chapter 4
"Y’know...you don’t have to leave now.." Mick grinned as he opened the passenger door of Steadman’s Dodge Ram. "But it is a beautiful night and I can’t think of any other way to spend it, ‘cept with the most beautiful woman in the world."
"You’re getting as corny as your old man!" Taylor laughed as she untied the velvet ribbon that held her long, golden mane back. She perched on the edge of the seat while Mick leaned his lanky frame against the open door of the truck. Tenderly, he traced his fingertips slowly down her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. Reaching up, she took his hand, closing her eyes as she held it. How rough and calloused for someone so young, she thought. "I’ve missed you so much, Mick...where did the years go? It seems like yesterday we were sitting in the garage at Martinsville-remember when we were just a couple of kids?"
"..and I said ’I love you’?" Mick said softly. Taylor looked up at him as he turned away, now afraid he had spoiled the moment by saying too much too soon. "Let’s go for a ride-just to get out of here." He closed her door and moved over into the driver’s seat.
They rode in silence for a little ways as Taylor fished through a few old CD’s that Steadman had rattling around in his glove box. Finally, she settled on a compilation of assorted classic country and western tunes. Every now and then, she would steal a glimpse at his handsome profile. No wonder he’s got a trail of broken hearts from here to Daytona, she thought as she regarded his strong, squared jaw and way his full lips curled as if he were just on the verge of breaking into a smile. Every now and then he would sneak a quick glance her way too; almost afraid that if he blinked, she’d be gone. Tentatively, he reached down and gently placed his hand over hers while it rested on his thigh.
Patsy Cline’s "Walkin’ After Midnight" began playing and Mick reached over and turned up the volume. A lazy three-quarter moon hung low and bright through the live oaks on the old plantation that was now affectionately known as Waltrip’s Rogue’s Roost. He drove the Dodge through the imposing brick and wrought iron gate and down the narrow road. The lights were out as it was fairly late-the only other means of lighting was provided by the aforementioned white orb staring balefully down from the blue velvet heavens.
Mick parked the truck beneath one of the oaks near the rear of the house. As he shut off the engine, one of the several old hounds uttered a muffled "woof" but never bothered to investigate. Ever true to his upbringing under the strong hand of perhaps the last of the true southern gentlemen, Mick held the door open for Taylor as she slid from the high seat of the truck. A warm breeze floated up from the cherry orchard and the rose garden as the spring peepers continued their serenade. Together they walked to the spacious back porch that looked out over the vast fields, woods and the immense garage that housed Michael’s Busch race shop.
"Co’Cola?" Mick offered as he fished around in the antique cooler that sat in the corner. Taylor had already situated herself on the old swing and took the drink he offered. For a little while, they were simply content to relish the quiet serenity of each other’s company; each with an encyclopedia’s worth of things they wanted to say to each other but neither willing to break the moment with words.
Taylor shivered slightly in the light peach-colored sweater she wore. As Mick instinctively wrapped his long arms around her, she burrowed against his warmth. Her gardenia perfume mingled with the scent of his leather jacket, sweat and Old Spice. Her throat tightened as she felt suddenly overwhelmed by a cacophony of emotions and memories. As she buried her face in his chest, she couldn’t stop the first tears that slid down her cheeks, dampening his t-shirt.
"I’m so sorry, Mick", she whispered, "So very, very sorry...."
Pulling away slightly and gazing down with a bemused expression and gently kissing her forehead, Mick cupped her face in his hands. "I don’t understand...sorry for what?" He said, shaking his head. "You’ve done nothing wrong, Tay..."
"But I have, Mick. I kept you hangin’ on a line while I was chasin’ a dream and reachin’ for the moon. I had everything I ever needed right here with you..." Mick said nothing but drew her into a tight embrace; resting his head against hers. "Y-you said you’d wait for me..."
"And I did...I let you go because I loved you. It doesn’t matter what’s happened before..all that matters now is you’re here with me."
The siren at the Sherrill’s Ford VFD wailed in the distance, briefly signaling midnight. Mick sighed, "It’s getting late-you’re staying with Uncle June, right? Want me to take you back home?"
"Mick...would your folks mind if I stay here?"
"Nah...they’d love to have ya here...Caitlin’s home too. We’ve got a couple of guest rooms....." Besides, he was far too tired to even contemplate driving all the way to Mooresville and the after-effects of the beer was making him drowsy. Rising, he took her hands and pulled her into his arms. Brushing his lips against hers, he grinned, "Maybe I can get Dad to cook breakfast!"
