puss and listen to her whine!

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Michael sighed and looked at Buffy crossly. "Ok-this better be good."

"I’ve been doing some thinking lately and I think it’s time we finally put this to rest." she tearfully looked up at Michael. "But let me tell you this first, I wish I could take everything back. Michael, I’m so, so sorry for everything I’ve done to you." The tears started welling up and Michael gently put his arms around her. "Hey-don’t do this to yourself-I had a lot to do with things fallin’ apart between us, too."

As Buffy looked into his eyes, unable to hold back this one last time, she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him to her. "Buff-don’t. Please don’t..." he recoiled slightly, trying not to hurt her feelings. Grasping her hands and holding her at arm’s length, he shook his head. "We can’t go back-you know it and I know it too. Stop kiddin’ yourself, Buff."

Composing herself, she indicated the signed divorce contract. "You’re right-it’s done. Drop this off at the lawyer’s when we get back, so they can record it. You’re a free man, Mike." Now Michael walked over to her and gently took her in his arms, "Thank you." he said softly. They held each other for a long interlude, Buffy idly wondering what could’ve been. But done is done and she knew that you can’t go home anymore.

Rory meanwhile, realized that she forgot her clipboard of set-up notes and headed back to the coach. As she opened the door and caught the sight of Michael and Buffy in what appeared as an intimate embrace, the world came to a screeching halt as three pairs of eyes locked.

"Oh, bloody hell..." she muttered as she turned and headed at a dead run to the sanctuary of the garages.

"Ro, wait baby-lemme ‘splain!" Michael was almost out the door when Ty Norris pulled up on his golf cart. "Mike, we gotta an emergency meeting-just you drivers. We’ve gotta round up Park and Junior."

"Ty-for Chrissake-can it wait?? I’m in the middle of a crisis here!" Michael yelled.

"You’ll have a real crisis if you don’t get your ass on this cart!" Michael looked helplessly at Buffy and the departing figure of Rory as she disappeared behind the haulers. "C’mon, man-let’s head it out!" his boss commanded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rory slammed furiously around her tool box and flipped through her templates like she wanted to beat somebody with the large, flat pieces of steel. Kyle sat quietly by, furious with Michael-god, if he saw the man now, he’d kill him. He rose from his work bench and wrapped his arms around her as she finally broke down. As sobs wracked her seemingly fragile form, he gently massaged her shoulders, "I know it hurts, I know, sis..." Both looked up as a familiar voice uttered an uneasy "Hey." as Junior poked his head in the garage door. "Is it safe to come in?" Upon seeing Rory’s shattered expression, his brows furrowed, "Ro-I’m really sorry about practice-I told John I’d help him and Kyle if I could Saturday night....you Ok?"

Rory broke Kyle’s embrace, trying to compose herself. "I’m fine, Junior.....fine. FINE! JUST FUCKIN’ FINE!!!" she wound up screaming instead as Kyle tried unsuccessfully to calm her. Junior stared wide-eyed at her. He had never seen anybody get so upset about a car in his life!

Cautiously, he went over to her and hugged her, almost sobbing himself. "I said I was sorry ’bout the car..!"

Rory glared at him, "It’s not the damn car! AAAAGGGGHHHH! I just want to hit somebody!"

John Andretti slipped up behind Junior and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, "I’ll hold him! Make it a good one, sis!"

"OH JAYSUS, I JUST WANT TO GET GOOD AND DRUNK!" she yelled at nobody in particular.

Junior cast a pleading glance at Kyle, "Could somebody PLEASE fill me in here??" Kyle shook his head, "Looks like Mike and Buffy are back together."

"WHAT? No way, dude. Gotta be some mistake." Junior shook his head. "Let’s take a breather tonight, have a few beers and try to tackle this thing in the morning. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding..."

"’Tis no misunderstandin’-I saw it with me own eyes.." Rory said. Junior pulled her close, "C’mon-let’s all head back to my place and just chill-I’ve got a shit load of cold Clydesdales and there’s a worm in a bottle somewhere that’s lookin’ for a way out!" he grinned. He knew fine Tequila was Rory’s weakness.

Kyle looked at John, "You game?"

"Nah-my wife would kill me. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Hope everything works out, Ro." The three left for Junior’s coach as the sun sat on another day at Daytona.

Chapter 35: Summer Nights and Talking Cats

"Ok-here’s the rules: every time somebody says ‘fuck’, we gotta do a shot!" announced an already tipsy Junior as he popped the latest Sopranos DVD in the player and broke out three shot glasses. (with the #8 on them, of course)

"Hmmm, I’ve seen that show before-so in other words, we’ll all be plastered within 15 minutes!" Kyle grinned, shaking his head as he broke out a deck of cards. "Who’s up for a little ‘Cutthroat’?" (*A/N-that’s a three-man game of Spades) Rory had settled herself on the leather sectional with a bottle of Bud and a bag of tortilla chips; already engrossed in the exploits of the fictional Mafia family.

"Gawd-I love Silvio! Now there’s a man who knows how to dress!" She mumbled around a mouthful of chips. "Deal me in-I haven’t played in ages." The three congregated around the coffee table as the action on the tube continued. As Kyle speculated, within 10 minuets, the infamous epitaph had been uttered no less than a half a dozen times. Junior regarded the nearly empty bottle of Tequila, "Hmmm..maybe we ought to limit it to just when Tony says ’fuck’!"

"Oh fuck-I gotta call Stevie and tell her I’m gonna be hangin’ here." Rory grabbed her cell phone.

‘FUCK!-Do a shot!" yelled Junior as he poured the remaining contents of Jose Cuervo.

"Hey-that only counts when they say it on TV!" Kyle was already half in the bag as his own phone started ringing. "’lo? Uh..hey, Patti....I’m at JR’s-Rory’s here too....just drownin’ our sorrows...uh ok...I’ll be right home...loveya...bye." Sighing, he rose shakily to his feet, "I gotta go, guys. Patti’s ready to call out the FBI lookin’ for me...behave yerself sis-I’ll see ya tomorrow mornin’ at six. We gotta a lot of work to do on John’s car."

Junior belched, "Take it easy, dude. Don’t let Buddy out when you leave-sometimes the little shit likes to sneak out the door..."

