Chapter 13: Chicagoland 2005

"we live and learn by our mistakes,
the deepest cuts are healed by faith..."

Chicago Speedway

Junior made his way through the throngs to his coach as dusk began to fall on the speedway. His heart ached as though someone had put it in a vice. Nearly getting his ass kicked by Michael’s thirteen year-old son had at last painfully opened his eyes. After weeks in denial, the realization that his actions destroyed the precious bond of friendship, gnawed at his soul. How could he ever expect Michael to forgive him? He had planned on visiting him this week but ever since the announcement was made of his return to the track, he didn’t have one moment to himself. As soon as he was well enough, Michael had tried unsuccessfully to call him-the calls going unreturned as Junior still could not bring himself to talk to the man. Rory didn’t trust him, he could see it in her eyes-especially after he promised to pay Michael a visit and again failed to follow through. And Mick. From the day he first met the kid blissfully clutching the wheel of the old Napa Chevrolet in the DEI race shop, he became attached to boy. The first 10 years of Mick’s life had been spent in Ireland; never knowing his father until he and Rory returned to North Carolina in ‘01. He became the little brother that Junior never had; a constant companion always tagging along and soaking up every bit of information and racing lore like a sponge. Mick looked up to Junior almost as much as he did Michael; respected him, idolized him-Junior represented everything he hoped he could be someday. Now it was all gone. Michael’s absence alone left a mile-wide chasm in his heart. Everything I touch turns to shit, he reflected sadly as he turned into the Budweiser garage. So lost in his own thoughts, he paid no mind to the chaotic world around him.

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Mick tore through the garage area , frantically trying to find Junior; the words of Richard still echoing in the recesses of his mind. He thought of Taylor and how hurt she had been by his anger and bitterness towards Junior. If for no other reason, he would find forgiveness in his heart for her. He nearly knocked Jeff Gordon over as he barreled around a corner at top speed.

"Hey, bud!" Jeff laughed catching him before he did a face-plant into the side of the Dupont Chevrolet. "Where’s the fire?"

"Uhmmm..sorry, Jeff. You seen Junior?" he panted, his chest felt like it was going to burst any minute.

"Yeah-saw him heading to his garage a little while ago." offered Robbie Loomis. "Heard your dad might be coming home soon.."

"Yeah...we’re all pretty excited." Mick grinned, "He can’t wait to come home."

Jeff offered the boy a Pepsi, but Mick shook his head, "No thanks, can’t touch the stuff."

"Say...there’s an intern spot opening up at our shop this fall if you’re interested. You’d be an incredible asset, Mick."

Mick’s thick brows furrowed, "Internship? Really?! I’d love to..uhm but I’d better clear it with Mum first...." The thought of working for Hendricks Motorsports made the boy’s head spin. DEI would have been the natural choice, but Ty Norris routinely shot down any requests to allow him in any of the team’s shops. (the usual excuses being he was too young )

"Great! Tell you what-I’ll give your mom a call, I’ll talk to Rick and I’ll try to stop out later this week." He glanced at his watch, "Better get going if you want to find Junior-heard there’s a throw-down over at Tony Stewart’s tonight."

"Thanks, Jeff-I mean it!" Mick shyly grinned and scurried off towards the Budweiser garage.

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"Hey! Junior!" Junior continued about his business, ignoring the voice behind him. "Uncle Jun!" Now he spun around as Mick plowed into him. "Hey, yourself!" Neither could find the words to say as they stood facing each other. Mick looked into the sad, weary eyes gazing back at him and he knew deep in his heart he had all the answers he needed. How could he go on hating someone who had already lost so much in his short life? His own eyes welled up with unshed tears as he choked back a sob that caught in his throat. "I’m sorry" he whispered.

Mindless of the curious on-lookers, Junior wrapped his arms around the lanky boy as his own tears fell, "I’m sorry too..." Quietly, Junior made a vow to himself to put things right in his life if it was the last thing he did.

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

The flaming red blur that was the Budweiser Chevrolet cut through the pack like a hot knife through butter. Junior was back where he belonged and it felt good. He pushed this morning's driver's meeting out of his mind and the irritating feeling of everyone's eyes on him-watching his every move as if he were a convicted killer out on parole. He had been expecting the reaction-the whispers, sudden cessation of conversation whenever he approached, even the rumors circulating that he had been barred from racing. He knew there were some that wouldn't put the memory of Talladega to rest-he felt the nudge of one such driver now as he glanced up and spied the 22 Caterpillar Dodge in his rear-view. He's not getting by me, Junior muttered as he slid down the track, trying to put some daylight on the yellow and black Dodge that clung to his bumper like an angry wasp. Again, he felt a sharper tap and this time the 8 wavered and bobbled. Junior held her firmly in the groove as he refused to give up the lead.

Ward Burton ducked below the 8; shadowing the Monte Carlo-so close, he was practically rubbing the paint off her. Glowering in the direction of the other car, he muttered, "Payback's a bitch, ain't it?" The 22 began a gradual climb back up the apron, pushing the 8 closer to the wall and out of the groove. He felt a retaliatory bump back as Junior tried to push him back down. When he didn't budge, Junior slammed into him again. The others dropped back, anticipating an inevitable wreck; having no desire to become part of it. Except Steve-the 43 STP Dodge tore after the 22 and the 8 as if possessed.

Junior's radio crackled to life with Rory sputtering, "What the hell are you doing?? Let Burton go! Don't fight with him-that's just what he wants!"

"Ro-he damn near put me in the wall! I ain't takin' that shit!"

"You'll take his shit an' like it! You're on probation, remember?? Helton just called me-you're a pubic hair away from getting flagged! I'm on my way over to Frank Stoddard now-you back off immediately !"

Shit-she was right...Junior eased up on the throttle as the 22 took another swing at him. The 8 glided further up the track and seized the outside retaining wall; scraping and carving a crimson streak against the white concrete. Ward Burton shot to the lead as the Budweiser Chevrolet floundered; it’s right front tire blown and already shredded to ribbons. A plume of gray smoke issued from the side of the car as Junior deftly avoided the thundering pack and headed for the apron. The caution was out once again.

Rory vaulted off the war wagon and Frankie Stoddard winced as he watched her heading toward his own crew. He knew it was coming and he braced himself.

"Frankie! I thought I told you to tell Mushmouth to back the fuck off my car!" she yelled as the officials hovered near by in the hopes of avoiding the potential for bloodshed.

Stoddard shrugged helplessly. He was fond of Michael and Rory-as far as he was concerned you couldn’t ask for two finer people. But there was no love lost between Ward and Junior-numerous encounters on the track over the years had cultivated and nurtured the bad blood between them. The accident at Talladega was the icing on the cake.

"Ro-I told him to back off-hell, Mike Helton himself is gonna have a little get-together after the race and I’m sure we’re gonna get fined up the ass for this. But there’s only so much I can do....." he finished lamely.

Rory sighed as she watched the 8 hobble down pit-row; the ruined tire had tore the front quarter panel to pieces as it flopped comically beside the car. "I know, Frankie...he dug his own grave here-I told him there was a lot of ill feelings and resentment." She shook her head as she headed back to her pit box. The Brew Crew was already at work on the quarter panel and all four tires had been replaced. Composing her own rattled emotions, she picked up her radio. "How ya doin’, Jun." she inquired, simply trying to gage what frame of mind her driver was in.

"I’m ok-he rattled my cage, but I’m ok. I’ll deal with it."

"Good-here comes the rest of ‘em-get out there and light it up."

"10-4."

She momentarily paused to pick up her cell phone that had been ringing incessantly. Normally, she would have let her voicemail pick it up but for some reason she looked at the incoming call number. Michael. Inhaling sharply, she motioned for Bones to keep an eye on things while she took the call.

"Michael! Is everything alright?......That’s wonderful! .....No..no-he’s doing fine-little mishap with Mushmouth but he’ll survive. Can’t guarantee a top 10, but he’s definitely back in the game.....gotta go-I’ll call you later, darlin’. I love you too...bye now." Now smiling for the first time all day, she returned to the war wagon. Tony Jr. cast a curious look at her as she sat quietly, still smiling as she watched Junior chasing down the field.

"Everything ok?"

"Aye." She wiped a tear from her eye, "My Michael is finally coming home."

As the race wound down to the white flag and final lap, Brendan Gaughan once again dominated the field and brought the 15 home to victory. After the obligatory hat dance, photo session and post-race interviews, the teams disbanded and began the arduous task of packing up and heading home. Rory was pleased with Junior’s 12th place effort-had he not run afoul with Burton, he may very well have won. Still, this race was a step in the right direction. She waved to Slugger as she fell in beside him on the way to the helicopter that would take them to O’Hare International. He had an uncharacteristic look of bemusement on his face as he threw his duffle bag in the back.

"Hey-congrats again, to ya. Brendan’s a wonder out there, ain’t he?" she chuckled. When Slugger didn’t reply, she nudged him. "What’s wrong?" she inquired, brows furrowed.

Slugger sighed, "I dunno-I just got a weird feeling from Ty after the race."

"How so?"

He shook his head, "He just said something that didn’t set right. First he asked me how I’d feel if he made Brendan a permanent addition to DEI and then asked if I’d like to stay on as his crew chief. I told him that I’d love to see Brendan drive for us but I’m committed to Michael when he returns. Ty just kinda laughed and said ‘I wouldn’t hold my breath!’ It just struck me as a low thing to say."

"I’ll talk to Ty about this Monday morning-maybe he was just wanted to start the #1 team up again. I know they were looking at Shane to fill that seat, but who knows what’s going to happen with that kid’s Busch commitments?" She placed her hand on his shoulder, "I wouldn’t worry about it-Michael’s got a contract with DEI for another 2 years-they couldn’t possibly think of replacing him-he’s coming home this week and the doctors have said he was weeks ahead of schedule in his physical therapy."

Staring out the window, Slugger sighed, "I hope you’re right...."

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Monday morning, DEI headquarters

Ty shuffled through Michael’s contract and reviewed the clause that Dale had wanted amended but had never gotten around to it. It was a standard clause found on many driver’s contracts-nothing unusual and most of the time it was never acted upon.

Article 40C: "In the event that named driver should be deemed physical unfit due to injury, sickness, loss of limb or other infirmaries, aforementioned driver will be replaced immediately and duly compensated the remainder net worth of his contract. All insurances and benefits will also terminate upon his dismissal......"

He glanced at the summary from Michael’s own doctor, detailing the surgeries and injuries sustained in the Talladega wreck. As far as Ty was concerned, they justified the reasoning that Michael would never be sound enough to safely drive again. Plus there was the whole issue with Michael’s age-he was 43 now-how many more years did he actually plan on driving anyway? Further convinced that he was doing the right thing, he drew up the termination request and compensation packet. Michael would be home on Wednesday-let him get settled and let this go another week. But it must be handled and dealt with soon-no sense prolonging the inevitable.

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Chapter 14: Coming Home

August 2005

Almost four months to the day, after enduring six different operations and countless hours of physical therapy and countless more to go, Michael was finally going home. He hopped over to the window to look out at the bright sunshine and the world that had seemingly gone on without him. Grabbing the crutches that leaned against the wall, he made an effort for a morning walk down the hall to the newsstand and a cup of coffee in the lounge. There wasn’t a moment that went by that he wasn’t in some sort of pain-by now, he was so used to it, the pain became just another sensation.

The little newsstand seemed like a mile away as he slowly made his way down the hall. He could put his weight on his right leg, but the left one was still too painful and weak to bear the full brunt of it. Pausing to catch his breath for a moment, he continued on. By the time he grabbed a copy of the Winston Cup Scene and managed to situate himself awkwardly on a couch in the lounge, every joint in his body was one dull, throbbing ache.

The nurse at the administration desk walked over, concerned as she regarded the pain etched in his face. "How ya doin’ there, Mikey? Is there anything I can get for you?" There wasn’t a soul working this unit that didn’t admire the heart and quiet determination that Michael exhibited as he fought his way to recovery.

Michael looked up and managed a wan smile, "I’m ok-just aches a little more than usual today. Sucks gettin’ old!"

"Ok-but remember, if you need something, just holler." She shook her head, smiling herself and returned to her duties.

Michael flipped through the paper, browsing the headlines. One caught his attention and his eyes narrowed to the fine print.

".....and in the Silly Season Rumor Of The Week department, former CTS and Winston West Champion Brendan Gaughan has been rumored to be replacing Michael Waltrip in the #15 Pennzoil Chevrolet for Dale Earnhardt Inc. No comment from DEI CEO Ty Norris and the rest of the camp is keeping mum......"

Michael sat the paper down with a sigh, rested his forehead against his hand and reflected on his predicament. If there was one thing his lay-up gave him, it was an over-abundance of time. Time to reflect, think and sort out the things that seemed so important from those things that really were. It had crossed his mind many times that there was a chance that he would lose his ride with DEI. Given the current environment, did it even matter anymore? DEI reflected Dale Earnhardt in name only-any further resemblance to the company his old friend founded so many years ago, was by coincidence. Gone was the feeling of brotherhood among the drivers and their teams. Under Dale’s wing, each individual team still functioned as a unit together-all the equipment and support was divided equally. Now, the focus of the company was strictly behind Junior as it milked it’s golden cash cow for every cent he was worth, until Ty Norris found another to take his place. Despite his championship standing, Michael and his Pennzoil team were duly given their accolades and equipment as one would give a faithful old dog a bone.

At one time, this speculation was the stuff of the internet rumor mill. Two years ago, even the shadow of a rumor such as this would have driven Michael into a blind rage. Now he just chuckled bitterly to himself as he resigned himself to the cold, hard facts. Somehow deep in his heart, he knew it was true. Norris had been looking to get rid of him for years and now was as good a time as any. The infirmity clause in his contract did not escape him. Neither did his age-he was no longer among the trumpeted , money-making "young guns". But he wasn’t done.....not now, not yet....for if Norris was assuming he was going to pack it in and retire to the announcer’s booth, he was gravely underestimating Michael-not that it was any great novelty.

For Michael Waltrip had been underestimated all his life. Throughout his entire racing career, he had to fight for everything he had ever received. Every ride, every sponsor’s name to grace the side of his car, every scrap of recognition outside of his brother’s shadow , even the right to prove he belonged on the same track as the other drivers-Michael didn’t know there was any other way for him. Above all, Michael was a survivor. There was a reason he was brought back from Death’s door, he wasn’t through by any means.

Besides-as Leroy and Dale had said, he had work to do.

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A little while later, he was back in his room. Bored with the re-runs of the World Rally on the Speed Channel, he testily turned the television off and returned to his familiar seat by the window. Glancing at his watch for the umpteenth time, he knew Rory was probably still wrapping up from the weekend race and subsequent meetings. She also had to pick up the kids-she was definitely going to need Mick’s assistance in getting him in the truck. Still he looked forward to the evening when he could finally feel her warm presence curled up beside him and her head on his shoulder. So lost in his thoughts of her, he didn’t hear the knock on the door. Only when Dr. Anderson cleared his throat, did he look up from his musings.