"Mmmm...I miss those biscuits ’n’ gravy he used to make." Taylor pressed against him tightly as she draped her arms around his neck. Mick swallowed as he felt the first stirrings of arousal as she ground her hips into him. Sighing as she felt him harden, she looked deeply into his wide, blue eyes and pulled his face to hers, kissing him deeply.
"Can I stay with you tonight?" She whispered as he nodded. He had what used to be called "the mother-in-law" apartment-a large room and private bath directly over the kitchen. It was far enough from the rest of the house to afford the privacy he needed from his pesky but adoring baby sister, Macy. (now fifteen and enjoying every moment she could to harass her brother.) Quiet as cotton on cotton, he opened the door and together they crept up the back stairs to his humble abode. There was an unwritten code of conduct regarding the bringing home of girlfriends but Mick rationed that this was Taylor-surely there could be a loophole regarding that code somewhere.... He preferred the code Michael had set for him during one of "those talks"-if you can’t be good, just be careful. That usually worked just fine by Mick.
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Mick’s heart was beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird as fumbled about undressing while Taylor "freshened up" in the bathroom. Hopping comically about on one foot while attempting to pull his jeans off (neglecting, of course, to pull his cowboy boots off first), he slammed into the nightstand. Cursing as the ceramic lamp crashed to the floor, he tumbled into bed. Tossing his boxers across the room, he debated briefly as to whether he should stay under the covers or push them to the foot of the bed. Keeping the top sheet draped discretely over his loins, he propped himself up on an elbow as Taylor finally emerged from the bath. Looking up, he smiled sweetly as she slid into bed next to him; curling up in his arms.
"Hello Beautiful Lady.." he whispered, nuzzling her neck. She responded by rolling him over on his back, tangling her fingers in his long, curly hair. Time stood still as their gazes locked and young hearts beat as one. Mick tenderly took her hands and raised them to his lips, "This moment is all I’ve ever wanted, Taylor. There’s no meaning to my life without you in it..." Full, soft lips tenderly caressed her fingertips while she lightly straddled his torso; her long hair falling in a golden wave about her shoulders. Rising to a sitting position, he rested his head against her alabaster shoulders while Taylor draped her arms around his neck.
Cupping his face in her hands and kissing his forehead, Taylor sighed, "I’ll never leave you again, Mick." Lips meeting and parting slightly as the kiss deepened.
"Mick...." His kiss was now more urgent as passion ignited his soul. His own ravenous hunger consuming him as he pushed her down on the soft bed. He paused for a moment, looking curiously down at her.
"Hmmm?....Tay..if this is too much, too soon-just say the word and we can stop...." He remembered all too well their first leap into lovemaking. He gasped as he felt her legs wrap around him; pulling him into her.
"Make love to me, baby." she murmured as his lips crushed against hers. He needed no further urging as his muscular body covered her. Long into the night, they re-affirmed their love as Mick claimed Taylor for his own; a celebration of the bond that had always been there. A bond forged in the purest essence of love.
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"Would someone tell me why that Dodge is in middle of my lavender?" growled Rory as she glanced out the kitchen window. Pushing Bluto, the enormous house cat off her morning edition of the Observer, she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. Michael scratched his head and shrugged as he glanced up from the sports page.
"Looks like Steadman’s truck. Must’ve brought Mick home last night...." he looked up as a knock on the door halted further discussion of Mick’s transgressions during the evening. "Come on in, it’s open!" he hollered. "Oh...hey there, June..."
"Good morning, Junior...coffee?" Rory looked, pleasantly surprised as Junior pulled up a chair and fixed Michael with the Earnhardt Glare. Looking up from the page, Michael arched his eyebrow, "Yesssss?"
"What’s this I hear about you gettin’ fined for planting Baby Elf on Sunday?"
"Maybe you can talk some sense into him!" Rory swatted the back of Michael’s head with a dishrag. "France fined him forty thousand for wreckin’ the little snot!"
Junior sucked in his breath as his eyes widened in surprise, "Jesus! C’mon Mike...we’ve been over this a dozen times before...it’s high time you retired, bud. There’s no need for you to drive any more!"
Michael slapped the paper down and glared back at him, "Listen up, the both of you. I’ll retire when I’m good and goddamned ready! I’m 3rd in points right now-I ain’t gonna hang it up and that’s all there is to it. End of conversation."