Rory and Junior finished watching the show and polishing off the rest of the bottle. Rory slumped against the backrest of the couch, staring morosely at the ceiling as she ruffled Buddy’s thick fur. The big Manx sat placidly on her lap, purring contentedly. Junior sat beside her, regarding his old friend’s sad face as the events of the day seemed to barge in as Kyle left. "You gonna be ok? I mean-you’re more than welcome to crash here as long as the kids are gonna be ok."

"I’m as ok as I’m gonna be....sorry Junebug, but it’s just kinda sinkin’ in right now..." she wiped away a tear that spilled down the side of her cheek.

"I still say there’s gotta be some mistake...Mike wouldn’t leave you for Buffy-not after all the shit you guys just went through." he leaned over and wrapped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her close. Dayum, he thought, whatever she’s wearin’, it smells good enough to eat...

"Ach, I hope I’m wrong and yer right...but you shoulda seen ‘em. I’da liked to die on the spot..after all the shite that happened at practice, herself bargin’ in unannounced...I just couldn’t take it anymore..."

"Why don’t you call him? Oh shit-just remembered-him and Ty were havin’ a dinner meeting with some of the folks from Napa tonight-I was supposed to go, but I weaseled outta it..."grinning, he glanced over and noticed that Rory had slumped against him; the Tequila had spoken. At the moment, she was in no shape to walk back to her coach. Junior easily lifted her and deposited her on his own bed.

Stirring, Rory attempted to rise but was so dizzy, she fell back on the bed. "Shit...ye can stop the world anytime now-I want off!" she groaned. Junior shook his head, "Nah...just stay here for awhile. You gonna be ok? Those chips ain’t gonna make a come-back, are they?

"Ugh...I’m sorry Junebug...I’m a pain in the arse, ain’t I....?" she felt like crying again. How did things get so messed up?

"Hey-don’t be sorry...I’d feel the same way. You’re not a pain in the ass .." he said softly, rubbing her shoulders. "You’re one of my oldest friends-shit I’ve known you since I was a kid..." Still, he felt the slightest hint of arousal rising in the pit of his gut as he regarded the way her soft, full breasts clung to her tight t-shirt. Don’t go there, dude....he angrily fought those ideas back to darker recesses of his conscious. "Just chill for awhile-you’ll be ok..." Rory fell back against the pillow and dozed as Junior turned on his stereo. A local station was playing some classic B B King and the sound of Lucille filled the room with that soulful, sensuous melody. Sighing, Junior stretched out next to her as Buddy padded into the room and settled himself next to the headboard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael kept a watchful eye on the clock for the entire meeting with his sponsors. Normally he was always more than happy to appease the hand that more or less fed him. But tonight, all he wanted was out. He had been running ever since Ty had picked him up earlier in the afternoon. First the DEI meeting, then he dropped in to do "Trackside" with Darrell and company-now the Napa meeting. All he wanted to do was find Rory. He called the coach-nobody was home and the kids were still at Darrell’s. She couldn’t be in the garage-the official’s kicked everybody out at five. He was almost wild with worry-she was so angry when she left and rightfully so. Maybe she’s at Kyle or Richards-I’ll try them, he thought as he excused himself for a moment while he went out in the hall of the hospitality suite.

"Hey, Patti..it’s Mike. You seen Rory?....at Junior’s ?...ok ...when Kyle gets back, have him give me a call." As he hung up and was about to contact Junior, Ty waived to him. "Hey-they want you say a few words..." Sighing, Michael went back into the conference room. When will this day ever end?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Junior silently watched Rory as she peacefully dozed away. Besotted and not exactly in his right mind, he continued to gaze at those full, soft lips; remembering the little snippets of information he gathered from Michael regarding her penchant for delivering delights of the oral variety. He leaned closer, tempted beyond reason as unreasonable thoughts flitted about the recesses of his mind. Slowly, he pressed his own lips to hers as she stirred. "Michael..." she whispered as she reached out to pull him close. Michael. She thinks I’m Michael...he thought as he gently slipped his tongue between those exquisite lips.

Suddenly, a low growl accompanied by a volley of hisses, broke his embrace. Looking up, he spied Buddy with his back arched and he could tell by the cat’s flattened ears that the animal was contemplating launching himself at any moment. "Hey, Bud...wassamatta boy?" he reached up and was immediately swatted by a large paw. He shook his head, what was I doing? As if to echo those sentiments, a voice found it’s way into his head, "What are you doin’, boy? You’re only gonna make a bad situation worse if you lay another hand on her. Didn’t you fuck up enough today?" It was just as clear as a bell and just as recognizable as if the old man was here in that very room.

Junior looked about increduously, "Dad??" The room was dark-only he and Rory were present. I’m loosin’ it, he thought as he turned on the light. He regarded Buddy who now perched on Rory’s chest and sat there fixing him with an uncharacteristicly icy stare. "Dad?"

"Nope, just the fuckin’ cat." came the voice again. Junior’s eyes settled on Buddy and the big cat looked up at him. And smiled. The cat’s smiling, I AM loosing my mind! "Of course it’s me! I had no other way to get through to you. What do you think you were doin?"

"I don’t know...she’s lonely, I’m lonely...Mike just dumped her for Buffy..." I’m confessing to the cat...that’s it, I’m not taking another drink as long as I live...

Now the cat glared at him, "Bullshit. Right now, Mike’s eating his heart out right now with worry! He just divorced old Ice Box!"

"How do you know?"

"Well, I’m sitting here talkin’ to ya instead of licking my ass, trashin’ the furniture or whatever the hell I usually do!" he started kneeding Rory’s chest with his fat, furry paws and licked her nose. "Hmmm...nice cans! It’s good to be the cat!" he grinned again. It was that same grin that won the Daytona 500, the same grin that knocked Terry Labonte into left field at Bristol, the same grin that stood beside him at his first win in Texas. "Shit-stop lookin’ at me like that! I’m just rattlin’ your cage, son!" Junior felt like he was going to faint....

"I missed you...." he said in a small voice.

"Save it boy. I’m always here-I’m never far away. I’ll always be here for you kids. Now listen to me. If you lay a hand on that girl, I’m gonna turn this place into a million dollar litter box-got it? Now haul yer ass out on that couch there!"