"Hey doc!" Michael grinned as he turned away from the window. He was anxious to be home and it was doing him no good to sit and gaze at the passing humanity outside. He longed to feel the warmth of the sun and the songs of the birds from his old back porch at home. It was typical late summer day in North Carolina-hot and still with a few white thunderheads on the distant horizon. By the time they finish their march across the sky, the hot sun would evaporate them before rain ever had a chance to grace the parched earth below. Cicadas buzzed and hummed in the shimmering heat while hummingbirds darted among the honeysuckle vines. He could almost smell those honeysuckle blossoms and the lavender and roses in Rory’s garden. This was the world that he longed to be a part of once again.

Michael hobbled over and sat on the edge of the bed. He still wore a long cast that extended from his hip to his knee-lighter than the original heavy plaster, but still just as constricting. Itchy, uncomfortable and growing increasingly miserable from the anticipation of his freedom, pretty much summed up his prickly disposition. Still, he was ever-thankful to be alive when he contemplated the alternative. John Anderson smiled sadly as he helped ease his patient into a more comfortable position on the bed. He could see the familiar expression of pain reflecting in Michael’s eyes. "Can I get you a little something for that pain before it starts gettin’ too bad to stand it? Y‘know the longer y’all wait to take those anti-inflammatory pills, the longer y’all have to wait for ’em to take effect." Michael hated taking those drugs as he was afraid of becoming dependent on them, but he nodded and swallowed the two Anderson offered with a swig of Coke. He lay his head back on the pillow for a moment, trying to relax a little.

The fact that he had recovered at all was a miracle in itself. Dr. John Anderson had attended to many injured and paralyzed drivers, but few had the courage to get back to their pre-accident form and continue driving. Just about all of them had retired after their devastating injuries had nearly taken their lives. Some tried to come back for a few weeks but in the end, they also walked away from the sport. But none of them wore the title of champion or the name of Waltrip.

"Y'all know, I'm gonna need to see you in physical therapy for the next six months at least three times a week..." he began while Michael barely heard him. His eyes were focused somewhere else, beyond the window. The only thing on his mind at the moment was freedom from this place and home. "You're gonna have to take it easy with any home exercise as well-I've still got some major concerns about that fractured vertebrae." Grinning to himself and shaking his head, "You ain't heard a dang thing I've told you..."

"Hmmm? Yeah-I gotcha...take it easy...no problem." Michael mumbled absently.

Anderson poked his finger in Michael's chest, "And don't even think of getting in one of those cars-I mean it. I don't care if you drive your truck-but stay outta those cars. I don't care if your wife has to strap you to that bed, I don't want to turn on my television for the next eight months and see you on the track!"

"Oh don’t worry, Sawbones! We’ll be keepin’ an eye on ‘im!" Rory chuckled as stole quietly in the room with Mick, Caitlin and Darrell in tow. She walked over to the bed and gently kissed Michael on the lips as he drowsily gazed up at her. The pain relievers had a codeine base and they made him a bit sleepy. "Think you can make the ride home, luv?" He nodded as Mick and Darrell took their place to help him up.

Anderson shook his head, "We’ll get a chair to take you out in-we can’t just let you walk out on your own anyway-hospital regulations. We can‘t take a chance on ya fallin’ in the parkin’ lot and suing our backsides off!"

Rory thumbed through the discharge paperwork and related insurance information, "I’ll take care of this stuff. All packed and ready to head out?"

"I’ve been packed and ready to head out since I got here." Michael chuckled softly as he carefully situated himself in the wheelchair. "Jesus, I feel like an invalid..." he muttered.

"At least they let you wear proper pajamas! I had to parade around in this open-ended nightmare of a hospital gown with my bare caboose hangin’ out!" grunted Darrell as he gave his brother an affectionate poke. "You remember that, dontcha sister?" he grinned at Rory mischievously.

"How could I possibly forget." she drolly replied. Even before the ever-inquisitive Mick could pipe up with the inevitable ‘what happened?’, Rory related the incident. "When your uncle Darrell had a bad wreck at Daytona, they kept him in the hospital for an overnighter. Bein’ the miserable creature he is, he had enough of the place and proceeded to march his bare-arsed self straight out into the hall and down to admissions to check himself out."

Caitlin shuddered, "Ugh! Thanks for the visual!" The man formally known as Jaws snickered evilly to himself as he remembered fondly his knack for bedeviling anyone in his path and leaving chaos in his wake.

Anderson shook the hand of his patient, "Good luck Michael-you’re truly an inspiration to us all." Michael returned the handshake and smile, all the while thinking of home and a decent meal.

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Much, much later that evening, Michael fell back on the bed with a groan. "Those goddamn stairs are gonna be the death of me!" His heart slammed violently against his chest and every muscle, joint and tendon in his hip and legs throbbed with pain. Rory sat beside him, gently massaging his temples while she held his head in her lap. "We can set up a bed downstairs in the parlor, darlin’. I can’t see torturing yourself like this...."

Michael shook his head, "No-the exercise will do me good. I can handle it." Rory said nothing as she drew herself around him. It was heartbreaking to see him hurting so much and to be so powerless to do anything about it but lend him the comfort of her company. His harsh breathing steadied as he nuzzled against her, "It’s so good to be home, baby-you have no idea."

"Oh I do. This is the first time I’ve slept in this bed since you’ve been gone. This has been our bed since you first bought this place all those years ago." she smiled gently, gazing into his eyes.

"Did I tell you I finally talked to Junior?" he said softly. Now Rory propped herself up on her elbow.

"What? You called him and got through?"

"Nah-he called me. We talked for a little while-nothing major. Y’know, it really bothered the hell outta me at first when I didn’t see him or talk to him for weeks after the accident. Pissed me off that he was wallowing in his own little world-like he was the only one who suffered." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "But ya know somethin’, hon? Life’s too short to fuck around and hold a grudge. If he wants to come by, I told him fine-if he don’t, well that’s cool too-whatever. He has to live with his decisions and the consequences, not me. I came through this deal alive and I’m home-now that’s all that matters." He gently pulled Rory close and kissed her, "You and our kids are all that keeps me alive, baby. I mean it, Ro. I love you."

Eyes shining through her tears, she pressed her face against him, "I love you too, Michael."

Michael flipped the light off and settled in as the comforting aura of home enveloped him. Outside, the crickets serenaded the passing of summer as the Harvest Moon rose orange and hazy through the night sky.

Autumn was on the wing and soon the Cup season would wind down to those last precious points. He looked forward to the few months of recuperation and before long, preparation would begin all over again for Daytona. Yawning, he burrowed his face against Rory’s neck and soon he was sleeping soundly as the night surrendered to the songs of the night.

Chapter 15: Checkmate

One cautious step at a time, Michael agonizingly made his way down the stairs as the morning sounds and tantalizing smells wafted up from the kitchen. His noisy brood was already squabbling like a clutch of hungry magpies with their mother and the love of his life barking orders like a drill sergeant. Beavis, the ancient yellow Labrador, thumped his tail and whimpered excitedly at the sight of his beloved master on the landing. Michael smiled tenderly at his old friend, he often wondered how much longer the old dog could hang on to his fragile life. "Hey boy..." he slowly bent to scratch the dog’s ears as Beavis leaned against him. Together, they made their slow way out into the dining room.

"Do you need any help, darlin’?" Rory looked up concerned as Michael stiffly situated himself in a counter barstool. "I didn’t hear you come down-I’m so used to you not bein’ here...." she gently kissed his cheek and he held her close. "It’s so good to have you home, Mikey..."

"I know, baby...I missed you all so much..." he whispered. He looked up and grinned, chuckling softly, "Remember that when you’re waiting on me hand and foot!"

"Oh you!" she laughed "that’s the man I missed!" Turning with a plate of fresh biscuits and gravy , she glanced up at the clock, "Mick-Bobby said he’d take you to Hendricks this morning-so you best be gettin’ ready."

Michael arched his eyebrows, "Hendricks Motorsports?"

"Aye-Jeff got him an internship there a couple weeks ago. Do want eggs, luv?"

"Yeah-over easy, babe. Now back up a minute-I’ve been after Ty to get him into our shops-what happened?"

"Ty is being a prick as usual. Refused to let Mick so much as sweep the floor! Said he‘s too young and we can‘t risk the liability!" Rory growled, "In fact-he’s callin’ a meeting next week with you an’ Slugger. There’s something going on and I never could trust that man as far as I could throw his dandy arse!" she spat. "There’s been rumors all over the place with everybody an’ their brother replacin’ you and he’s done nothing to dispel a single one." Now Caitlin and Mick looked up questioningly from their breakfast as Rory immediately regretted saying anything that would add to their children‘s worries. Michael’s injuries and absence added to the pall that had settled on the Waltrip estate and the almost daily Silly Season updates that speculated on his future didn’t help alleviate the situation.

"Dad-he’s not going to fire you, is he?" whispered Caitlin. "It wasn’t your fault you got hurt!" Mick also gazed up wide-eyed and expectantly at his father’s tired visage.

Michael shook his head, "Honey-don’t worry about it. It ain’t your place to worry...none of you should be worrying. We’ll all deal with it if and when it happens." he said firmly. "No sense frettin’ about things we can’t change-Ty IS a prick an’ there’s no changin’ THAT! We got each other and that‘s all that matters-the rest is gonna have to work itself out."

A soft knock at the door interrupted any further discussion on the exact classification of Ty Norris. "Come in!" Michael hollered. Kelley and Taylor poked their heads in the half door.

"Uncle Mikey! You’re home!" Both girls nearly knocked Michael off his feet as they embraced him. Michael winced as he felt his tender ribs getting a vigorous workout from the ferocious bear-hugs. "Take it easy! I’m gettin’ too old to get molested!" he grinned. Rory shook her head as she casually pinched his rump on the way to the dish washer. "Ach...you’re startin’ to sound like your brother...."

"Hey Mick...gonna go trail riding with us this afternoon?" Taylor quietly perched beside him, smiling coyly.

Looking at Rory’s arched eyebrows as she regarded him, Mick swallowed nervously, "Uhm...I gotta go to Hendricks until two...I’m free after!" he added hopefully. Mick’s internship with Jeff was something many, many aspiring young drivers would consign their very souls to the devil himself for a chance at an apprenticeship with the four-time champion. Coming from a racing family herself, Taylor knew the importance of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Squeezing his hand under the table, she grinned, "I’ll wait for ya. Those horses aren’t going anywhere!"

"In fact, we’re kinda heading out that way, if you want a lift." Kelley gave him a poke, duly noting the budding affection between the two. The interplay of the future lovebirds wasn’t lost on Michael either as he cast a look of droll amusement towards his wife. Rising to help himself to another cup of coffee, he whispered, "Uhm...did we ever have ‘The Talk’ with the boy?"

"What talk?" Rory muttered as she cleared away the plates.

"You know...birds an’ bees stuff..."

"Stop it!" she hissed through her teeth, "you have any idea how old this is makin’ me feel? Seems like he was in nappies an’ I was wipin’ his arse yesterday!"

Caitlin brushed by them both on her way out the door, "Looks like somebody has a girlfriend" she giggled. "Macy is gonna be pissed!"

Michael and Rory quietly watched Mick chattering away with Kelley and Taylor. "We’re gonna have a devil of a time with him-he’s gonna have a trail of broken hearts from here to Daytona." she muttered. "Course it’s all your fault..."

"Mine?!"

"Aye-look at the head on ‘im-adorable an’ cocky as hell." she shook her head, "He gets it from you, ya know."

"Ro-he’s only thirteen...when I was his age, I still thought girls had cooties!"

"Yer lyin’ through yer teeth an’ ya know it! Accordin’ to yer brother, Himself said ya had a whole stable of girlfriends by the time you were but a lad of fifteen! You were quite the Casanova! Even had some older ladies givin’ ya lessons! Plucked more times than the Rose of Tralee!" Though she was joking, their eyes locked and the almost forgotten stirrings of arousal awoke deep within them. Gently brushing her lips, parting them with the barest flick of his tongue, he whispered, "I’m damn better than Casanova and you know it..!"

In the dining room, the sounds of chairs scraping the hardwood floor and the thundering herd was on it’s way out the door. Taylor threw her arms around Michael one more time, "I’m so glad you’re home, Uncle Mikey..."

"I’m glad to be home, pumpkin-now keep go on an’ keep my boy outta trouble!" Michael grinned and gently kissed her forehead. "Make sure y’all stop by for dinner on your way back from your ride later."

"Later!" Mick grinned as he charged off the front porch after the others.

Finally the house was quiet as Kelley pulled her Impala out of the yard and down the long, winding driveway. Rory rested her head against Michael’s chest, enjoying the solitude and the sound of his heart beating. Looking up and gently caressing his cheek, she couldn’t help but notice that sad, faraway look on his face. Sighing, he rested his chin against her head as she held him tightly. "What is it, Mikey?" At first, he just shook his head and continued to gaze out past the hills and the pines in the distance.

"Please tell me-something’s bothering you. I can feel it."

He looked at her for a moment then closed his eyes. "Just feelin’ old all of a sudden, that’s all." Although he couldn’t bring himself to say it, he idly wondered if he could still satisfy her and ignite the fire that once burned so brightly between them. As if to answer his unasked questions, Rory pulled his face to hers, deepening her kiss. "Where were we before the kids left?" she murmured, urging him over to the leather sectional in the living room. Her hands gently pushed his robe apart; caressing his chest and gently tracing the still-angry looking scars that were left to remind him of his own mortality. Slipping out of the simple t-shirt and sweat pants, she stretched out beside him as their bodies became one. Easing herself so she was gingerly straddling his hips, Rory carefully shifted her weight; ever mindful of his injuries. When a brief flash of pain reflected in his eyes, she nearly dismounted when he grasped her hips. "I don’t want to hurt you, darlin’..." she whispered.

"I’m ok-just a little achy." He rose slightly to meet her lips, "Please baby...stay here..." he said, his voice low and husky. "I need you so much."

Rory closed her eyes as she felt his hot mouth on her neck; each kiss trailing like fire. Tangling her fingers in his shaggy, ebony locks, she lifted her hips slightly as he pulled her onto his throbbing manhood. She slowly moved her hips back and forth as his hardness filled her. Time and the rest of the world faded away as Michael and Rory reaffirmed their love that had endured so much; dormant lust now awakened. The birds and insects droned away outside as a gentle late summer breeze caressed them, carrying the fragrant scents from the garden. Nature’s orchestra competed against Jimmy Buffet as he extolled the virtues of Margaritaville softly on the kitchen radio. How many times had she come close to losing him forever? Rory shook the thought from her mind as tears stung her eyes. Heart aching with an overwhelming surge of emotion, Rory gazed into Michael’s eyes as she felt the hot rush of his orgasm. Ignited by the heat of his passion, she found herself drowning in waves of ecstasy. Sweating profusely, Michael rested his head against her shoulder, heart slamming almost violently against his breast. He lay back as Rory curled up on his chest. A faint smile curled his lips, "I still got it, baby.."

"Aye...my love, that you do..." she whispered, tenderly kissing him.