Junior gathered a pillow and wandered back to the front of the coach. Maybe when I wake up, this nightmare will be over..definitely giving up the Tequila though. Before he turned in, a thought popped in his mind and he quickly went back to the bedroom. The cat was stretched out across Rory’s chest, purring loudly. "Oh no-if I’m sleepin’ out there, so are you!" He wasn’t taking any chances.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly midnight, when Rory suddenly woke up from her slumber. Where the fuck am I? Then she remembered. I gotta get home, she thought as she quietly rose. She crept up beside the couch where Junior sprawled out snoring loudly. "Hey." she whispered.

He turned over and gave her a sad smile, "Hey."

"I’m goin’ back home. Thanks for bein’ there." She bent and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, "I gotta be up early. I’ll see you tomorrow.."

"Take care, Ro. It’ll be alright. This business with Mike will work out."

"I’m not so sure anymore..." she sighed. "How do you know?"

"Trust me-I have a very reliable source. Everything’s gonna be ok." he grinned. "G’night Ro."

"’Night, Junebug." She walked out into the cool night as the track slumbered around her. The infield campground still reverberated with the fan’s late night parties, but for the drivers , mechanics and their families, it was just another work night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Junior had just drifted off to sleep when he was jolted by a loud pounding at the door. "Fuck! Now what???" Half asleep, he stumbled to the door. Michael had just returned from the Napa gathering.

"Is she still here?" he demanded. Junior glared at him, "What?! Is who here?"

"Rory! She was here earlier-Kyle told me you guys were hangin’ out..."

Junior shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs away. "Rory...nah she went back home a while ago. What’s goin’ on with you two..? She was pretty upset earlier.

Michael sat down after he helped himself to a beer. Slowly he reiterated the events of the afternoon as Junior tried to absorb what his friend was saying. I am never, never going to get myself into a relationship-it ain’t worth the hassel! He thought as he regarded Michael’s sad, drawn face.

"I am such a dumbass! I don’t deserve her..." he groaned as he put his face in his hands.

"She loves you, you idiot!"

"I want to ask her to marry me-you know, renew our vows or whatever we have to do to make it legal again. Would you be my best man?"

"Yeah...of course I will! Now will you please take your sorry ass back to your coach so I can get some sleep?? We got quals tomorrow!"

"And I got that Busch race after..." It seemed an already endless weekend just got longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rory sat on the couch in the dark coach. Where was Michael? God, she wanted so badly to talk to him. The kids were still at Darrell’s-there was no sense in dragging them out into the night. What if Junior was wrong? What if he truly was gone? The sound of the door opening broke her thoughts as Michael, exhausted and aching, walked in. They stood quietly regarding one another-neither knowing quite what to say. Michael spoke first, "It’s over Ro." One look at the shattered expression on her face and he furiously shook his head. Really bad choice of words! Dumbass!

"NO! I didn’t mean it like that!" he yelled as she sunk to the couch. "The divorce is over! It’s final! Rory, I’m sorry about what happened this afternoon! You didn’t see what you thought you saw! I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, honey I love you! Let’s just say I’m sorry for this whole sorry mess I’ve put you through...." he was almost incoherent as he dropped to his knees in front of her, wrapping his long arms around her as he buried his face against her.

She looked at his tear-stained face and tenderly kissed his soft lips. "Mikey, it’s ok luv. I forgive ya-I’m sorry I ran out on you like that too...."

He looked into her eyes as he gently took her hand and placed it to his cheek, "Would you marry me, Ro? Let’s renew them vows -I want to start all over again fresh. But I’ll tell you one thing-I ain’t ever, ever gonna let you go."

"I have no reason to ever, ever leave you. Love of my life, Michael." She gave him the sweetest kiss he ever had.

Chapter 36: Undefeated

"Undefeated, everybody goes home!" -1983 Little Steven

Junior groaned as he shuffled to the kitchenette; 8:00 and one more hour to the driver’s meeting for the Pepsi 400. Two nights of too much late night entertainment-somebody should remind Helton that not all of the drivers turn in early on the 4th of July weekend. Scratching himself and running his hand through his wiry red hair, he searched the cabinets for something suitable for breakfast. Buddy perched on the counter, eyeing him. Junior filled the cat’s bowl with his favorite tuna-flavored kibbles and glared at the feline. The smell of fish guts nearly knocked him over and he felt his gorge rising as it still floated on a lake of Budweiser and Tequila.

"Look-I know you’re in there somewhere...can’t you say something to me?" Buddy looked at him curiously and licked his nose. "Ugh! Fish-Breath!"

Shaking his head and helping himself to a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, he addressed his companion, "It’s just that I need a little advice, that’s all. I’m confused as fuck and I don’t know what to do..."

"MMrrrrowww!" Buddy chirped as he settled himself in front of Junior on the table.

Junior sighed, picking listlessly at the cereal. It all came back to that kiss. Why? He wished he had an answer. After all, Rory was for the most part, semi-conscious and even thought he was Michael to top it all off. She was so different from the other women who hung around him; trying desperately to be part of his "scene". Where his adoring groupies hung on his every word, fawning over him and trying to out-vie each other for his affections, Rory had no qualms about telling him to go to hell if need be. Perhaps she may not have been model material, but she more than made up for it in intelligence, courage and inner strength. The fact that she was better than a decade his senior didn’t phase him in the least. He wondered if she even remembered him kissing her. Not that it mattered-her heart belonged to Michael and he would have to deal with it. When he thought about all the times that Michael had screwed up, screwed around, married Buffy and generally made a king-sized clusterfuck of his life, it further convinced him that no-that big goofball did not deserve her in the least.