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

A week later found Michael in an irritable mood as he had just returned from the clinic to have the awkward cast removed. Relieved that the bothersome thing was no longer attached to his leg, he still walked with a noticeable limp. Long scars traversed the length of his shattered femur and the ravages of the accident along with the confines of the cast, left the once superbly muscled leg somewhat withered and weak. A regiment of light treadmill exercise and eventually some moderate jogging would restore some of the strength but he would never be sound enough to compete in his beloved marathons. The prospect of enduring more physical therapy and an upcoming meeting with Ty added to Michael’s already foul disposition. Slugger rose from his seat on the waiting room couch as Michael exited the doctor’s office.

"How’d it go? I see they took the cast off-that’s great!" Slugger grinned. "We’ll have you back in that car in no time!" Inside, he was desperately hanging on to the hope that everything would be ok when they arrived at DEI. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that just wouldn’t go away-the one that told him not to get his hopes up. Ty Norris had been very absent from the office of late-most of Slugger’s inquiries regarding the team for next year were rebuffed with a "We’ll talk about that when the time comes-let’s concentrate on salvaging this year." Michael smiled sadly at him, "Just be prepared for the worst and hope for the best, bro. You and I know how Ty is so let’s not shit ourselves."

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

Junior looked up from the pile of fan mail he had been looking through at the soft knock on his office door. "Ty...what’s up, man?"

"Say-remember how you’ve been wanting to get more into the managerial end of business around here? I need your assistance on something this morning." Ty chose his words carefully as Junior looked up.

"What’s up?" Junior’s brows furrowed slightly. Something was amiss here-he could sense it.

"I’ve got to woo a couple of new execs from Pennzoil this morning and I need your help with a rather delicate matter." As Earnhardt blue eyes bore into him, Ty shifted uneasily like a rat caught in a leg-hold trap.

"Delicate matter? Quit fuckin’ around and spill your guts dude-I ain’t got all day."

Sighing, Ty dropped a heavy personnel folder on Junior’s desk. "We’re letting Michael go-should’ve been done weeks ago, but I wanted to wait until he was home and settled." Junior’s jaw dropped momentarily as he glared at Ty.

"Where’s Teresa?" he snapped, "Doesn’t she have any say in this? You know damn well how my feelings are-"

"She’s in Daytona right now organizing next tribute concert. Junior, we’ve both gone over this and Teresa and I both agree that Michael is a liability now. If you read the outlined clause in his contract regarding injuries and disability-"

"The fucking clause that Daddy wanted taken out but you never fucking bothered! Now you’re conveniently worming your way out of this while leaving the dirty work up to me!" Junior snarled, flinging the file across the room. "How could you do this to him?! After all he did for this fucking company! He carried this goddamn place and you know it!"

"Dale-can you stop your idiotic ranting for a moment and think?" Ty snapped, "This is business-Michael himself was always one to put the team and DEI first. Jesus, Dale-I thought you could handle this. Now listen to me-get yourself an extra helping of backbone, and get this done." Ty paused for a moment-he didn’t want to bring this up, but it looked like he was going to have to go for the heavy artillery. He reached in his briefcase and pulled out a yellow interoffice mailer. Casually tossing it on the desk, he added with acid dripping from his voice, "There’s another reason I think it would be wise to separate the two of you. I think these pictures speak for themselves. I apologize for the shoddy quality but that’s the best I can get from that security cam in your condo."

Hands shaking, Junior took one look at the photos. Grainy and dark, there was still no question who the subjects were as he regarded the image of himself wrapped in Michael’s embrace. "Never mind how I got them-the surveillance camera was your idea, remember? And Dale-it goes without saying that if you want to remain with this company, you’re going to have to start performing as well. Do I make myself clear?" Wordlessly Junior nodded. What else could he do at this point. "I thought you’d understand..." Ty smiled thinly as he turned for the door.

When he left, Junior sat at his desk with his face in his hands. That bastard, he thought. Norris knew damn well what he was doing-just like he did when he let Steve go. How can I do this to him? I’m just starting to patch things up between us.... He looked out the window as Slugger’s dark blue Silverado pulled into the driveway. He never felt so helpless in his life as he prepared to seemingly put another nail in the coffin of his relationship with Michael. As he watched his friend approaching walking stiffly with Slugger at his side, a million images flashed through his mind. He wondered if this was finally the end of their friendship. He felt like Judas-betrayed with a kiss, he thought bitterly.

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

Chapter 16: New Beginnings

Michael paused for a moment in the front foyer of the immense structure known as the "Garage Majal". Junior’s Daytona 500 winner sat parked as the focal point next to his car and further back, the fabled black #3. It was this vehicle that drew Michael over for a moment. He gently rested his hand on the roof as if it were a living thing. As if he were trying to make communion with it’s former master. I’m sorry I’ve failed you, he whispered as he looked up at a towering banner bearing the image of his old friend. Slugger stood quietly beside him, not sure what to say. Both men looked up as Ty Norris made his way for the door.

"Oh Michael-glad you could stop by...uhm...I’ve got an emergency sponsor meeting with Pennzoil-Junior said he’d meet with you this morning." He attempted a brief smile but the cool stares from both men told Norris that they could see through the veiled insincerity. He reached for the door and casually turned once more, "Good to see you back on your feet, Michael. Good luck." Ball-less sonofabitch, Michael thought; clenching his jaw as his blood pressure rose. Norris turned to the stocky crew chief, he added almost as an afterthought, "I’ll get back to you next week, Slugger and we’ll work things out for next season." Norris felt almost relieved to focus his attention on anything other than those piercing blue eyes.

When he was gone, Slugger turned to Michael, "Mike-I just want you to know this-whatever happens today, I’m gonna stick by you." Although he was inexplicably filled with dread, he couldn’t help but notice how remarkably cool Michael was. Michael said nothing but smiled gently and firmly grasped Slugger’s shoulder as he headed for Junior’s office. Sighing, he turned to face Michael, "Looks like this is between you and Junior...might as well do some catching up at the shop. I’ll be right there if you call me-I’ll take you home as soon as you’re ready."

"Thanks, bro. I’ll call ya in a little bit-I have a feeling this ain’t gonna take long. Go take care of my car and don’t worry about me. It’s gonna be alright-one way or another." Michael knocked softly on the door-he knew Junior was in there from the faint sound of the stereo playing.

"Come in-it’s open."

Slugger hesitated for a moment as Michael turned once more, "Go on, now-I’ll see ya later." Michael smiled reassuringly. Slugger hesitated a moment longer, feeling for all the world that a huge injustice was about to take place and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. After Michael had entered Junior’s office, he turned down the hall to the Human Resources director instead of his own office. If his instincts were correct, DEI had shot itself in the foot and Ty Norris had just pulled the trigger. Well-they might as well put me out of my misery too, Slugger thought sadly as he gazed at his first Daytona 500 trophy, now dusty in the massive trophy case. Would he and Michael ever get another chance?

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

Junior turned from the window that he had been gazing out of and looked up as Michael walked in and took a seat. The difficulty in which Michael walked and the slow, stiff manor he eased himself into the chair did not escape Junior’s attention. Seeing his beloved friend and companion in so much pain, tore at his heart. Pain his recklessness had caused. He stared at the fat file folder on his desk and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to hurt him yet again. Junior cast a gaze at a photo of his father that sat next to his computer and pleaded for some sort of guidance but the elder Earnhardt’s image only held an icy stare that pierced Junior to his very soul. Dad, I’m so sorry I have to do this, he thought as his throat tightened painfully. Please understand why I have to do this....Michael cleared his throat and it brought Junior out of his reverie .

"You ok, Mike? Can I get you anything?" he asked softly as Michael quietly regarded him; growing increasingly agitated with the charade that was playing out before him.

"I’m just getting kinda sore-been on my feet a little too much this morning....kinda overdid it." he answered finally. As he gazed at Junior, it dawned on him that the man whom he considered one of his closest friends had failed him by turning his back when Michael needed him the most and now the resentment of Ty’s cowardice festered in his conscious. He had given his heart and soul to this company and this was his reward for years of devoted service. Without even knowing for certain what the file on the desk contained, he knew he was through. His career was over just because this arrogant little fuck sitting in front of him foolishly attempted to drive a race that he was in no shape to compete in. He’ll never have to worry about keeping a job-not as long as Norris and his ilk could milk Dale Earnhardt’s name and legacy for all it was worth, he thought bitterly. Michael’s jaw hardened and anger flared in his eyes. "I’m not here on a social call and we both know it so let’s just cut to the chase and get this over with." His voice was a low snarl as he leaned close, "Ya got some papers y’all want me to sign so let’s hand ’em over."

"Michael-please...you know damned well that my hands are tied! Norris had those papers drawn up and signed by the board of directors before I had a chance to see ‘em myself. Not that it would have done any good-I would have been out-voted anyway." Michael glared furiously as Junior gazed helplessly at him. "Mike-I’m sorry....so sorry." he whispered, "If I could trade places with you, I’d gladly do it and you know it." He laid his face in his hands as he heard the scraping of the chair on the hard wood floor as Michael rose to leave; the termination packet in his hands. Hot, bitter tears rolled down his cheeks as the hopelessness of his position sunk in. The precious bond of brotherhood that was forged through years of heartache and victory was finally broken.

Or was it...? As Michael turned to the door, one of the many photos that lined the walls caught his eye. It was old-Junior couldn’t have been more than 16 years old but it was a shot of the two of them at Phoenix when Junior sat in his pits for the first time. Arms wrapped tightly around each other and mile-wide smiles splitting their grubby faces with Dale Earnhardt looking on proudly at "his two boys" from behind Michael’s old Pontiac. Junior sported a black-eye that was delivered courtesy of one Mike Dillon as the scrappy youngster defended his friend after Dillon had viciously laid Michael in the wall at the Arizona Speedway. They were closer than blood brothers-how could he ever bring himself to despise a man who had grown to become so much more than a mere companion and teammate? His throat tightened as he turned to look back at the desk along the window. Junior still sat with his face in his hands; shoulders slightly trembling. With a heavy sigh, Michael walked back over to Junior and knelt beside him; Dale’s words echoing in his ears, "My boy-he's in serious trouble, Mike. You're the only one who can help him-everything I've worked for is gonna fall apart without you......"

Junior presently felt Michael’s large hand on his shoulder as he lowered his lanky frame beside him. Reluctantly Junior looked up into Michael’s weary face-the seething fury was now replaced by a sad, wistful, yet determined expression. Michael leaned his head against Junior as he embraced him. "I’m sorry too-I should’ve known better . You had nothing to do with this, Dale. Let’s just try to set things right between us and move on with our lives. Your Dad’s countin’ on you to keep things together here and I’ll try to help you any way that I can."

"I’ll find someway to get you back in here-if it’s the last thing I do..." Junior whispered hoarsely, his face buried against Michael’s chest.

Chuckling and shaking his head sadly, Michael forced Junior to look at him. "I don’t even know for sure if I’ll ever be able to drive again, Jun and we both know it. All I can do is try to get back on my feet-hell, I gotta a family to feed! We’re just gonna have to attack this deal one day at a time and let the rest fall into place. It’s all we can do right now."

"Can I call ya sometime? Just hang out like we used to? Mike-I missed you so much-". Junior’s voice broke.

Michael’s brows furrowed, "You don’t need an invite-shit, yer better than family. I don’t know why it’s taken you so long to pull yer head out of yer butt."

"I thought you’d hate me after all I’ve put you , Ro and the kids through..."

Michael shook his head and enveloped Junior in a bear hug, "Dale-I’d never hate you. Yes-you pissed me off. Yes-I wanted to pinch yer nappy Opie head clean off sometimes but I’d never hate you." He paused a moment as a million and one emotions filled his mind, "Christ, Dale-I love you. We’ve been through too much shit together to call it quits now."

"Thanks, Michael-that means a lot to me. I love you too, bro."

Glancing at his watch, Michael regarded the ream of paperwork he had left to sign, "Tell ya what-I’ll complete this shit and if ya ain’t doing anything tomorrow, stop on out for supper then I can turn this in so I don’t have to make an extra trip."

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

After Michael had left, Junior pulled open his drawer and looked at the surveillance photos taken from his condo the night he won the 500. Ty had conveniently removed any with Rory beside them and focused only on the those depicting him and Michael. He gazed at the one image of Michael’s deeply bronzed body covering his pale, slender form in an eternal embrace. Idly wondering if there were any copies, Junior knew all too well what Norris was capable of. He had finally gotten his wish-Michael was now released from DEI. Junior wondered how much longer it would be before his number was up too.......

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

The warm, late summer sun beat down mercilessly from the sky as Mick baited yet another hook to sacrifice the hapless worm to the black bass that occupied the deep, clear pond. Taylor cast a sidelong glance at her companion as he steadied the fiberglass fishing rod between a forked stick near the shore. Even though he was still a good two years younger than she was, he seemed so much older than even the boys her own age. He’s been through so much, she thought sadly. Mick brushed the mass of black curls out of his eyes as he watched Taylor’s bobber dancing on the still surface of the pond. He was almost startlingly handsome with his tall, lean body bronzed deeply by the sun, those electric blue eyes and dazzling smile. Taylor found her eyes taking in his long legs clad only by a pair of faded cutoff jeans and his broad, bare chest.

"Tay-ya got a fish on yer line!" Mick tore over to Taylor’s pole and jerked back, setting the hook. "Jaysus! He’s huge! I think ya got a channel catfish here!" he yelled. Taylor ran and grabbed the net as pond monster and Mick engaged in mortal combat. Bracing his bare feet in the muck, he hauled back on the line for all he was worth as the creature broke the water’s surface with a mighty leap. Angrily shaking it’s hideous flat, barbed head, the catfish made another plunge and made a sudden run for the deep end of the pool. Mick countered the devious maneuver and finally the exhausted beast was pulled to shore, flopping and gasping for breath. Grasping his pocket knife, Mick cut the line since the hook was buried deep in the fish’s gullet.

"Careful-don’t let those feelers sting you..." Mick warned as he donned a pair of heavy leather gloves and hoisted the fish into the ice chest. "He’ll make a nice fry for later!" he grinned triumphantly. He gazed at Taylor, who up to this point was still somewhat dazed after witnessing the titanic battle between boy and fish, and slyly asked, "Ya are stayin’ for supper?"

"That’s my fish! Of course I’ll stay!" she giggled and not quite knowing why, she embraced her startled companion and pulled his face to hers as she gently placed a kiss on his soft lips. Mick’s eyes bugged as he pulled sharply back, "Tay! ...w-what was...?" he stammered. Seeing her crestfallen expression, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, "I’m sorry-I shouldn’t have pulled back like that-you just surprised me that’s all." Lips trembling, he gently cupped her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his. Heart slamming against his chest, he held her for several moments like this-neither one barely breathing. The sound of an approaching truck on the gravel driveway caused them to reluctantly pull apart as they watched Slugger’s Chevy heading towards the house.

"C’mon...we best head back now..." Mick broke off as a flood of alien emotions flooded his mind. Taylor nodded and together they gathered their fishing equipment and the icebox and headed up the drive to the house.

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

"Oh no ya don’t! Hold it right there! There’s no way yer gonna be waltzin’ in here covered with pond muck! Go hose off in the shop before you come in!" Rory glared at the green slime that covered Mick’s large feet. "Whatever do ya have in this icebox?" she grunted as she hefted the now-heavy container up on the porch.