These thoughts swirled around Junior’s befuddled mind as he got dressed and ran a comb through his hair. Convinced that it still looked like a mess, he promptly pulled his Budweiser cap low and turned the bill around backward. He happened to look at a photo of himself, his father and Michael in front of the dock near his house. Brothers in arms, they looked as if they could take on the whole damn world. It was the taken the day that Michael had just signed his contract with DEI. Junior resigned himself to the simple fact that while Michael wasn’t always the wisest of God’s creatures, he was one of the most loyal, giving friends you could ask for. The fact that he would lay down his life for Rory, his kids or his team pulled at Junior’s own heart as he regarded the photo. Indeed, what was he thinking? Try to move in and take the one thing that Michael held dearer than his own life? Junior sighed, scratched Buddy behind the ears and headed for the door. He didn’t need any advice here-girlfriends, lovers and wives come and go but a friend would always be there when the chips are down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crowds started to find their seats as the sun dipped low in the sky. It was hot and muggy and would be most uncomfortable to the drivers; their only salvation was the race would be run at night and thus the night air would perhaps be a little cooler. Michael adjusted and pulled the top half of his firesuite over his arms and zipped it up. He was achy and sore from a brutal wreck in the previous night’s Busch race; having gotten ball-batted into the wall and then promptly piled on by two other drivers. Losing his Busch car like that did little for his disposition and the fact that Darrell was being particularly obnoxious didn’t help either. It was embarrassing to say the least that the old fool hadn’t chosen him as his pick for tonight’s race. Junior-he actually went with Junior! He harped on Michael’s inconsistency-good one week, lousy the next. And the fact that Napa had yet to re-sign as his sponsor. On top of all of this, he was still awaiting DEI’s decision as to whether he would even have a job at all next year. His musings on life’s miseries was rudely interrupted by Matt Yocum as he stuck a Fox Sports microphone in his face.

"Hey Mike! Darrell’s up in the booth and he wants a few words before you get ready to go." If Matt were a dog, he’d be wagging his tail, Michael thought , trying to find some amusement. Well, now was his chance to speak what was on his mind and the number one rule of the family: Waltrips don’t hold back.

"Hey DW, why didn’t you pick me?" he offered up an innocent grin-put the ol’ prick on the spot-see how he likes it!

In his booth, Darrell glared as Larry MacReynolds and Mike Joy glanced at one another grinning; the Waltrip family feud was on!

"Waaaalll, geeze Mikey! It’s not that I don’t think you couldn’t win..." Darrell backpedaled. "It’s just that Junior’s car looked a little stronger in practice, that’s all."

"Oh please, Darrell. You never pick me, admit it!" Michael glared into the camera. "And that business about me not bein’ in the 15 next year-I got news for ya. I WILL be in this car next year." Honestly, he didn’t know that for sure, but he had to get the dig in.

"Mikey, all I know is what I hear. The writin’ is on the wall..."

"Darrell, ever’ time you say stuff like that, it just cuts me down a little bit more.."Pausing, he went on. "But you’ll eat those words when I win tonight! I’m puttin’ my Napa Chevy in Victory Lane and you’re gonna eat those words."

"I hope so, Mikey. I hope so..."Visually wounded, but not admitting it, Darrell closed the conversation , "Take care and good luck, bud."

Michael stood silently by his car as Matt and the camera crew left. Deep inside, his own words hurt him as much as his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rory ran down pit row to John’s pit box, stopping occasionally to wish this one or that ‘good luck’ for tonight’s race. Dodging gas carts and cables, she ran smack into Junior as he headed for his car. There was something about the night race that put everyone’s adrenalin on overload.

"Hey you!" Junior grinned, knocking her pit-cap off.

Laughing, she took a swat at him as well, "Bud Brat! Good to see yer among the living!"

"Soo-ooo now, how’s things with Himself?" Junior addressed her in a comical stage-Irish brogue that never failed to put a smile on her face.

"Himself is just fine and you best be on yer toes less you’d wind up starin’ at his arse for the rest of the evening!" She grinned. Suddenly a brilliant flash caught Junior’s attention. He grabbed her hand and stared at a lovely band of diamonds set in platinum that now occupied her slender finger. He whistled low, "Holy shit, Batman! There’s enough carats to choke a couple dozen rabbits here."

"Wouldya believe the devil’s been hidin’ it for years?? He was savin’ it for the day when we could start over." An announcement from the officials for all drivers to their cars blasted out over the loudspeaker.

"I better go. I’ll be watchin’ for John and I’ll try to help him out if I can." Junior wrapped his arms around her.

"Thanks luv-good luck to you as well. Thanks for everything the other night." She held him close and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You’re not a bad kisser, either! You’ll be makin’ someone a very happy lady, someday." She winked and headed over to the Napa Chevrolet to say a quick goodbye and good luck to her Michael.

Junior grinned and shook his head, elated that she remembered after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, the towering stands shook as the pace car headed away for pit road and the 43 cars lunged as one into the first turn. Harvick clung to his narrow lead with the tenacity of a cockroach, eventually succumbing to Junior’s charging red beast that loomed in his rear-view. Happy Harvick gave the Budweiser Chevrolet a good run but in the end, it was like trying to out-run Secretariat with a mule. Junior truimphantly bulled ahead of the 29 and had every good intention of staying there. He briefly caught a quick glimpse of the fading Goodwrench Chevrolet and he could’ve swore that just for a moment, it was the black steed his father once piloted and conquered this track on so many occasions. He now shifted his focus to the business at hand as he hit the enormous banks; he knew all to well that Jeff Gordon wasn’t too far away and he was very hungry for a win.

Meanwhile, back in the top half of the pack, Michael found himself suddenly boxed in with nowhere to go. He had more car under him than the other drivers in his vicinity, but he simply couldn’t get room to turn the midnight blue rocket loose. He caught a glimpse of his old compadre, Dale Jarrett-DJ would go with him to draft if he found a hole to run in. Suddenly , as he drifted upward, his bumper contacted Johnny Benson’s rear and sent the hapless Pontiac slamming into the wall. Heart-sick that he just put another dear friend out of contention and possibly re-injuring Benson (who was just recovering from a wreck at Richmond), he immediately got on the radio to Slugger. "Tell Jimmy (Ince) that I’m sorry-I didn’t think he was that close to me! Let me know how Johnny is as soon as you find out anything."

"Roger." came the reply. "Caution’s out, Mike. How’s she handling?"

"A little loose, but she’ll tighten up as we get going. I’m playing it by ear."

In the cloistered confines of the Hollywood Hotel, Darrell thundered, "Did you see that??! That idiot driver just took out Johnny Benson! That’s terrible!"