"Mick caught this huge catfish! He’s enormous!" Taylor grinned proudly.

Michael peeked under the cover with a satisfied grunt, "Hey boy-while yer at it, clean this thing so we can fry it up!" He grabbed a beer out of the ancient Coke cooler on the porch, "Dayum there’s enough fish there to feed an army!" he chuckled, setting the binder of paperwork on an end table. He carefully lowered himself in the old porch swing next to Rory as Slugger perched on the rail. Several moments went by before anybody spoke. Slugger cleared his throat, "Uhm...if ya want to be alone, I’ll head out now...." Michael shook his head, "Nah...it’s ok-you look like you could use some company anyway..."

Rory sat forward on her seat and gently placed her hand on Michael’s thigh. "Ok-let’s have it. How did it go..." She had braced herself for a worse case scenario but it still didn’t make her feel any better now that she was facing the inevitable.

Michael looked up at Slugger’s preoccupied face and gently put his arm around her, "I’m done, honey." he whispered. "There’s nothing anybody could do-it’s right in my contract. If I become injured to the point of disability, they have the right to terminate me....Junior said he’d cut me a check for the balance of my contract. If I can’t get a ride next year-providing I’m able to drive-I’ll just run my own team. Right now, we can start snooping around for eligible sponsors and try to convince ’em that I’ll be able to drive next year. If worse comes to worse, I’ll sell either the truck or the Busch team. But no matter what, we’ll make it come hell or highwater."

"Mikey-what are ya gonna do for a crew chief if you run a Cup team next year? I’ve still got another year left..." Rory began.

"You’re lookin’ at the crew chief-that is if y’all will have me..." Slugger grinned.

Now Michael stared at him, "What? You’ve still got two years to go, bro. Please tell me you didn’t do something really stupid...."

Slugger nodded, "Yep-I handed in my resignation papers just before you came out. I had my suspicions all along."

"But I’m not even sure if I’ll be in a car next year! Please go back! You’ve got a family too!" Michael pleaded with him but Slugger shook his head.

"No way-you’re stuck with me! And we’ll get this team started and we’ll run those bastards right into the ground. Besides," Slugger’s grin widened as he pulled a simple letter out of his shirt pocket, "Napa’s looking to get back in the racin’ business again."

Michael looked at the letter addressed from the director of motorsports marketing and sponsorship from Napa corporate headquarters. Hands shaking, he opened it and began reading,

"Dear Mr. Labbe-
While we enjoyed a very successful campaign with Dale Earnhardt Incorporated, we haven’t had much luck in contacting either Mr. Norris or Mrs. Earnhardt in the matter of starting up a new team. We would like to allocate the necessary funds and have the provisions available if you or Mr. Waltrip are in need of assistance in any future endeavor. ......"

Michael stared blankly at the letter for a moment, trying to absorb it’s contents and ramifications. "Do you honestly think they’d be interested in a small-time shop like ours? The single owner team is as dead as the dodo...."

"It’s a shot we’ll have to take." Rory said firmly, "We can do a conference call first thing tomorrow morning-just you and Slugger."

"How many Cup cars do you have back there?" Slugger jerked his thumb over to the large garage.

"Four and they’re all super speedway cars-no short track set-ups at all."

"I’ll sell my truck team! If we can at least get a couple more cars from that, we might be able to go at least a quarter of the way before we have to buy more vehicles. By then, we’ll be able to tell if this thing’s gonna fly!" Rory added excitedly.

"We got a problem with the engine program-Ty pulled the plug on helping us with engines.." Michael growled.

"Leave that to me-I’ve got to run by Richard Childress’ place tomorrow to drop off the wind tunnel results from the latest RAD tests." Rory grinned. "Now where is that boy with that fish?" She headed off the porch and around to the shop to locate Mick and the day’s catch.

Michael settled back on the swing and kicked his feet up after toasting Slugger with another beer. "Ya know what they say, bud. One door closes and another opens!" he grinned.

Slugger cracked his beer against Michael’s, "Here’s to opportunity and good friends."

Chapter 17: The Gift

Later that evening, long after everybody had gone to bed, Mick tossed and turned as sleep proved impossible. Taylor’s presence would not leave him as a rush of emotions clouded his mind, spurred on by the boy’s budding hormones. Her kiss still lingered on his lips and even though he knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way, his heart and body had other ideas. Rising, he sat for a moment on the window bench and watched the moon rise through the pines. He tried to concentrate on his upcoming quarter-midget race, his father’s plans for his Cup team next year-anything to take his mind of the feel of her breasts pressing against him. He glanced at the clock-it was almost 11:30. Sighing, he decided to head downstairs to the kitchen for a midnight snack-that usually did the trick.

As he crept down the long hall, the long, black shape of Pooka darted in front of him with a friendly feline chirp. The big housecat glanced back over his shoulder, ahhh! good..let’s head for the kitchen! My bowl’s empty again! Smiling (as only a cat can smile) and sidling along Mick’s legs, he followed the boy down the stares.

"Awright, ya fat bloke!" Mick dropped a few dry kibbles in the cat’s dish as an undulating wave of purrs emanated from Pooka as his way of saying "thank you!" Chuckling as he watched the cat, Mick turned to rummage through the fridge for the left-over tuna noodle casserole from yesterday. A sudden noise that sounded strangely like a soft moan startled both Mick and the cat. Heart pounding, the boy rose from his chair and quietly made his way to the den as that is where the sound seemed to have come from. Cautiously peeking around the corner, his eyes widened as he took the image of Michael’s naked, sinewy body covering Rory’s slight form. Knowing full well that he shouldn’t be here, Mick couldn’t take his eyes off the impassioned lovers either. Michael lazily traced a trail of tender kisses from her lips, along her slender neck to her breasts. Alternating between playful nipping to nearly enveloping each breast in his mouth, Rory pulled his face to hers and whispered in a low, husky voice, "Quit putzin’ around, will ya an’ take me for fuck sake!"

"Ohyeah...baby..." came the throaty growl as Michael gathered her in his arms and slid his throbbing manhood into her. Eyes bright with lust, he eagerly began to rock against her in a slow but steady rhythm. The delicious sensation of him filling her was already pushing Rory over the edge as she brought her lips to his; her hands entangled in his hair. Neither had the slightest inkling that they were being observed as Mick stood in the doorway on the verge of fainting. It was almost as if they were complete strangers-Mick had seen both in various states of undress throughout his young life but never in the light that which he witnessed this evening. It was all at once disturbing to the boy, yet strangely beautiful.

Mick nearly jumped out of his skin and uttered a gasp as Rory cried out in ecstasy, "Omigod, Michael...yes! don’tstop....don’tstop....ogod baby..." That seemed to jolt the boy enough to start backing out of the doorway but he was still unable to look away.

Dad will absolutely kill you if he sees you standing here!, his sub-conscious warned. He stared transfixed as Michael gently lifted Rory up in his arms as his hips continued to thrust into her. Rory wrapped her legs ’round his waist as she clung tightly to his shoulders. "Almost there, baby...almost there.." he panted as he drove into her even harder. Rory covered his mouth with hers as she felt the hot rush of his release as he collapsed and melded against her.

Suddenly, a vision of making love to Taylor popped into Mick’s frazzled mind and he back-pedaled quickly towards the hall and the stairs. Shaking his head as if to clear it of so many troubling thoughts and images, he banged on Caitlin’s bedroom door. "Sis? Are ya still up?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Ummm...what’s wrong?" Caitlin sleepily asked. She had been up reading when he knocked. She looked at his wild, frantic eyes. "Mick? Is something wrong?"

"I-I accidentally ...uhm...saw Mom and Dad..uh ..." he stammered. "Dad was...ogod..he’s gonna murder me if he knew I was standing there....."

Caitlin started giggling, "Let me guess-ya caught ’em doin’ it, right? Ya poor thing!" She put her arm around him and gave him a reassuring hug. "It was pretty traumatizing for me too...they’re like a couple of rabbits! Macy caught ‘em last year and thought they were rasselin‘! "

"Macy caught ‘em.....? Ojaysus sis.....ya hada tell me that...." he groaned and slunk to the floor by her bed with his head in his hands. Pooka promptly trotted in to see what the fuss was all about rubbed against Mick’s leg. " I mean, ya know what goes on in the bedroom, ya can hear the bed creakin’ an’ shite but when they’re doin’ it right under yer nose....an’...an’...then Taylor’s on top o’ me by the pond-"

"Hold up there, bro..." Caitlin’s dark blue eyes bored into him, "Wazzis about Tay?"

"Aww ..shit, sis...I’m thinkin’ she likes me.." He looked up at her, his eyes wide with worry. "I’m scared. sis, I don’t know what to do here..."

"Mick-pardon me if I sound like Mom but it’s ok to be friends...you know we go back forever with the Earnhardts...but please Mick, don’t get yerself messed up thinkin’ about what Mom an’ Dad are doin’.....that’s only gonna get yer skinny ass in trouble!"

Mick glared furiously and scrambled to his feet, "Ya shithead! How stupid do ya think I am?! First off, I’m in no hurry to have Dale an’ Kerry pummel the shite outta me! Second, I respect her too much to treat her like that! I like Tay but jumpin’ on her like Dad-..." exasperated, he shook his head, trying to get rid of the visual, "Ugh! Let’s just say, I’m not ready for that and after tonight, I prolly will join a monastery!" "Mick...I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to imply...."

Shaking his head, Mick gave her a quick hug, "S’ok...I’m just a little freaked out here...I’ll live...right now, I’m goin’ to bed...see ya in the mornin’ sis."

Caitlin gave him a quick peck on the cheek, "Night bro..let’s just forget it all happened, ok?" Mick nodded and headed to his own room. He only wished his heart and body would believe the words he had just spoken.

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

The next morning, Rory glanced over at Mick as he poked listlessly at his breakfast. Arching an eyebrow as she poured her third cup of coffee, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was definitely askew with the boy. Michael Patrick Waltrip was known far and wide for having the ravenous appetite of a starving wolf. For the big lad to be off his food was usually reason for great concern. "Ya feelin’ ok, Mick?" she gently felt his forehead and he involuntarily jumped. Frowning, she pressed on, "Sure you’re up to goin’ over to Hendricks today-ya don’t hafta if ya ain’t feelin’ well, Mick. Robbie would understand-"

"No Mum, I’m fine-just didn’t sleep well..."Mick pasted a quick grin on his face knowing well that Rory could see right through it. He quickly tried to change the subject, "Is Dad up yet? He said something about going with me..."

Rory shook her head, "Ach...methinks he’s gonna be laid up today-must’ve thrown his back out-he’s ...uhm a bit on the achy side this mornin’.....I’ll take you up to the shop. I gotta stop by RCR anyway..." she finished lamely. "Poor dear must’ve overdid it again-could barely move this mornin’...." Wrapping her long tresses in a bunch and stuffing the curly mass under a ratty Napa cap, she cast a worried glance at Mick as he toyed with his congealing eggs. "Mick-yer worryin’ me to death. Please tell me what’s on yer mind, son." Then it dawned on her. Call it a mother’s intuition or a simple coincidence. Sighing at the realization that her brood was growing up far too quickly, she slid next to Mick and held him close. She had seen that lovelorn look so many years ago on his father when he was struggling driver newly courting her. "It’s Taylor, isn’t it?" she said softly.

"I’m so confused, Mum...all I’ve ever wanted was to be a driver like Dad and Uncle D. Now all I can think about is Tay.....why does it have to be so hard, Mum...why?" his voice cracked as he looked up at her-he hadn’t cried since the night they brought Michael back from Talladega.

"It’s life, Micky-nobody said it was gonna be easy...if you want to drive, then a driver you’ll be. An’ a great one , at that. You’ve got the best teachers in the world-yer Dad, Jeff, DW and Junior have all said you had the heart an’ talent for the sport. Decisions are the tough part-you have to decide what you want more-a girlfriend and babies -sweepin’ out the garages for a livin’ or a chance of a lifetime driving a car beside the likes of Jeff Gordon? Tis your decision to make, luv-nobody else can..."

"I don’t want to hurt Tay’s feelings-"

"Mick-you don’t have to hurt her! You can still be friends....but remember, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you! Both of you do!" Pausing for a moment, Rory continued "Don’t ever forget your dreams, Mick..."

****************************

Michael groaned and struggled to pull himself into a sitting position as Rory puttered about looking for her car keys. Every joint in his body screamed for mercy and condemnation for his crimes of passion during the previous evening. Rory resisted the urge to find amusement in her beloved’s obvious discomfort. "Gonna live, Studman?" she said softly as she sat beside him, massaging his shoulders.

A weary grin curled his lips as he rested his head against her shoulder, "Not sure yet....but keeling over in the middle of a good, hard screwin’ ain’t a bad way to go."

"You wouldn’t dare! Don’t even think of goin’ anywhere and leavin’ me hangin’, ya prick!" Deciding to change the subject as she watched the familiar, lusty gleam sparkle in his eyes and the seductive smile that slowly began to spread across his face, she rose from their bed and gently kissed his cheek. "When’s Slugger coming over for that conference call to Napa?"

Sighing, Michael rose, stretched and groaned, "Around two."

"Good-I’m talking to Richard as soon as I drop Mick off this morning-that may give me time to get our engine package put together." At nearly $90,000.00 each, a small-time racing team often relied heavily on the assistance of a larger, more established team. For years, Michael’s cars were powered by the formidable power plants from DEI-but that was then....

"You gonna need my assistance on this, babe?" Michael’s brows furrowed as he knew all-to-well that Richard Childress may not be particularly partial to parting ways with equipment to a team that had for years laid his Busch teams to waste.

"You just stay put, get some rest and get ready to start oozin’ that Waltrip Charm for yer ol’ friends at Napa-leave Richard Childress to me."

Michael shrugged and tenderly kissed her before she headed to the door, "Ok-but don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t..."

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

"....So those rumors I have heard are right on the money!" Childress grinned as he poured Rory another cup of coffee. "Ol’ Michael’s gonna run his own team...." The man many referred to as one of Nascar’s Godfathers, seemed strangely pensive, wistful even. It was no secret that RCR was still struggling-two of his best drivers had been injured badly over the past couple of years-Robby Gordon was still out of commission after a fiery crash at Darlington and Johnny Sauter hadn’t been quite the same after a concussion suffered at Atlanta. Rumors flew back and forth about the stability of one of the bastions of the sport. "Who’s gonna drive for him?"

Rory looked directly at her old friend, "Why Himself, of course. Steve Park will drive his Busch car and I’m sellin’ off the trucks."

"Honey-do you honestly think he’s well enough and strong enough to do this? That wreck damn-near busted every bone in his body from what I heard."

"He’s bound and determined, Richard. He will be in that car next year."

"How ’bout sponsors? Rory-it’s gonna set him back quite a bit to run his own team full-time. The single team owner just can’t do it anymore."

"That’s why I need your help. Napa may be helping us-Michael and Slugger are talking with them today. But we need engines-good ones to stay competitive."

Setting back in his chair, Richard mused and fumbled with a key to one of his desk drawers. "That was a damn, shitty thing that Norris did to Michael. He should’ve at least gave him a chance...." he muttered. "Dale would be turnin’ over in his grave if he knew what that bastard is doing to his company...." Finally, he withdrew an old, yellow envelope and laid it in front of Rory. "Ya got a number picked out for that team, young lady?" he grinned.

"Mikey was thinkin’ of askin’ Junior to sell him the rights to the 15..." she began.

Richard gently took her hand and shook his head, "I got a number right here for you. Been hangin’ on to it too long anyway. I’ll help you get an engine program started-you can tell Mike to let the folks at Napa know that RCR is behind him 100% and I want you to let him know I’m givin’ you one of my numbers-I’ll draw up the transfer paperwork and have it sent over tomorrow."

"So-you’re finally sellin’ the 31-I didn’t think Cingular was coming back with all their financial woes..."

She pulled the moldering team license title, "So how much do you want for the transfer rights..?"

"Oh no, Rory-consider this a gift from Dale." Richard smiled gently, still holder her hand. First she stared blankly at Childress, then back at the paperwork as she got a good look at the assignment. On the fading document, the license number that would be duly transferred to Michael Waltrip Racing, was a simple "3".

Chapter 18: The Test

Kentucky Motor Speedway, September 2005

The big hauler laboriously let down the hydraulic lift containing a single racecar. As Slugger, Bobby Kennedy and Mick pushed the car down the ramp and onto the tarmac, Michael swung himself out of the cab of the Kenworth tractor and took a sip of his coffee. The slant, late September sunrise filtered through the early morning mist while a few scattered teams readied their cars for testing. It was unusually muggy and the sun seemed to be growing hotter by the minute. Slugger looked up at the fog-shrouded track’s far backstretch. "Think there’s any surface moisture on the track?"

"Nah-sun’s burnin’ it off. By the time we get the car out there, the track will be pretty warm." Michael grunted. "Mick-go run up to the pumps and fill these cans." He cast his eyes back to the car-dull black primer body and a stark, white #3 that graced the side. He ran his hand over the top of the door and his name decal. There was magic in that number-even the most jaded race fan or hardened driver couldn’t deny it. The "heart" of the car lay in the stout RCR engine under it’s hood and it’s legacy. For all intent and purposes, the car had almost become more myth than reality. The stories passed on from driver to driver about the almost menacing specter looming in their rear-view mirror had become legend. Given the tales that abounded, the car had almost taken on a life of it’s own. He reflected on the last five months-from the horrific accident at Talladega to his painful recovery and subsequent discharge from DEI. Dale’s spirit had called him back from the edge of the grave and once again had given him another chance. An old verse came back to him-the same one that had been taped to Dale’s dashboard on his last ride and it now graced the black car in front of him: "Greater no love hath he who lay down his life for his friends." So lost in thought, Michael didn’t hear the sound of the pick-up that pulled up beside the hauler.

".....guitars, Caddilacs and hillbilly music....." warbled the off-key baritone as Darrell slid out from behind the wheel and broke off in mid-verse as he spied the Monte Carlo sitting in the wake of the departing morning shadows. "My god...." he muttered as he laid his weathered hand on his brother’s shoulder. "So this is what you wanted me to see..." The old veteran quietly watched Slugger and Bobby tinkering under the hood while Michael pulled his old firesuite and helmet out of the hauler. "I’m almost afraid to ask, but who’s drivin’?"

Michael looked squarely at his brother, "Well seein’ how I’m gonna be drivin’ it next year and Mick’s still got another five years to go before I can put his ass behind the wheel and you’re too damn old, I might as well give ‘er a spin."

"Don’t be a wise-ass, boy...I’m just worried ‘bout you. You’ve got more pins and plates holdin’ you together than the car!"

"I’ll be alright-I’m just gonna take ‘er around for a few easy laps." Michael looked over to the end of the garages and shook his head, "shit-where’s that boy with the fuel? Swear to Jesus, he’s slower’n molasses in January!"

"So when’s this gonna be official? Ya gotta sponsor?"

Michael looked over at his still-bemused brother and grinned, "Napa’s goin’ on as the primary-they’re gonna give us a half-season trial. If they’re happy with our performance, they’ll stay with us. Plus, GM’s lined up for all the wind tunnel and tech assistance we’ll need. We’re gonna do an official press release at Speedweeks next month-but after today, I’m sure there’ll be a few leaks at least about the car number."

Darrell looked thoughtful for a moment and sighed, "Did you talk to Junior about this?"

"What for? He knows all he needs to know. He knows I‘m fielding my own cars next year-he’ll get the rest of the story when everybody else does."

"Mike-remember DEI has been badgerin’ Richard for the rights to this number for years and you know it. After all, it was his Daddy’s number....."

Michael turned to Darrell; his voice an angry whisper, "Richard gave this number to me to run. While I hold no grudges against Junior, the fact of the matter is this-I ran my heart out for that company and in the end, they dumped me when I needed ‘em the most. I’ve mortgaged my whole damn team and my estate just pay my medical bills. When they drew up my termination papers, they cancelled my insurance-three days after my accident"

Ashen, Darrell stared at him open-mouthed, "Michael-my god, I had no idea....why didn’t you tell me?!" The ramifications of this began to make his head spin. "Mike-if this deal don’t work out-"

"I’ll loose every thing I’ve got." Michael sighed and leaned against the car, "Shit-me and Ro didn’t even realize this until we tried submitting the bills to the insurance company. She put me under her own carrier but they won’t pay for what they consider pre-existing conditions-and that means, my injuries sustained in the accident."

"Why didn’t you come to me?" It was a useless argument and Darrell knew it. It all came down to pride and he would have done the same thing. "Listen-I know it ain’t much but I’d like to put the DW Store on as a secondary sponsor-whole season, no strings attached." His on-line emporium of memorabilia was quite successful and what better an advertising opportunity to be coupled with the return of a champion?

"It would mean the world to me, bro. Thanks, man."

Mick finally came trotting up with two fuel tanks on a dolly. "Hey Uncle D!"

"Hey boy." Darrell grunted as he hoisted one of the heavy tanks to the side of the car. Once the fuel cell was packed full and Michael had pulled his firesuite on, the men commenced to pushing the car to pit row. What started out as a small gathering of curious on-lookers-mostly mechanics and assorted track employees-started to grow when somebody shouted, "Look! That’s Earnhardt’s car!" Indeed, there was the black car with the big #3, sitting quiescently on pit row. Robert Yates, among those whose cars were being tested, focused on the tall driver beside the car, "I’ll be damned if that ain’t Michael..." His own driver, Elliot Sadler, followed his gaze and grinned, "Looks like he ain’t done yet!" Quickly, they joined the others at the rail as the car roared to life.

"Be careful out there!" Darrell yelled above the din. Michael nodded as he locked the window net in place. Slowly the car made it’s exit from pit row and quickly began to gather momentum as it charged into the first turn. Mildly amazed how quickly it all came back to him, Michael grinned as he rounded the track for the first time. The car handled like a dream, as if it had been waiting for him all along. How far could he push it? Every joint from his hips on downward, began to ache but he was oblivious to the pain. For a little while, he was free. The thrust of the 800 horsepower engine was manna from Heaven. The few cars that had been on the track, pulled aside as he thundered past; the eyes of his fellow drivers now wide as if they had seen a ghost-and in a sense they had. Mark Martin, now in his last year on the track, shook his head with a smile, "Sonofabitch! Never thought I’d see that again!" He felt the initial playful tap on his bumper as Michael drafted in low behind him just before he pulled alongside for the pass.

Slugger gazed at his stopwatch as the car flew by on it’s 4th lap. "You’re doing great-how are you feeling?" He panicked for a moment when Michael didn’t answer him. He had brief visions of Michael beginning to black out when his radio crackled to life, "Car’s terrific-hopefully when we take ‘er to Daytona, we’ll blow ‘em right off the track. Right now, I’m hurtin’ a little, but it ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle." Which was a slight lie-actually Michael was hurting much more than he was letting on-he was too elated by the feel of the car underneath him and the smell of burning fuel to worry about his own health.

In the stands, Steve Waid from The Scene was feverishly pounding on his laptop. The black blur that continued to circle the track was something he couldn’t keep to himself. As of today, there had been no formal announcement and he wasn’t even sure if it was supposed to come out yet, but the fact of the matter remained. He looked at the blistering lap times-one of which just equaled the track record. His schedule of testing vehicles simply listed "Michael Waltrip Inc.-unknown car" among the other testers. But now it was out-Waltrip was back.

Darrell also watched his brother, a mixture of emotions running the gamut from pride to fear. He looked over at Mick who stared enraptured at his father’s car as it flew down the frontstretch once again. "It would look grand with some flames on it!" he looked up at his uncle, remembering the elder Waltrip’s fondness for big, gaudy flames and a ton of chrome.

"Not that car, boy. That one don’t need flames to make it fly." he said softly as the car rumbled down pit row and stopped in front of them. The test was over but judging from the cheers coming from the onlookers, it was only the beginning.

Michael weakly pulled himself out of the cockpit and rested his head for a moment against the roof. The strain of running wide open at nearly 200 mph had taken it’s toll on him. Gingerly, he swung his legs out of the car and nearly collapsed as Darrell and Slugger grabbed him. A sharp stab of pain flared in his hip as he leaned heavily against his brother. "Think I overdid it again..." he muttered. "I gotta a lot to do if I’m gonna survive 500 miles come February."

"Mike-maybe you ought to look into hiring another driver-" Darrell began but immediately gave up trying to persuade Michael into changing his mind.

"No way, bro-too much at stake. It’s gonna be do or die next year." he finished grimly as he emptied the water bottle Mick handed him. Though he was exhausted, his eyes blazed with the fire and spirit that had taken him through so many victories and the sport’s highest honor. The champion had returned.

Nonetheless, old Darrell glared at him, "Did ya have to put it like that?"

******************************************

Headline editorial, The Scene:

"If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes"-by Stephen Waid

Numbers and teams are resurrected in this business every day but a recent, mundane trip to Kentucky Motor Speedway proved that what I witnessed was anything but an ordinary, everyday testing deal. I normally don’t bother covering these things but when I saw "Michael Waltrip Inc." listed among the testers, I have to admit I was curious. For those of you who are either new to the sport or were possibly living in a cave, Michael, a veteran of 20 years and the 2004 defending champion, was nearly killed in the Aarons 499 at Talladega this spring when his car was caught up in the inevitable "big one" and the folly of the removal of the restrictor plates. So, on to Kentucky I went and lo and behold, there was our hero strapping himself into a black Monte Carlo that bore a number none of us ever expected to see again. It was Dale Earnhardt’s number 3 and after I frantically phoned Richard Childress for confirmation, I was duly rewarded with this bit of information: Yes-the number had been transferred to Michael Waltrip Inc. and yes-RCR would be providing the engine support. Rumors are abounding on the status of sponsorship-but I do know that GM Goodwrench will remain with the 29. The car that Michael was piloting around KMS equaled the track record on it’s fourth lap..........

**************************************

Unable to read anymore, Junior angrily shot the paper across the room. Glaring at the phone, he briefly entertained the idea of calling Michael and berating him but for what? Richard had given the number to Michael-fair and square. But it didn’t ease the hurt and anger he felt-he had always wanted this number for DEI-that selfish, childish voice in the back of his mind raged-it was his father’s car after all. But the more reasonable side of him sided with Michael-he had been wronged enough-at least give him one more shot at glory.

Ty poked his head in the door, "Oh-you’ve seen it too? Pretty goddamn underhanded if you asked me-"

"Well, I didn’t ask you." Junior snapped, "Right now, the last thing I need to hear is your bullshit take on things. Let him have it-we fucked him over enough anyway."

With a weasel’s smile, Ty said, "He’s in no shape to run full-time next year and a friend of mine who works for Bank of America said he’s got everything he owns in hock to make a run at it next year."

"He what? You’ve got to be shitting me! Why?" All anger towards his old friend immediately forgotten, Junior rose and stood in Ty’s face.

Calmly, Ty shrugged, "How should I know? Probably couldn’t pay all those hospital bills...." He glanced at his watch while Junior continued to stare at him open-mouthed. "I gotta split-don’t pull your hair out over this-come next year, I’m sure he’ll be in a position to sell that number and anything else he has left to you."

After he left, Junior raced down the hall to the Human Resources office. "Where’s Michael Waltrip’s file?" he snapped.

The secretary, Belle, looked up in surprise, "Why it’s over here with the other terminated employees." Wordlessly, Junior scurried back to his office and tore through the package. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for but after skimming through the contract, he duly noted the termination clause had been high-lighted. He dug a little deeper and pulled out Michael’s comprehensive insurance-it was supposed to cover both the health and life insurance. It had indeed been cancelled. Junior’s heart sunk when he thought of the expense of Michael’s surgeries and hospital stay that must’ve surely cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. He already knew that Michael’s truck team had been sold-how much longer would he even keep the Busch team afloat? Now Ty’s cryptic statement echoed in his mind-what else did the bastard know? And Ty had the nerve to call Michael underhanded? Junior fumed as he rose and headed for Teresa’s office-he was going to fight to keep the integrity of his father’s company if it was the last thing he did.

*************************************

"Can ye get off yer arses and answer that door?!" Rory hollered as she plopped the squirming lobsters into a large pot of boiling water. In the living room, the television was blaring and she could hear Mick on the phone; occasionally pausing to roar at his sister to turn the set down. He’s talking to Taylor again and Michael is going to skin him alive if he doesn’t get off that phone. The representatives from Napa were calling this afternoon to set up an official press conference at Lowes. "Michael Patrick-get off that phone NOW and answer that door!"

"Uhm...Mum’s about to bust a gasket here and I gotta let yas go-I’ll see ya tomorrow." he caught himself before he could whisper ‘I love you!’-he thought better of it. With a sigh , he opened the door as Buffy stood impatiently. Buffy always dressed impeccably but Mick still found it unusual to find her dressed to the nines in the stifling heat of the afternoon. Instead of her blue Mercedes, there was a cab at the end of the drive.

"Mick!" he was nearly bowled over by the blonde ragamuffin that slammed into his midsection with a bear hug.

"Hey Macy!" he grinned and nodded politely to her mother, "Buffy. Would you like to come in?"

She seemed unusually nervous as she nodded, "I need to speak with Michael-is he here?"

"No ma’am-he’s at RCR tonight-he’ll be back soon-care for supper?"

She looked away for a moment, "No-I’ll talk to your mother instead." She followed Mick in with an overnight bag-looked like Macy was going to be staying. Mick loved his little sister and wished he could see more of her. Unlike Caitlin, who harbored a strong dislike for racing, Macy loved it as much as he did. Mick looked forward to her tagging along at Hendrick’s after school.

Rory arched her eyebrows in surprise as she regarded her visitors, "Well-hello there." she said cordially. She never did care much for Buffy-never could trust her but merely tolerated her presence for Macy’s sake.

One look at the distracted, skittish demeanor of her old adversary, immediately set her defenses in gear. Something’s up, she mused to herself.

"Rory-I hate to impose on you but do you mind watching Macy overnight?"