Mike Joy looked at the replay (something that Darrell neglected to do) "Uhm, Darrell? That idiot was your brother."

Darrell paused with his mouth comically hung open. "Oh." he grinned sheepishly. He gave Joy one of those "it’s just a racin’ deal" looks with a shrug.

As soon as the debris and Johnny Benson were cleaned up, the race was under way again. Junior scrambled to retain his lead but looked up as he noticed something blue and gold looming in his rear-view. Shit! He’s got help! He stared helplessly as Michael took the bottom with Dale Jarrett in tow. Obediently he fell in behind and took his place in the draft. No sense getting into a pissing match now-I’ll help him while I can.

Dale Jarrett struggled to keep up with Michael but to no avail. The Napa Chevrolet was running as if it had wings and Jarrett’s Taurus could not stay with her. He dropped to the outside as Junior took his place. He continued to fade as once again the caution came out due to a lack of patience and slowly fraying tempers. The end result was a half-dozen wrecked vehicles sailing every which way. Now the leaders pounced on their opportunity to pit and adjust their charges.

Michael bolted ahead of Junior and regained the lead. He felt-no, he knew that he was unbeatable! There wasn’t a car out here that could pass him, let alone defeat him. Not tonight. His main concern was now a lap down. Occasionally, he would inquire to Slugger, "Where’s the 24?" Even Junior posed no threat as he struggled along in 4th. On he charged into the night, screaming along the high banks now with Junior tight behind him. Gordon made a vain attempt at one point to regain his missing lap. No way-not happenin’ tonight! Sorry, Jeffy! Michael Waltrip grinned behind his visor evilly as the Pepsi logo faded-even Wonder Boy couldn’t keep pace with him. Pumped up and continuing his charge, he tore away at the black ribbon of asphalt as the laps wound down.

Junior was content to sit where he was. Now in second, it wasn’t a bad day. But Eury’s voice on the radio nagged at him, "Get out there and pass him! You’ve got 15 laps to go!"

"I don’t want to screw us both up!" he yelled back.

"Junior, we work all fuckin’ week on that car! We give you a car that’s supposed to win! Your Daddy would expect that of you!"

Junior thought furiously, yeah and Daddy would fuckin’ kill me if I end up getting us both freight-trained. He glanced at Rusty hurtling behind him and Sterling’s silver bullet further back. Would they follow? Reluctantly, he edged the red Chevrolet out of the draft line.

And suddenly found himself being sucked back as Rusty eagerly dove into his spot. "Motherfucker!" he yelled. Goddammit! He should have known better-Rusty had never drafted with him in all the years that he raced the man. Frantically, he practically put his foot through the floor boards just to hold his spot-now sixth.

Michael looked up as Slugger warned him of Junior’s impending pass. He furiously dug in and felt the friendly tap of Rusty’s front bumper as he shot forward. Sterling sadly cast a glance at the rapidly fading Bud car, "Learnin’ ‘speriance, that’s all. Poor kid shoulda stayed put..."

Suddenly the pack in the back exploded with five laps to go. Cars ricocheted across the track; the 25 was now a fireball. Sketchy details came over the leader’s radios: Jarrett tried to pass Labonte, Bodine spun Nemechek and so went the rest. Too late and too dangerous to throw the red-flag, the cars continued their slow laps behind the pace car. No more passing now as the white flag came out. Michael’s window net was already down as they rounded the track for the last lap. As he crossed the checkers, Rusty pulled along side the Napa Chevrolet and rubbed a donut in her side while he raised a salute to Michael as the reining king of Daytona suddenly bolted for the infield. As he gleefully slung the heavy car around on the still-wet grass, the rear wheels imprinted a very visible "3" as turf was sent flying everywhere. Back wheels still spinning, Michael finally pulled the snarling beast into the hallowed Victory Lane. Yes, the race ended under caution. Yes, it was another restrictor plate win. But he won. And won big-99 laps led and he never looked back. But who was going to deny the look of unabashed joy on his face when it was only a year and a half ago that Victory Lane was a place of unimaginable heartache? His win wasn’t only a tribute to his own abilities but to the man who put his faith in a struggling, washed-up driver as he gave Michael another chance.

Thanks, Dale.

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"Hey! Aren’t you gonna go over to Michael?" yelled Kyle above the din as Rory assisted the rest of the crew in packing up John’s shattered car.

"I’ll be over by and by. I’ve a car to put away." In truth, crowds have always made Rory nervous.

"But the kids and even Buffy is over there!"

"Ach, let her have her fun. I’ll be by in a bit. He’ll get my congrats later." she grinned as she threw her headphones in the war-wagon.

Heading back to the hauler, she caught a glimpse of Junior sitting morosely by himself on the steps of the M&M war-wagon. She gave him a shy grin and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

"He’s gonna hate me for that-tryin’ to pass him. I coulda screwed us both up. Shoulda never listened to Tony..." he grumbled, half to himself.

"Stop. Now. Michael would never hate you for doing something your own father would have done. Don’t you forget for a moment, that your father woulda passed his own mother to get to the front!"

"I couldn’t pass him-nobody was gettin’ by that car tonight..." Junior shook his head.

"Damned straight, nobody was gettin’ by her-it was his night, Junior. Just a racin’ deal-your day will come too and nobody will pass you." She pulled him to his feet, "C’mon, luv. Let’s go congratulate your teammate."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they arrived in Victory Lane, the endless photos, media personnel and sponsors had finally departed; leaving only the crew, fellow drivers, family and DEI staff to kick off the late night festivities.

Michael pushed his way from Darrell’s embrace while the older man was now standing a completely ruined suite; saturated by Michael’s sweat. Spying Junior and Rory, he grabbed both of them in a bear hug. "I wondered where you two went!" Planting a deep, wet kiss on Rory’s lips, he mumbled, "Thanks for believing in me, baby."

"Don’t I get a kiss, Mikey?" Junior grinned, as his old friend grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into another throttling bear-hug. "Hey bud, you did good out there. I’m proud of you for tryin’ that move. Keeps me on my toes."

"You mean you ain’t pissed?"

"Hell no! We’re both put out here to win every week. Besides, it will shut the critics up who keep sayin’ we’re joined at the hip, butt-buddies!"