"Sure now, Macy’s never an imposition here-she’s always welcome to stay as long as she likes." Rory glanced out at the cab in the drive, "Car trouble?"

"Uhm...yeah-you know how hard it is to get parts for those things." She did her best to hold Rory’s gaze.

"Thanks-I really appreciate this."

"You’re more than welcome to stay for supper-either Michael or myself will give you a ride home-no need for a cab."

"That’s ok-really. I’ve got an appointment in half an hour and I know you’re just getting supper ready."

Rory shrugged, "Ok then, I’ll tell Michael you stopped by."

She watched her walk down the drive to the cab. Something is definitely wrong here, she thought as she watched Michael’s Avalanche pass the cab up the drive.

Michael swung his long legs out of the truck and met Rory with a gentle kiss. "Who was that?"

"That was Buffy-she just dropped Macy off for an overnighter."

"She didn’t call me to tell me she was dropping her off. That’s weird and what’s up with the taxi?" He frowned as he draped his arm around Rory’s waist.

"Said something about car issues. But it was still strange-dropping off unannounced and just leaving Macy like that."

"I’ll call her tomorrow and see what the hell is going on." he grunted. "Hey baby girl!" He scooped up Macy like he always did and smothered her with his kisses. He glanced up at the darkening skies to the west-it looked like there was another storm on the horizon.

Chapter 19-Uprising in Progress

The next morning found Mick contentedly waxing (for about the fifth time) the newly painted Napa Chevrolet. It glistened with a new coat of deep midnight blue lacquer and the only decals so far were the gold Napa shield and the large #3 on it’s side. Macy sat on a tool box in the quiet awe that only a little sister could. Neither one heard the rumble of the Corvette outside as it pulled into the driveway of the shop, Both were quite preoccupied with their speculation on next year’s Cup race. A radio played an old chestnut from Lynard Skynard in the background while dust-motes danced in the filtered sunlight through dusty windows. The massive pole-barn structure that housed Michael Waltrip Racing Inc. was once occupied by a couple of rotting tobacco sheds and it seemed oddly fitting as North Carolina’s old cash crop of bull Durham tobacco gave way to the Tar heel state’s relatively new money maker: auto racing. Three pale gray sheet metal and fiberglass shells stood by like ghostly sentries-awaiting a fresh coat of cobalt paint and the heart of an engine and chassis. In the corner next to an old Coke machine bearing the image of Himself handsomely suited in his Napa-blue firesuite, resided the finished Busch Grand National #99; awaiting it’s destination of Talladega next week.

"Dad’s gonna blow their doors off with this baby!" Mick chuckled as he tossed Macy a soft chamois cloth, "Here-wanna help me buff her down?"

Macy scurried down from her perch and feverishly began to follow her brother in polishing the car. "This looks almost like Uncle Dale’s car..."

Mick stopped for a moment and whispered sadly, "Do you really remember him? I wish I had met him....Mum always told me what a great man is was." He always felt a little melancholy whenever the old warrior’s name was mentioned. While never actually having met Dale, he always felt as if a void had been left by his passing nonetheless.

"Sorta-I ’member him like he was a dream. I ’member his whiskers tickled and he liked to take us out on his boat alot.....I ’member he had a car like Daddy’s with a 3 on it!" she grinned up at him. Mick gently smiled at her and turned his gaze to a framed photo on the shop wall. Quite old and from a race at Bristol, it depicted a much younger, somewhat chubbier image of Michael standing next to Dale. Two friends frozen in time....Mick was forever thankful that Dale could still live on in the stories Michael and old Darrell never grew tired of telling.

"Hey brats! Yer Daddy around?" hollered Junior as he stuck his head in the door. He caught his breath as he spied the new car. He was still coming to terms with the thought that he and Michael would no longer be teammates but adversaries when they return to Daytona in the spring. The reports of his successful test at Kentucky didn’t go unnoticed either and Junior knew he would be a formidable adversary at that. Pushing thoughts of the impending season aside, he focused on the two budding shop monkeys as they frantically polished the car as if their lives depended on it. "Damn, boy-you’re gonna rub the paint right off’n that thing!"

Ignoring the barb, Mick tossed the old rag aside in favor of a new one while Macy paid no mind to the new visitor at all-too wrapped up in the car and adoration for her handsome brother. "He just got up a little while ago-probably in the shower. Mum’s got coffee on." Finally satisfied that the car now sparkled like a mirror, Mick ran his hand through his unruly hair and began to do a little light cleaning up around the shop. Junior continued to watch him while casting a laconic glance at a wall calendar and noting that it was only Thursday.

"Ain’t you supposed to be at school?"

"No-Mum said she’d be needin’ me today and tomorrow for quals-pullin’ me out of school ." he grinned. This weekend’s race was at Martinsville-not too far away and Rory was in need of a gofer for the Bud garage. Junior shook his head, the importance of education had been ingrained upon him from birth. Rory, on the other hand, looked at the more practical side of things-she knew Mick was destined in one form or another for a life at the track-this is where his real tutoring began. It was no secret that Mick loathed school and did just enough to get by-as far as he was concerned Algebra had very little to do with racing.

Ever curious, Macy was standing on her tiptoes trying to see inside of the vehicle-ever fascinated by the plethora of gauges and switches. Mick and Junior exchanged grins as Junior scratched his head, "Looks like yer Daddy’s gonna be fieldin’ another one someday!"

"Hey sis-lemme put ya in the driver’s seat-then you can have a real, good look!" As Mick gently put his hands around her tiny waist to lift her, his mind flashed back to the day Michael sat him up behind the wheel of his Busch car for the first time. It all seemed like a hundred years ago now..... As if reading his thoughts, Junior smiled sadly and leaned against the car, "Remember when yer Daddy first brought ya down to DEI and I caught ya in the old 15? Liked t’ scare the shit right outta ya-shit, kid-you were in a world of your own."

Mick chuckled, "Yeah...I remember...I was about Macy’s age....think we can start her on a go-cart or something? Just like old times?" he said wistfully. Mick desperately wanted things as they were-when Michael and Junior were teammates, before the accident and the tension between the two men he admired most threatened to tear his world apart.

"Ah-I think that would depend on Macy’s momma....seems like ol’ Buff wanted our pit princess to grow up like a civilized little lady. You don’t wanna drive a race car, do ya darlin’?"

"Momma don’t care-I’m GONNA be a race car driver someday.." Macy said with the stubborn determination that was pure Waltrip. Barely able to see above the dash, she gripped the bulky steering wheel as if the vehicle was in motion.

"Hey-is there a meeting I don’t know about?" called a familiar voice. Steve Park leaned against the doorframe; a battered Klaussner Racing cap pulled jauntily backward. He carried himself with new air of confidence-much like he did when he first came to work for DEI. Like Michael, Steve seemed to find his success at an age when most drivers began the inevitable descent.

"Hey Sparky-Dad’s up at the house." Mick knew Steve was due to stop over today to go over race strategy for the upcoming Busch race. Junior also looked up and met Steve’s gaze. Nodding in quiet acknowledgement, Steve managed a smile as he regarded Junior. "Hey-long time, no see." Steve was doing well driving for the Petty’s-he was slowly but surely bringing a bit of glory back to the legendary team as well as a stellar year taking over Michael’s Busch ride. "So-what brings you out this way, Dale? I’ll say it’s good to see you and Mike on speaking terms again."

Weighing his words carefully, Junior shrugged, "Oh, I dunno-just a social call, I guess. I miss the kids an’ comin’ out an’ shootin’ the breeze with Michael and Ro." All of which was only a half-truth-there was more to the visit than a social bull session. There was business involved but Steve didn’t need to know that right now. Deciding to change the subject, Junior continued, "You seem to havin’ one helluva season-shit almost two seconds ahead of Stewart at the Glen!"

Steve blushed slightly, ever the modest one, "Hell-that was nothin’...if he wasn’t driving with a bunch o’ busted ribs from Daytona, he’d woulda beat me and you know it." He lowered his voice slightly and a shadow crossed his face, "We’re heading for ’Dega next week-I heard they might be puttin’ the plates back on next year but NASCAR’s playin’ it by ear-they wanna see if they can actually get one more race in at Talladega without somebody damn-near gettin’ killed. Shit-there’s a bunch of us that’s thinkin’ of staging a protest walk-out at Daytona if they don’t put the plates back on."

"Might not be a bad idea-you know damn well that nothing ever changes in this sport unless a driver pays with his life." growled Junior.

*****************************

"Well...well-look what the cat dragged in." Rory grinned as she retrieved a pan of biscuits from the oven. "G’mornin’ Sparky-Bobby’s set-up notes are on the table if you want to look at them.." Looking up, she was surprised to see Junior also standing on the front porch landing. "Good to see you’ve finally took up the invite to stop over." Tossing a notebook at him, she added, "Well, while your here, ya might as well take a look at these test notes since they’ve resurfaced the track."

"Aww shit, you know I can’t read your handwritin’! Looks like mouse tracks."

"I’ll give ya mouse tracks..." she muttered as grabbed another cup of coffee. She seemed unusually testy this morning, even though it was one day before qualifying and being curmudgeonly was something of her nature anyway. Junior still felt that something was amiss-he couldn’t put his finger on it but something definitely felt out of place.

"Everything ok? You don’t seem like yourself this mornin’..."

Rory sighed, "Yes and no.." she looked at Junior and whispered, "We’ve reason to think that Buffy’s flown the coop. She left Macy with us last night and Michael’s gone mad with worry-hasn’t heard from her and he’s called everywhere lookin’ for her."

Junior’s eyes went wide, "Oh Jesus-you’ve gotta be shittin’ me!"

Rory shook her head as she dropped a shot of Old Bushmills in her coffee, "Nah-wouldn’t shit ya, Jun-yer m’ favorite turd." she grinned wryly.

Musing for a moment, Junior looked up at a family portrait in the living room. "But ya know something? It don’t surprise me none....she never did care much about bein’ a momma. And Macy was always Michael’s baby....shit, that kid’s gonna be draped around his shoulders when she’s sixteen!"

"Aye, that she is-Mikey’s little princess. But bless her, she’s not a bit affected by this-she’s always hated going home to Buffy whenever she’s stayed with us. I mean, hell-I’m hardly the picture of motherhood myself!"

Junior glared at her sternly, "Don’t let me hear you say that again-you always took good care of them kids, Ro." Rory burst out laughing in spite of herself as Junior continued to glare at her. "What’s so funny?"

"It’s just that if you could see yourself now! You look so much like your father, it’s scary! I’ve always thought that Kerry was his clone but you’ve got him beat!"

Junior rolled his eyes, women! Would he ever figure them out? "So where is Michael?"

"Downstairs working out." she grinned adding one more poke before he left, "Wouldn’t hurt your skinny arse to join him once in a while!" Junior shot one more black look at her before she disappeared in the kitchen sunroom to finish her breakfast with Steve.

*****************************************

Michael furiously pounded away on the treadmill as if trying to outrun his worries. Damn her! He thought angrily as he tried to push the thought of Buffy abandoning her daughter. Part of him was relieved that she was finally out of his life-the long trail of deceptions, conflict and mind games was over at last. But he was also appalled that she could so cold-heartedly give up her daughter without a thought. Sweat cascaded out of every pore on his body and his heart felt as though it would burst. Still, he pressed on-so much was at stake now-his whole world hinged on his success or failure in the looming season ahead. He would show them all that he wasn’t done yet-not by a longshot.

"Hey, bro." Startled, Michael looked up as Junior descended the landing to the finished basement. Hopping off the treadmill, he grabbed a bottle of water and slumped to the old sofa next to the furnace. "Hey-have a seat, man-take a load off." Michael smiled warmly-it was good to see Junior. "Wanna drink? Some coffee or some breakfast?" Junior shook his head. "How ‘bout a beer? Kick in the ass? Take ya out in the woods and leave ya for dead?" Both men shared a chuckle but it couldn’t belie the worry in Michael’s eyes.

"Heard about Buffy-anything I can do to help ya out with this?"

Michael shook his head, "Not unless you might know where she is. I can’t figure it out, Jun....if she wanted to give up custody, why couldn’t she just tell me?" Junior sat quietly by his side, not sure what to say. He was never overly fond of Buffy but tolerated her for Macy’s sake. Michael smiled sadly, "Well I’ve left dozens of messages-we’ll see how this turns out. It’s good to see ya, bro-what brings you out this way ?"

Junior lowered his voice, "Listen-I know what happened with your insurance and the whole clusterfuck surrounding your discharge- I’ve talked to Teresa about it-in short my friend, you were screwed-but I want to set this right-are you with me, so far?"

"Well-tell me something I didn’t know.." Michael muttered bitterly.

"Teresa and I both agree that Ty has to go-but it’s got to be handled delicately. He’s the president of the company and we just can’t say, ‘Ok-you’re fired’-he’d sue us to hell and back. But the fact of the matter is, you were unfairly discharged and it went against a provision regarding the business that Teresa found in Dad’s last will."

Michael’s eyes went wide, "Jun-why then did you sign my release?? Please don’t tell me Ty coerced you!" He swallowed the lump in his throat as Junior put his face in his hands.

"Oh God, Michael-I’m so sorry I had to do this to you....so fucking sorry....Ty was holding some real shit over my head-basically blackmailing me if I didn’t release you."

"Blackmail? How?" Michael croaked.

Junior sighed then spoke, his voice barely a whisper, "He’s got pictures from that night we spent together at the 500-he took ‘em off the surveillance camera-I know there’s got to be a video someplace too....I didn’t know what to do, Mike. After we read about the test you did at KMS, he mentioned something about you putting everything in hock just to pay your medical bills and fund your team next year-that’s when I did some digging and got Teresa involved. Mike-none of this was supposed to happen! God only knows what kind of shit he’s been telling her-but she’s on our side now, Mike. She’d like to talk to you tomorrow if you can get over to see her-I’m sure she wants to go over this thing with the will."

Michael’s head was spinning-this was too much for him to absorb. First Buffy’s disappearance now these disturbing revelations. "Jun-I don’t know what to say....."

"Just tell me you’ll get behind me on this-you’re the only one who can help me. I’m next on Ty’s hit list and he’ll stop at nothing to make sure he’s got Daddy’s company locked up in his pocket."

Michael said nothing for a few moments then looked up at Junior’s sad face-he looked as though he had aged 10 years already. "Ok-I’ll meet with Teresa tomorrow morning and hear her out. I don’t think I have to tell ya that I’ve got everything riding on my team next year. Don’t worry, bro-I’m behind ya-Ty might think he’s gonna take us out but we ain’t goin’ down unless we take him down too." He wrapped Junior in a bear hug and neither man could deny how good it felt to finally put the past behind them. "We’re gonna have to make a stand on this, Dale-you know it could get pretty ugly-especially if this shit on those photos gets out or God forbid-into the wrong hands."

"It’s gonna be our last stand if we’re gonna keep Daddy’s dreams alive. But I ain’t got nothin’ to lose-I’ll fight to the end."

Michael sighed, "I’m with ya, kid-right to the end." He leaned his head against Junior’s and caught a brief glimpse of their embrace in a mirror. "We gotta stop this-this is what got us in trouble in the first place."

Junior smirked, "Can’t help it-you’re the kind of trouble I like."

Chapter 20-Closures

"Y’know-I’ve always hated Martinsville but with Bobby behind me, I think I can actually win now." Steve chuckled, setting the race notes aside. "Good thing RCR is gonna help us with the engines ...I was a little worried-."

Rory shook her head as she finished putting away the morning dishes. "The Busch team has always been Michael’s baby-he’d never sell it-even if he had to build the engines himself." She looked up at the clock, musing half to herself, "Those two have been down in the basement all morning-’tis good to see them talking again..." Steve said nothing, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as Rory softly ventured, "Do you ever talk to Junior, Steve? You two were so close....I’m certain that you two could make amends-Junior’s changed-he’s kicked the drugs-he’s really trying to turn his life around.."

"I’d like to think that he is, Ro...with all my heart. But it’s like this-he’d clean up his act for only so long and then he’d have a bad race, the pressure would get to him, Ty and Teresa would be on his ass-and then everything just falls apart and he’ll go right back to his old ways." He looked up as Rory stood silently beside him; one hand on his broad shoulder. "You have no idea how much I really want to believe this-after all this time, it’s still tearin’ me apart when I think about everything that’s happened. I’ve tried to move on-just throw myself into racing but I still feel like there’s a void inside..." As Steve began to pour his heart out, he suddenly realized that maybe he said a little too much about his relationship with Junior. He looked sheepishly at Rory as this thought dawned on him. "Uhm...I-I‘m probably saying too much here....I‘m not sure if he ever told you...y‘know, about him and me...I don‘t know how you feel about that sort of thing...."

Gently taking his hand, Rory simply whispered, "It’s ok-go on. You don’t have to hide anything in this house and you know it. You’re as good as family." She shrugged, "I’m pretty open-minded on that sort of thing-it doesn’t change my opinion of either of you. Loving somebody never constituted a sin in my book. I’ve dealt with the fact that Junior has feelings for Michael-I’ll admit I was taken aback at first, but it’s just one of those things about Junior that may have always been there-even before Dale died."

"The worst thing was, I was actually jealous and bitter towards Michael for awhile-I hated myself for it because he was always so good to me-the only true friend I had at DEI since Dale died. But I’ve always wanted that closeness he shared with Junior ...."

Closing her eyes and choosing her words with care, Rory said softly, "There’s a bond between them, tis true. I try to understand it and in spite of all that’s happened between them, it’s still there and strong as ever-so I accept it. I’ve spoke with Junior on numerous occasions and he realizes that his bond with Michael stops where our marriage begins. But I also know he would like to make things right between himself and you. He knows where he fucked up-but he needs you to meet him halfway too..." She looked at Steve, squeezing his hand, "He needs you, Steve. His world is slowly crumbling around him-we just got the word that Pennzoil is pulling out and Ty is convinced we stole Napa from them. Junior’s 18th in points and now Budweiser is starting to sweat if we don’t turn it around. All he has left is hope...but I don‘t know how much longer he can keep hangin’on. .."

"With all this shit hitting the fan, he can’t keep holding on..." Steve looked up at her, crystal blue eyes welling with unshed tears, "...when hope is all he’s got..."

*********************************************

Later that afternoon, after Junior and Steve had departed and Michael had just gotten over the shock of receiving a courier’s package containing paperwork from Buffy’s lawyer, the phone rang like a clarion call of doom. Within a minute of "hello?", he was soon shouting into the receiver.

"Do you honestly mind telling me what the hell is going on??" Michael glared out the window of his office; his voice a low, menacing growl. "You just up and left Macy here-no explanation, no excuses-went out of your way to avoid me and now here ya are callin’ when I just got these custody papers from your lawyer!" He was so furious at her irresponsibility and casual attitude, he wanted to hurl the phone against the wall. Nevada! Of all the fucking places-she was calling from Nevada! As if it were nothing more than a harmless vacation. "Do you have any idea how Macy’s taking this?! You’re still her mother, for Chrissake! How could you be so fucking selfish?!"

As his voice rose, Rory quietly shut the door and sternly admonished Caitlin and Mick, who were standing nearby. "Come-this is between your father and Buffy-’tis no concern of ours-we’ll hear about it soon enough." Mick wordlessly glanced at Caitlin who shrugged, "I don’t even know why she’s bothering to call now....no amount of talking is going to change Dad’s mind-Macy will never go back to her."

Sighing as the three sat around the kitchen table, Rory grabbed a trio of Cokes from the fridge and planted her feet on the table. "She should have let Michael take his daughter when they divorced. Elizabeth has no more interest in being a parent than I have in being a Sumu wrestler." It was a perfect tension breaker as all three immediately cracked up.

"Sorry Mum-can’t see you weighing five hundred pounds wearing one of those diaper-thong get-ups!" Mick snorted, nearly choking on his soda. "All I can think of is Fat Bastard from that Austin Powers movie!"

"Jaysus-thanks for the visual!" Rory rolled her eyes at her overly-imaginative son and glanced up at the clock. Three-thirty and the shadows were growing long already. Two more months and the season would be over for another year. No need to worry about a gown for the Cup Awards ceremony this year, she thought grimly. Martinsville this weekend-a track that Junior has never been too fond of. Next week-Talladega. She shuddered at the thought of ever going back there; the sights and sounds of that awful day still fresh in her memory. She wondered if Junior would be able face the high-banked monster again-Talladega had once been his playground, now it was his demon. If he could just get through next weekend without falling apart-better yet, if he could actually finish well and prove to masses that he wasn’t washed-up, she mused. The ending of this season in hell would indeed be a blessing. Well then, let’s hope for at least a top-20 finish in points, regroup and lick our wounds this winter and come back stronger than ever next year-that’s what Michael has always said and damned if he wasn’t right. Still, she thought-not a bad effort for a first-time crew chief-especially when one considered the fact that her driver had been out of commission for nearly two months.

The sudden crack of a slamming door caused all three to involuntarily jump. Michael stalked into the kitchen and wordlessly began rummaging in the fridge for a beer. Rory glanced at Mick and Caitlin, who were already quietly backing out of the kitchen-they wanted no part of their father’s obviously foul mood. "Why don’t you go wake up our Sleepin’ Beauty from her nap? I’ll be fixin’ dinner soon." Rory whispered. Caitlin nodded silently and stole upstairs to the spare bedroom.

Mick was already half out the door when Michael fixed his steely gaze on him, "Where ya goin’, boy? Didn’t ya hear your momma? It’s almost time for dinner." Mick knew better than to cross him and sheepishly turned from the door.

"Sorry Dad-I was just going to get some stuff packed for Mum to head to Martinsville. She had some tools and her laptop that she wanted in the pit wagon this week."

Sighing and wearily running his hand through his hair, Michael shook his head as if to rid himself of the malaise Buffy’s latest escapade had inflicted on his life. "I’m sorry, Mick-I shouldn’t be taking this out on you-it’s not your fault-go on to whatever it was you were doing."

"Are you ok, Dad?" Michael nodded wordlessly as Mick resigned himself to the relative peace of the garage.

Michael and Rory sat in the absolute quiet of a departing storm. Rory began chopping some potatoes and turnips to toss in the large iron pot with the smoked pork shoulder that had been slowly cooking away. The smell of a raspberry tart bubbling over in the oven wafted sweetly, cloyingly in the still, muggy air. Rising and wrapping his long arms around her, Michael rested his chin on her head. "Y’know, I think I’m gonna give up and join a monastery."

"mmm-hmmmm...what brought that on, luv? By the way, could you hand me the bay leaves?" Not missing a beat, Rory tossed some chopped onions and cabbage into the pot. "Eww...the house is gonna smell like yer ol’ socks!"

"It’s my dick..."

"Aye...what about it? Sure now, you’re not thinkin’ of gettin’ rid of it, are ya? Shit! My tart is burnin’! Damn this miserable oven!" She growled as she removed the smoking pie and set it on a tray to cool, all thoughts of Michael’s errant manhood put on hiatus.

"......when I think of all the trouble that sumbitch has gotten me into over the years...." Michael mused, half to himself.

"So what has our Miss Buffy have to say for herself? By the way, yer dick is fine just where it is and there’s no monastery that will have you, so get that idea right out of your pointed noggin!"

Smiling wryly, Michael grunted, "Right now, she didn’t elaborate on a helluva lot. Seems she’s had this Lake Tahoe vacation in the works for awhile. Says she explain more when she gets back but it all boils down the fact that she wants to surrender her parental rights to Macy. I have no idea what’s going through her mind-but I told her point-blank that all financial support is stopping right now. She’s not contesting it, which makes me kinda wonder what she’s up to."

"I should hope not! Between alimony and you payin’ the rent for that condo down at the lake...." Rory broke off before she could say more. Michael’s financial support of his former wife was never discussed between them but now with their own financial situation hanging in balance, Buffy was a luxury they could ill afford. "Sorry luv, but you know how I feel about that...she should have gotten her lazy arse to work years ago.-now here we are up to are arses in hock and that damned condo is costin’ the moon to keep...I could go on about her bloody manicures, shopping excursions, cars an’ all that shite too .."

"S’ok...I don’t blame you for how you feel...she always liked to live high on the hog. But while she had Macy, my hands were tied....but that’s shits comin’ to an end now-she’s getting married."

"Love of Christ! Who would have her?!"

"...now tell us how you really feel!" Michael chuckled knowing Rory was never shy about her feelings towards Buffy. "I dunno who the lucky man is to be honest with ya-she didn’t say. Suppose I’ll find out soon enough...." The ringing of the phone interrupted any further discussion on Buffy. Mick hollered out from the living room, "Dad! It’s Teresa!"

"Wonder if she’ll still want to talk to me tomorrow..." Michael rose and headed for his office, "I’ll pick it up in here!" Closing the door behind him, he yelled back, "I won’t hog the line-I know you’re waiting for your girlfriend to check in!" A shrill voice in the living room squealed, "Hah-Hah! Mick’s got a girlfriend!" to a cascade of giggles.

Mick stalked out to the kitchen and plopped down in the chair Michael had occupied. Staring fixedly ahead with arms folded and peering from under his thick, curly bangs, he growled at his now-smirking sisters. Rory couldn’t help but grin too as she casually glanced over her shoulder, "She’s been upgraded to girlfriend now, has she?" At this, Caitlin giggled, "You’d never know it from that moon-eyed look he always gets when DEI comes up on the caller ID..."

"Stop it!" he hissed as he swatted her.

"Jerk!" came the retort with an accompanying smack upside the head.

"Both of ya quit it or I’m sellin’ ya to the gypsies!" growled Rory as she grabbed a handful of plates from the cupboard. "Make yourselves useful and start settin’ the table!"

"Well...looks like I’ll be meeting with her tomorrow at 9 sharp..." Michael yawned as he leaned against the doorframe. "It’s gonna be just her, Junior and me..."

"Where’s Ty? He’s always around for anything that’s involving Teresa....odd that she didn’t mention him.." Rory set the pot of stew down and shook her head, "Sounds like this is more than just a social call though..."

"Funny-she didn’t mention him at all except that he’s on vacation." Michael shrugged, "We’ll find out soon enough..." An odd thought suddenly occurred to him as he poured himself a glass of Merlot. Actually several odd thoughts seemed to congregate at once-the first and foremost was how things were slowly coming around full circle. He deliberately refrained from divulging too many details from his conversation with Teresa. From the gist of his conversation, it almost sounded like she wanted his help with DEI’s operations. But he wasn’t going to get his hopes up on that deal-nor was he going to put himself in a position for a future buy-out of MWI. No-he was going to sit back and play his hand carefully. But the fact that Junior and Steve stood under the same roof, joking and talking as if it were five years ago and they were just waiting for Dale to show up was proof that perhaps things were finally taking a turn for the better. Plus, after a bitter divorce, Macy was finally coming home to him. Buffy was finally out of his life and from the tone of her voice, Teresa almost but didn’t quite allude to being rid of Ty Norris. For her part, Buffy had seemingly wanted to move on at last; cutting the last ties to her relationship to Michael by surrendering custody of Macy, who had always preferred the company of her father.

Their offspring no longer squabbling amongst themselves and a bright, orange harvest moon rising behind the stately old house, the Waltrip household resonated with that warm, cozy glow of familiar harmony. In their little corner of the globe, all was right in the world and all was in it’s place. At least for this evening.....

*****************************************

"If I didn’t have this meeting with Teresa and Jun, I’d be going with ya...." Michael grunted as he hoisted Rory’s weekend duffle bag in the back of the Avalanche. "Mick! C’mon boy! Plane’s gonna be leavin’ in an hour! Let’s get a move on if you’re going!" Michael hollered.

"Just think-next week we’ll all be together at the track for the first time in months...." Rory looked up at him and simply felt like holding him for a moment. "Are you sure you’re up to going with us to Talladega next week?"

"Why wouldn’t I? Been in bad wrecks before, hon. It takes more than the track to scare me. Besides, I think Jun is gonna need our support-I think it’s gonna be rough on him. Shit, I hardly remember anything about the wreck but he’s got the whole thing on instant replay and it’s been on a continuous loop in his head since April."

"We’ll get him through this-right now, I don’t care where he finishes as long as he keeps his head together and doesn’t flip out half-way through the race." Rory murmured as she looked up at the cloudless sky. Clear, cool weather for this weekend was a perfect recipe for a pumped-up crowd and a track with some grip. They watched as the Aaron’s hauler lumbered from the shop to the little two-lane beyond the house, also on it’s way to Martinsville and hopefully victory lane for the Busch race. Bobby Kennedy waived as he hopped in his jeep and took off towards the Concord airport.

Mick thundered down the porch steps and tossed his weekend bag into the truck as he balanced two travel mugs of coffee on his knees. Michael looked at his watch and grinned at his still-sleepy son who was now lightly dozing in the backseat. "Hope we ain’t keepin’ ya up!"

"mmmph-mmm yeah...rightwhatever..." grumbled the muffled response as Michael fired the truck up and headed for DEI. Gangly legs that were nearly as long as Michael’s tucked up against the driver’s seat and within minutes he was snoring away. Never one for the hustle and bustle of the morning, he’d cheerfully sleep his whole day away. A mix of apprehension coupled with hope gnawed at Michael’s gut as he headed for I-77. Still wondering what was in store for him at DEI, wondering if he should’ve stuck to his guns and told Teresa, "Thanks, but no thanks" and simply went on with his life. He’d know soon enough as he finally swung the big truck through the employee gates behind the Garage Mahal.

Chapter 21: The Kid

"What time is first practice?" Michael whispered to Junior as they both sat in the conference room sipping coffee and waiting patiently for Teresa. "Are you sure you can make it?"

"High noon for practice and quals at 3-I’ve got plenty of time to get there." Junior chuckled at a sudden thought, "If not, we can always stick that boy of yours behind the wheel...as long as he don’t do any interviews, nobody would know it ain’t me!"

Michael stretched his legs under the table and sighed as he looked at the framed oil portraits on the wall. In the soft light and dark oak paneling, the atmosphere in the stately room reminded him more of a place that raced Thoroughbreds instead of Chevrolets. "Jun-what did his will say?"