Junior stepped back and grabbed a handful of Michael’s haunch, "But you’ve got such a nice ass! You mean we ain’t really butt-buddies??" he grinned.

Michael shook his head, still grinning, "Somewhere, some village is missin’ an idiot!" He draped his arm around Rory. "Well hon, have you decided where you wanna make this official?"

"Aye-I wanna pull out all the bells’n’ whistles! But I want to have fun too..." she leaned against his shoulders, gazing lovingly up at his tired but happy face.

"Anywhere, baby. We can do this anywhere you want.."he gently bussed the top of her head.

"Vegas, baby! I want the whole Little White Church and Singing Elvis thing! I want it to be a party that nobody will forget!" Her wide grin was replaced by a somewhat somber expression as she reflected on the events of the past, "The sorrows have been feasting too well, lately." That quiet reflection was broken as the thunder from the exploding fireworks shook the ground. Michael wrapped those long arms around her as Caitlin, Mick and Macy descended on them in one huge huddle. He rested his head against hers and smiled, "Viva Las Vegas, then!" Basking in the victory and the love of his family, the last vestiges of ten years’ worth of sadness finally lifted like the smoke that drifted lazily over the grandstand on that warm and muggy summer night.

Daytona will always remain a place of tragedy and triumph. But tonight, triumph prevailed.

Chapter 37: Last Night’s Fun

Daytona 2003

"...I don’t know how you could be so friggin’ stupid!" Buffy growled as Michael sat beside her on the Napa pit wagon. "You just HAD to go three-wide! I swear as soon as we all head home, I’m taking my name off that owner’s contract!" Michael ignored her as he stared at the pregnant clouds that loomed overhead. This was the second delay due to rain and it didn’t look like it was going to get any better. Buffy had to pick this opportunity to grind into him about the previous day’s wreck. She was hell-bent on being a burr in his side right up to the end. He lazily draped his arm around her shoulders, knowing full well how much that would annoy her and grinned, "I’ve got this thing locked up. Let’s just pray for rain and enjoy the moment, Buff. You’ve been on my ass ever since yesterday afternoon! How’s I to know that LaJoie was gonna lose it and hit me?"

Buffy sat quietly by his side, not really wanting to remain there but she didn’t relish the idea of wading across the quagmire that was the motorcoach compound. Surely, the clouds will break and they would return to the track-after all, there were lights at Daytona and they could wait until midnight to finish this thing. Michael gazed at the sky for a moment and lowered his head between his hands; indeed he was praying as would any driver in his position.

He had doggedly led the race for better than 60 laps, most recently regaining the lead as Jimmy Johnson faltered in judgment and opened a hole for him to drive through. Junior was done-an electrical malfunction ending his sweep of Speedweeks. He sat dejectedly on his own war-wagon awaiting the news. In no mood to discuss his feelings with the media that swarmed like flies around pit-row, he coldly brushed them off with a "no comment, thank you."

Michael looked up the row of mobile toolboxes and covered cars. He could see Rory discussing business with Kyle and Richard. Shrugging and shaking her head, she took off her headphones and motioned for the crew to start packing up. Kyle was now 13th but John and the new driver, Christian Fitipaldi were a dismal 34th & 35th respectively. She looked up in the direction of the Napa pit box and gave a half-hearted wave. Michael’s returning salute was a good deal more enthusiastic; "I love you!" he mouthed to her. She gave him a wan smile, too discouraged at the moment to manage anything more at the moment. As if to add further aggravation, the clouds opened up again and rain began to pelt the track in sheets.

Suddenly, an official announcement came over the scanner. It was done. The 2003 edition of the Daytona 500 was in the books and Michael once again emerged on Victory’s wing. He joyously bounded off the war-wagon embracing anything in his path; nearly choking a startled Buffy who nonetheless was also caught up in the celebration.

Richard Petty shook his head as Nascar’s smallest car chief immediately began assisting the crew in pushing the tools and car back to the hauler. "Oh no you don’t!" he grabbed Rory and poked his long, slender finger at her, "Get yerself over there and give yer old man his due! I’ve got a couple dozen ol’ boys here that can put this car to bed!"

Rory growled, "Ach! Fuckin’ weather, anyway!" She was bugged and disgusted beyond words. Richard took off his shades and gave her a mock look of admonishment, "Now let’s not have that kinda talk! This ain’t DEI! We Petty’s have class!"

"Aye, that we do....sorry! It’s just so bloody discouraging. If it ain’t somebody puttin’ us in a wall, it’s the bleedin’ weather!" She gave the old man a quick hug and as she turned to head up to Victory Lane, she was nearly bowled over by Mick as he charged through the crowd. "Mum! Da’s lookin’ for ya!" Grinning ear-to ear, soaking wet and covered with what looked like half the infield, the boy was in Heaven. As his father before had watched Darrell ride herd on the pack as a boy, Mick was now the young Waltrip lad clinging to the fence watching the cars go by. Kyle affectionately ruffled Mick’s wild mop of hair, "Boy, when’s your momma gone cut that hair?"

"I’ll be right over-tell ‘im not to get his knickers in a wad!" she hollered, much to the amusement of the other crewmen. Caitlin also came bounding up with Macy trotting behind her like a little puppy. "Auntie Ro! Momma says you gotta come and get Daddy off’n her afore she kills him!" Macy squealed as she wrapped herself around Mick’s waist. Macy was still in love with her big brother and rarely let him out of her sight. Didn’t want the pit lizards to get him, she was always fond of saying. Sighing as she really didn’t want to deal with the insanity of the Victory Lane crowd, Rory grinned at Richard as she led the brood away. "We’ll see you later. Gotta liberate Buffy-we can’t be havin’ bloody murder in Victory Lane!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much, much later as Rory lovingly straddled his waist she uttered a startled squeak as she mounted and became one with him. "Yer icin’ yer lads down again, weren’t ya?!" Michael lay back, smiling, "My boy’s be chillin’!" Closing his eyes, he could finally relax and enjoy the incredible sensation of her body’s heat and gentle rocking as she slowly rode him to ecstasy.

"I take it I’ll be doin’ the work tonight, Mr. Daytona Champion!" she chuckled softly as her hands caressed his finely sculpted torso. The grueling fitness routine that he had recently put himself on was paying off nicely as her fingertips delicately massaged his well-muscled chest and shoulders and drifted down his sides and washboard-tight abdomen.

"mmmm-mmm but you do it soo good.." he groaned, enjoying the moment to it’s fullest. Ogod, she does this so good!

"By the way, you don’t have to keep tryin’ to get me pregnant..."

Now that got his attention. "Awww, honey...come on, we don’t have to give up. We could always adopt, ya know..." He pulled himself up in a sitting position as he cupped her face in his hands, "Let’s not talk about this now..."

"That’s not what I meant, luv." she whispered as she gently kissed his neck. Then it dawned on him. "You’re...?!" he smiled broadly, indeed this was a very good day!

"Aye, we’re about four weeks along now..." She gave him a deep soul-kiss and ran her fingers through his thick hair. "And if you so much as cut a single lock of this, I’ll kick your bloomin’ arse!" It always came back to the hair....

Michael gave her a lusty growl as he buried his face in her neck and pushed her back as he cheerfully pinned her to the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Las Vegas 2003

Michael and Junior prepared to get dressed and ready for the wedding at Michael’s spacious suite at the MGM Grand. A mini-reception was underway in one of the banquet rooms down the hall for the guests and along with Steve Park, the three DEI drivers were ruminating over everything from the cars, the upcoming races and various other small shop talk. Junior was struggling with a dress shirt and cufflinks while he chatted idly with Steve and tossing down a beer here and there between words.

"Hey guys, I’m gonna jump in the shower..." Michael rose and headed for the bathroom, leaving Steve and Junior to continue their conversation. Junior struggled with the fly on his drawers as he caught a bit of his shirt in the zipper. "Awww, dammit!.." As he tugged on the offending closure, the zipper started it’s way down and along the way decided to catch a very personal piece of Junior’s anatomy in it’s jaws. The resulting blood-curling shriek nearly gave Steve a heart-attack as he leaped out of his chair and sent a soaking, and very naked Michael running out of the shower. "WHAT THE HELL??!?" he yelled as he nearly broke his neck on the slippery marble floor.

Junior was now bent over double, sobbing and cursing. "I’m caught! OH JESUS!!! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! DON’T JUST FUCKIN’ STAND THERE-HELP MEEEEE! OFUCK, OFUCK!!!...." he was now reduced to the whimpering state as Steve helplessly stared at Michael.

"Hold on, bud. We’ll free ya up..c’mon Steve. I’ll get him from behind and you give it one good tug.." Michael gingerly positioned himself behind Junior, grasping him firmly around the chest.

Meanwhile out in the hall, Jeff Gordon, his teammate Jimmy Johnson and Ward Burton were in dire need of the men’s facilities. "Ah know it’s ‘round heah somewhar." Ward mumbled.

Jeff paused as they stood in front of Michael’s suite. "I think it’s right here..." He grasped the door handle.

"Hey listen! Whas goin’ on in thar?" Ward inquired as the curious sounds from within resounded out.

"It’s only gonna hurt like hell for a minute! Stand still, BudBoy!" came Michael’s voice. The sound of grunting and whimpering came from the occupants.

"AAAAHHHH! GODDAMMIT! OOOWWWWW! OWWWW!" Junior yelled as Steve knelt before him and continued to work on the errant zipper.

"Give him one good yank, Steve. Hold still, bro, it’ll be all over soon.."

"Wha’ the hell’s goin’ on in thar?" Ward wondered. "Dayum! Away’s known that Waltrip wuz quar as a duck!"

"And I’m supposed to be Nascar’s Gay Blade!" Jeff chuckle as he and his companions continued their walk down the hall. Indeed if they had opened the door and saw Steve with his head practically in Junior’s crotch and Michael buck-naked behind him, surely they would have suspected that something was up. The DEI boys would have had a whole lotta splainin’ to do!

At last, Junior’s bruised member was liberated with one final tug and he slumped to the floor in a fetal position. "Uhm, you better get some ice on that...." Michael lamely suggested, not really sure what to say at this point.

"Ugh...thanks guys...I love you guys..." Junior moaned. Looking up at Michael, he shook his head, "Dude, get dressed before you put somebody’s eye out with that thing!"

As Michael beat a hasty retreat to the bedroom to start dressing, Steve pulled his wounded teammate over to a chair. "You sure you gonna be ok?" his eyes were dark with concern for his friend.

Junior managed a weak grin, "Just give me a beer, I’ll live. Dayum that hurt!" Steve set the beer in front of Junior who promptly nestled the ice-cold Budweiser next to the injured soldier. Steve continued to gaze at him as a flood of emotions ran through him and muttered softly, "I love you too..." Rising, he quickly planted a quick kiss on Junior’s lips. Too embarrassed to stay now that his heart was on his sleeve, he backed quickly to the door, unable to look into Junior’s eyes. "Steve....wait-!" he stammered, confused, shocked, repulsed, enticed and over-all befuddled all at once. Steve turned and reluctantly looked up at him, "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.." was all he could manage. He felt like crying-for years he tried to keep his feelings for his friend in check but under the duress of the afternoon’s events, his feelings finally clawed their way to the surface of his normally stoic exterior.

Sighing, Junior staggered to his feet and embraced his old friend. "It’s ok...look, I ain’t gonna say I ain’t surprised or shocked, ‘cause I am. It’s just way, way too much for me to handle right now." Grinning, he put his arm around Steve’s shoulders, "But when I said ‘I love you guys,’ I meant every word of it. Let’s just carry on and we’ll sort this deal out when we get home, ok?" Steve silently nodded, re-assured that Junior’s word was life.

A wicked thought stole it’s way into Junior’s head as he barged into the bedroom where Michael was still bare-assed in front of the mirror, shaving. "Duck... Duck.......GOOSE!!" he bellowed as he grabbed Michael’s muscular haunches with both of his icy hands. Cackling like a loon, he turned and charged out the door and down the hall, nearly running Ward over in his haste.

"Dayum faggits..." the Catapiwa Dowdge driver muttered.