Junior shook his head, "I’m not sure about the contents regarding the business operations myself. It was all legalese mumbo-jumbo to me-but when I talked to Teresa about your dismissal and that clause in your contract, she said that she thought there was something in Dad’s will that over-rode it. She wanted to go through it again just to make sure before she called us in." He looked into the eyes of his old friend just as Teresa entered the room with a large sheaf of paperwork in her arms, "Guess we’ll find out soon enough..."

"Mike!" she smiled as he rose, taking her hand in his, "I’m so glad you could make it today-it’s so good to see you again!" She smiled warmly and took her seat in front of the two men. "Well, I know at least one of you has a race he has to get to so I’ll just start out by sayin’ that there’s gonna be a lot of changes around this place. As you both know, this has been a difficult year to say the least. Between running the Legacy Foundation and the day-to-day operations of the company, I was overwhelmed. Ty had assured me that he would take care of DEI, so foolishly I let him assume control over all facets of the daily operations and the teams." Pausing, she looked up as both men sat intently on the edge of their seats. "Michael-by the time you were released from the hospital, I was so far out of the loop with what Ty was doing with the teams, I had no idea that he was intent on terminating your contract. I was in Daytona organizing the next tribute concert when he told me that you had voluntarily resigned due to your injuries."

Junior inhaled sharply and Michael felt as if the world were beginning to drop out from under him. She waited patiently for her words to sink in before she continued, "I started to get suspicious when I heard that Slugger had also left us on the same day that Michael’s release had been signed. I thought it odd-it didn’t make any sense for Slugger to leave if he knew that you had planned on retiring, Mike. Then Junior came to me some time after with the rest of the story behind your dismissal. The minute Junior told me about that infirmary clause being the reason that Ty used to release you, I remembered that Dale made a provision in his will that superceded it. Dale always wanted that contract amended but unfortunately it was never done-we should have had more foresight in this -God knows how dangerous your job is. Unfortunately, you paid the ultimate price because I chose to view this end of the business through blinders." She looked into Michael’s still-stunned face and slid a portion of her paperwork in front of him, "It’s all there, Mike-go ahead, both of you and read it."

It was there in black and white-what amounted to one of Dale Earnhardt’s last requests was a simple statement:

"...In regards to the driver of my third team started in the autumn of 2000 and at the time of this Last Will and Testament, as licensed and registered as #15 driven by Michael Curtis Waltrip-any provision or clause in his driver’s agreement outlining or defining termination due to illness, infirmary or injury due to accident shall be rendered null and void. The decision to resign based on physical ability to perform his job shall be placed upon said driver’s own judgment........"

Try as he might, Michael read and re-read the section of the will trying to make sense of what this all meant. He wanted to scream, to cry, to rage at the injustice dealt to him. Years of giving his heart and soul to this company had come to this-when was this torture going to stop? What did this provision mean now? He glanced over at Junior, who now sat with his face buried in his hands. "I’m so sorry, Michael....so very, very sorry...."

"What do we do now? What’s it mean?" Michael croaked hoarsely.

"Well.." Teresa began, "For starters, at the very least you’re more than welcome to come back and drive for us as soon as you’re able. In the bigger picture, I’ve got ample evidence to have Ty’s position terminated-the fact that he’s coerced Junior into signing your release, he’s deceived me and he’s driven away the sponsors. I’ve lost two teams this year-between Steve being fired on rather dubious grounds-and now Pennzoil pulling out, I’ve lost Brendan to Hendrick. This whole organization is riding on Junior now and even Budweiser has told me in no uncertain terms that if he doesn’t produce next season, they are buying out his contract for face value only."

"In short, bro-Ty’s fucked us over big-time and he’s laughing all the way to the bank." Junior muttered bitterly. "She hasn’t even told you what he’s done with some of the Foundation money-fucker put it all in these foreign savings institutions. We didn’t even realize it until we started receiving all these ‘insufficient funds’ notices for our annual contributions."

Part of him wanted to get up and leave now-DEI fired him and it was over. Why should he help them ? Why should he care? The cautionary voice in his head warned him to move slow on this deal, but seemed at war with his heart. His instincts told him there was much more that wasn’t being disclosed yet and that old saying, "fools rush in where angels fear to tread", echoed in his mind. Except one fearless angel. He glanced up at the painting of Dale that hung over the marble fireplace at the end of the conference room.

He let his gaze drift from Teresa and Junior; each face wrought with anxiety, hinging on his next words. A lesser man would have felt a perverse sense of power but Michael knew they were as much a pawn in Ty’s scheme as he was. He knew he couldn’t just set back and let the inevitable happen; turn his back on his best friend. If not for Junior or Teresa, he would do it for Dale.

Finally, clearing his throat and choosing his words with care, Michael spoke softly, "My agreement with RCR for my engines is for one year. I will contact Napa to see if they’ll be interested in a sponsorship deal if we go back to DEI. I ain’t makin’ any promises but I’ll do what I can."

"Thank you, Michael. I knew we could count on you." Teresa rose and embraced him. A bitter thought flashed briefly in his mind as he reflected on his own situation. If only you could’ve been there for me, he thought.

********************************

Martinsville

Rory paced the garage compound furiously, glancing at her watch every few minutes. Where the bloody hell was he? Practice was in fifteen minutes and still no Junior. Desperation was quickly setting in as she reflected grimly how important this session was. The car was brand new-had never had a second of track time. God only knew how it was going to handle the difficult going at the old track. Grabbing the arm of Frank Stoddard as he walked by the garage, she whispered, "Is there any drivers out of a ride this weekend?"

"Not that I know of-Busch race is in Nashville this weekend. Is Junior sick?"

Rory tried not to blanche as the thought crossed her mind. Damn! Sure now, they’ll think he’s drunk, hungover or worse! If it gets out to Budweiser that he missed first practice.......

She shook her head, "N-no, he’s fine. I just heard that Len Wood might be looking for a back-up." she muttered. She knew that Frank had little use for the man so there was little chance that her lie would go challenged.

Frank shook his head, "No wonder the way that stingy bastard treats his drivers!" he growled. "Good luck, lady!"

"Aye-same to you, Frankie." she said weakly. An idea suddenly formed in her mind. No-don’t even go there. If Michael finds out, he’ll surely kill you....

"Mick!" she yelled as she roused the lad who was presently napping in the driver’s seat of the Budweiser Chevrolet. Christ, woman-he’s not quite 14! Sure, he’s won his quarter midget races and mini-modified events; Jeff had even let him take one of the retired Cup cars around the training track at Hendricks but this is a whole different game. She briefly thought of driving the Bud car herself-after all, she still possessed the proper credentials but there was no way she could even reach the pedals. Mick, on the other hand, would easily fit into Junior’s firesuit and helmet. It would only be for a few laps-then bring him in.......Besides, this was all the boy had ever dreamed of....

"Come on! Lazybones! Rise and shine!" She rattled his shoulder and he grunted, looking up at her.

"Uhmmm sorry Mum...didn’t sleep too good last night..."

Leaning close in the cockpit, Rory whispered, "I’ve a favor to ask you and you must think about this-I need a driver to take this car around for 10 laps during first practice."

Stunned, Mick stared vacantly at her, "Mum-have ya lost your senses? If we get caught-"

"I’ll probably be barred for life. But there’s some very big suites from Budweiser up in the hospitality suite-they must see this car on the track. 10 laps-no more, no less. Then you will bring it down pit row and directly to the garage. Keep your visor down and your window net up. Absolutely do not talk to a soul and go directly to the hauler afterward. I’ll take it from there. Do you think you can handle this?"

Mick nodded and climbed out of the car. Together they walked to the Budweiser hauler as Rory grabbed Tony Jr’s arm. "Hey! What’s going on? Isn’t Junior back yet?"

"Apparently the meeting with Teresa is taking longer than expected. But we’ve got us a driver-even if he’s just for show. I’ll tell you more in the hauler." Rory said grimly as she cautiously looked around. Good-no media yet-maybe we can pull this off......

**************************

As ten o’clock rolled around, the cars began lining up for the first practice session. Nobody looked twice at the rangy figure in the scarlet Budweiser firesuit. Inside, Mick was a nervous wreck. Sweat ran in a stream down his face and he lifted his visor to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

"Put that down!" Rory hissed, "Get in the car and put the net up! Here comes Steve Byrnes!" Shaking, Mick did as he was told and Tony Jr firmly assisted in strapping him in.

"I hope she knows what she’s doing..." he muttered as he fastened the last tethers of the HANS device in place, "Remember boy when you hit those turns-easy in, hard off. Got it?" Mick nodded wordlessly as a moment he had dreamt of his entire short life was about to commence. "Fire ‘er up!" he yelled as the first batch of cars took to the track.

Hands shaking, Mick flipped the sequential switches on and the red beast snarled to life. "Watch for the official’s signal to go, kid-you’re next up. And for God’s sake, don’t stall ‘er!" Mick nodded once again, and slowly eased the Bud car to the end of the line. The radio crackled to life as Rory’s voice spoke. "Stay low until you’re clear. Tony is gonna spot for ya so listen carefully to him."

Suddenly, as the official’s flag waved before him, Mick felt the tap of Kevin Harvick’s bumper. Inside the 29, Harvick grinned. What the hell is he doing? Playing with himself? As Rory yelled, "Go! Go!", Mick felt an overdose of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he floored the accelerator. The Monte Carlo exploded in a ball of tire smoke as he shot up the apron and right behind Tony Stewart. On the pit wagon, Rory buried her face in her hands with the inescapable feeling that she was done. She looked up as the Dupont Chevrolet made a break from the pack and rumbled down pit row to stop in front of her.

Pulling his window net down, Jeff frantically motioned to her. Sheepishly, Rory made her way over to the car and stuck her head in the window. "Aye? Can I help you, Mr. Gordon?"

"Rory, in the name of all that is holy-please tell me that is not your son in that car!"

"Well now-how would ya be thinkin’ that?"

Angrily shaking his head, Jeff glared, "Because he started the same way when I let him drive on the practice track at home! Junior would never start a run with a burnout! Now where the hell is he??"

"Listen-Jeff-it’s a long story and I’ll be most happy to fill ya in later. But I’ve got a car to mind and you’ve a practice session to complete for the nice folks at Dupont."

"Ok-I’ll stay behind him and try to keep him out of trouble. Give me the frequency that he’s on so at least I can talk to him."

"Just be careful-for all intent and purposes, that’s Junior out there. If anybody besides us finds out, there’ll be hell to pay."

"Just remember, if they end up pulling a 14 year old kid out of the wall, hell will look like Disneyland." Jeff muttered as he rolled back onto the track.

In the cockpit of the 8, all momentary jitters dissipated as Mick settled into the groove behind Dale Jarrett and Rusty. He felt comfortable with the old veterans around him. He settled in, marveling at the smooth response from the car. Even on the rough, old track, the car handled as smooth as if it were an easy Sunday cruise down I-77. He suddenly felt as if somebody was staring at him as he felt a jolt against the side of the car. Harvick. Even though he knew the other driver couldn’t see him, he could sense that Harvick knew something was amiss with the Bud car. The 29 hung at his side for a moment like a disinterested shark and then dropped below Jarrett’s car to scoot to the front of the pack. Mick heaved a sigh of relief at his passing. "Lap 6...4 more to go and take it back to the garage." came Rory’s voice.

The 8 suddenly bobbled drunkenly as the 24 drafted in close. Mick panicked for a moment and relied on his instincts as he eased out of the throttle. "Just me-hangin’ in there ok?" came Jeff’s voice as he saw Mick‘s thumbs-up out the window. "You’re doing fine-just hold that groove."

As the last lap of his practice passed, Mick grinned impishly as he saw the 29 slowing down. He had a clear shot to pass him and no traffic in front of him. Let’s open you up for one good run before I have to take you home, Mick whispered. Opening up the throttle to a throaty roar, he quickly dropped below the 29.

Alarmed as his protege suddenly took off, Jeff cursed and gunned the 24 after him. Looking up, Harvick also grinned as it looked like Junior wanted to play after all. As the Budweiser Chevy shot in front of him, Harvick latched onto his rear spoiler, successfully imposing himself between the 8 and the 24.. Glancing up to check his rearview, Mick sliced through a small pack of slower cars as he whipped around the track. Easy in, hard off my ass, he chuckled as he shot like a rocket through the turns without so much as a shimmy. He could see the flash of the small crowd that gathered to watch the practice on it’s feet. He could almost hear the roar of their cheers and his heart soared. This was the only life for him from this moment on. The 24 pulled along side, "Nice work, kid!" Jeff grinned to himself. Mick Waltrip was going to be a helluva a driver someday....

"Bring it in NOW! You’re DONE!" Rory yelled. "I’ll not have ya tearin’ this car up!" Knowing better than to argue with her, he dropped to the apron and begun his trek to the garage. All eyes were on the Bud car as it made it’s way down pit row. He just had to do it....couldn’t simply take the car for a few easy laps. Now they would all be on him the minute he puts that net down....

She quickly sidled up to the window, "Ya just broke the track record out there! Ach....you’re your father’s son, alright! Might’ve know you wouldn’t do as you’re told! Now we’ll be lucky if we can make it to the hauler without the press descending on us!"

As the Bud car was pushed into the garage, Matt Yocum collared Rory, "Hey! Wait up a minute! Can Junior spare a few words?"

Rory shook her head, "No-he’s sick right now.....a bit of the trots and he’s going directly to the hauler. Maybe later-"

"Well-could you spare a few words? You’ve done a fantastic job this year bringing this team back from the dead."

"Well-twas no mean feat. My cooking alone will raise the dead. Now if you’ll excuse me, this car’s still a piece of shite and I’ve gotta fix ‘er. Good day, Mr. Yocum." Rory turned without looking. She could see Mick on his way to the hauler-thank God! It was almost over......She looked up horrified as Junior rounded the corner of the garage. Breaking into a run, she almost knocked him over as she dragged him behind the massive tool cabinet.

"H-hey! Ro! What’s going on? Sorry I missed practice...."

"You didn’t miss all of it-here! Suit up! The lads are puttin’ the scuffs on and we’ll have ‘er back out there in a bit."

"Back out there? Who was drivin’ earlier?"

"Never mind-I’ll tell you later. Just get out there-avoid Harvick at all costs and remember this car just broke the track record."

Junior watched her walk into the hauler shaking his head. She’s getting strange in her old age, he thought wryly. He was slowly easing himself into the seat when Tony Jr. stuck his head in the window, "Thank God you’re back! Dang kid almost had Harvick in the wall!"

"Whoa....come again, bud? Kid? What kid?!" Junior groaned, knowing he already knew the answer as he watched Mick saunter down the steps of the hauler. Wringing wet with sweat, but strutting like a peacock, he spotted Junior and shouted out to him as the car was pushed back on the track. You cocky shit! Junior grinned, bad enough I suck on this track and then I get Son of Waltrip breakin’ the sound barrier with MY car....oh the injustice! The day had already started out as an odd turn of events and it would get considerably odder as the weekend progressed.

Chapters 22-28