To say the wedding was a tad wild would be the understatement of the year. Most of the drivers attended the fabled Little White Chapel as Michael and Rory were scheduled to exchange vows for the second time. As Michael awaited the presentation of the bride, he eyed the guest reverend with a look of utter bemusement. Rock legend-turned Pentecostal preacher, Little Richard presided over the ceremony in a crushed velvet coat with a lacy, Edwardian shirt billowing underneath. Hair pomaded in a towering, black mass on top of his head and more makeup than most of the women in attendance, he cut a striking figure among the more sedate Nascar nation who gathered on this joyous occasion. Junior grinned and shook his head. Michael leaned close and whispered, "It was either this or a re-play of that Pagan ceremony. Just picture the Napa Chevy as the alter with candles lined up on the hood and all of us standing around naked in front of a bonfire!"

Junior shuddered at the image and stifled a giggle, "No thanks. The thought of Kurt and Spencer standing naked together is a little too disturbing!"

"Thanks for the visual!" Michael hissed. He looked up as the band took their place behind the pulpit. "Well I’ll be damned...!" Junior furrowed his brows and followed his gaze and his jaw almost hit the floor as U2 started tuning their instruments for a rudimentary sound-check. This was getting more bizarre by the minute!

The brothers Wallace were well in their cups as Rusty was already hollering out requests, "Play something Irish!" he bellowed. Kenny was singing "...and I stiiiillll haven’t fouuuund whot Ah’m loookin’ for.." at the top of his lungs and terribly off-key. Michael rolled his eyes, god just don’t let Darrell start in...!

The chiming guitar paused as Rory walked down the aisle accompanied by Richard. In place of the usual bride’s white, she strutted down the red carpet in an electric blue velvet sheath. ("Me wear white??? When you’ve plugged every orifice of my body??" was her exact quote)

As bride and groom stood together, Michael nudged Rory and whispered as he eyed the band, "Ain’t there supposed to be four of ‘em? What happened to Bono?"

"He’ll be here, don’t worry." she whispered back as she tightly held his hand. Michael smiled and admired the view as his eyes traveled over her svelte, curvy figure and ample bosom as it spilled over deeply scalloped neckline of her gown. "You look amazing, baby."

She grinned as she gave him a dirty wink, "Quit leerin’ at me! I can feel ya undressin’ me, ya nasty thing! You won‘t be sayin‘ that in six months when I‘m fat as a pig!" Michael closed his eyes as he leaned close and whispered, "Oh yes I will...I’ll be sayin’ that when we’re old and gray. Remember, you were the most beautiful pregnant woman in the world!"

Rory whispered back, "An’ yer so full of shite, tis a wonder yer eyes ain’t brown! But I love you anyway."

Little Richard cleared his throat and began to intone in a voice that could be best described as a soul-savin’, sing-song bellow that would’ve been best employed in a Saturday night tent revival. "DEARLY BELOVED ALL YOU WHO ARE GATHERED HEAH ON THIS BLESSED OCCASION!"

That mighty roar alone brought the already inebriated congregation to their feet. The distinguished reverend turned his attention to Michael, (who was looking for all the world like he was about to pass out) "Do you, Michael Curtis Waltrip take this lovely, beautiful woman for your one and only. When you come home at night and she greets her SWEET DADDY with open ARMS and gives you all that SWEET LOVIN’ she’s been hangin’ onto all day. And will you promise to love one another as you go through life’s journey together ? And be for her and her alone, SO HELP YOU GOD ALMIGHTY??"

Michael swallowed and looked at Junior who was now turning beet-red to he fought back the gale of mirth that was building inside. "uh...HELL YEAH!" Michael croaked.

"AMEN AND HALLELUJAH BROTHERS AND SISTERS!" The reverend raised his arms triumphantly and turned his attention to the petrified Rory. "And YOU, sister Rory Padraig McNeill-Waltrip, DO YOU take this blue-eyed, handsome man for

your loving husband to have and hold and ROCK HIS WORLD every night?"

"Aye..I’ll keep ’im." she stammered.

HALLELUJAH BROTHERS AND SISTERS! I now pronounce this couple as husband and wife till the good Lord calls them home! AMEN!"

Nobody knows what possessed him but Junior cut loose with a Rebel yell, "WWWWWOOOO-HOOOOO!" as Michael swept his bride up in his arms and locked his eyes and lips to hers. It was also at this point when Jimmy Spencer became afflicted with an unfortunate flatulence disorder that is still talked about to this day. As Spencer’s intestinal tract went slightly mad, the copious amount of alcohol consumed sent Kenny head-first into the punch bowl. At this point, the hired photographer sat down and began weeping...

"uhm Michael...?" The best man attempted to divert the groom’s attention, "Mikey? ...?" When polite interuption failed, the old standby worked, "Hey Dickhead! You forgot the ring!" Grinning and embarrassed, Michael took the ring from Junior’s hand and placed it on Rory’s finger.

The party was in full swing as Bono, dressed splendidly in a white sequined jumpsuit ala Elvis, emerged from the candle-lit shadows and rendered an absolutely beautiful version of "I Can’t Help Falling in Love" as Michael and Rory danced close together as if they were the only couple in the world. Nothing else mattered at the moment but their love that had bonded them together since that Spring day long ago in Bristol. She was still his angel of Thunder Valley and he was still her errant knight. One song, two hearts, one love.

The other couples also found the floor as Bono crooned away to "Unchained Melody" while the Edge turned his guitar into an orchestra. Kyle and Patti, Dale and Kelly, Kevin and Delana and even Darrell and The Redhead found themselves gazing into the eyes of their beloved. Junior raised his beer in a toast to the bride and groom and gave a silent wink to Steve. Tonight all was right in their world and who knows what tomorrow will bring? Be it happiness or heartache, life or death-in the end, true love will endure.

Ain’t love grand? ’Tis.

FIN.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bill for wedding as follows:

Ceremony, chapel and limo: $45000.00

Appearance fee for U2: donated

Reception area repairs after riot between Hendrick, DEI and Wallace Brothers: $75000.00

Removal of 2003 Monte Carlo from Ceasar’s Palace Fountain: $2500.00

Replacement of #8 Budweiser Chevrolet due to water damage: $200000.00

Memories for a lifetime: PRICELESS

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