It was a losing argument and they knew it. But the inescapable fact remained- Michael was starting to slip. Last season, he won his 6th Daytona 500 but it was downhill from there. His reaction time was no longer as quick as it should have been. Bad decisions, over-riding Slugger’s pit calls and senseless wrecks. Races that should have been won were lost on bad judgment. He finished the season barely hanging on to 17th-his worst finish since a string of bad luck sidelined his bid for the top 10 in ‘03. Junior sadly had seen it all before-he had many painful memories of his father’s final years behind the wheel and he swore up and down that he’d never let Michael come to that
"Mikey-you can’t go on like this.." Rory said quietly. "Finish this year if you must but let’s start lookin’ at getting somebody else in that car for next year. How many times have you had a concussion over the years? You’ve already blacked out once last year...luckily you were in the pit! Next time you may not be as fortunate..."
"I was comin’ off the flu and you know it.." Michael growled as he rose. "I’ve gotta get over to the shop sometime today. Where the hell is Mick anyway...he’s supposed to be hookin’ up with Smoke and Grubb for some Victory Junction gig this afternoon." he half-muttered as he walked up the back stairs that led to Mick’s room. Junior and Rory watched silently.
"What are we gonna do with him, June?" Junior squeezed her shoulder and shook his head.
"I’ll get him out of that car. That car took Daddy out and I’ll be damned if I let it take Michael too."
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"Boy, you gonna get your lazy ass up?" Jesus, I’m starting to sound like Dad, Michael thought as he banged on Mick’s door. The sound of muffled voices and a radio accompanied assorted stumbling around. Presently, Mick poked his disheveled head out. Bleary-eyed and his throat covered with bruises, he rubbed the sleep out of his face.
"Yeah..I’m up, Da...can ya bring us some coffee?"
Michael narrowed his eyes and tried to peer past Mick’s shoulder as he pushed against the door. "Who you got in there, boy? You know how your mamma feels about bringin’ girls home...."
Mick, fully awake now, held his ground. "Uhm...I’ll ‘splain it to ya later..."
"Uncle Mikey!" Taylor pushed Mick aside and threw her arms around the startled Michael. Sighing and returning the bone-crushing hug, Michael ran his hand through his hair, "Hey Baby Girl...good to see ya, hon." He gently kissed her forehead and glanced at Mick as his son shrugged helplessly. "We’ll talk about this later-right now, you better be gettin’ ready to go over to The Junction with Smoke. You know danged well he’ll rip you a new one if you don’t show....go on downstairs the both of you-I’ll talk to Rory about this deal myself."
Michael walked back to his office near the great room. Looking up at a old photo of himself and Dale, he smiled to himself. Well seeing those two kids back together was worth every fine Brian France could throw at him. He could hear Rory sputtering about something to Junior. He had his own plan for the future and as he glanced up at an elaborate oil portrait of himself next to his car in Victory Lane, he envisioned Mick taking the checkers at Daytona in the old #3. With his pending retirement and Junior’s, the future of DEI very well rested on Mick’s shoulders.
Chapter 5
May and Speedweeks settled in the heart of "Race City, USA" in all it’s glory as fans from all walks of life and every state of the country descended for this annual bacchanalia of pageantry and speed. You could feel the excitement in the air, even in the smallest "wide spot in the road" excuse for a town. Everything from your four-star restaurants and nightspots to the tiniest bar and roadhouse BBQ sported "Welcome Race Fans!" banners with accompanying checkered flag streamers. It was Marti Gras, the Fourth of July and the State Fair all rolled into two chaotic weeks. The drivers of all series-whether ARCA, Busch or Cup-graciously availed their time to the endless autograph sessions, charity events, parades and fan festivals that abounded.
Men with the names of Earnhardt, Petty, Waltrip, Marlin and Jarrett were eyed as the sport’s crown ambassadors. For a fan, meeting these drivers was akin to shaking the hand of nobility; an honor never to be forgotten. Unfortunately, this afternoon a young man bearing the name of Waltrip was currently foregoing the festivities as penance was sought from his team owner as his father and mentor quietly stood by. The latest crime occurred in the garage area of Darlington as he and Kyle Busch clashed once again. It had been a storm brewing for almost a year and had climaxed with the engagement of one Taylor Earnhardt.
After his debut at Atlanta, Mick was in danger of being regarded as something of a rogue driver, a rebel and a throwback to the wild bootleggers who pioneered the sport in the first place. He had outclassed his peers so badly in the Busch series, nobody could get close enough to really test him. Now that he was driving with seasoned veterans, his limits were being tested and his normally aggressive style of driving was tempered by the strict rules of conformity that the sponsors insisted that the competitors adhere to. And Mick despised conformity; considering the boy had been weaned on tales of his heroes, it should have been expected. Since Nextel had taken the reins of the series, the days of "rubbin’ is racin’" were long over and Mick’s occasionally rough riding tactics were frowned upon. Only five races into his freshman season, he was already on probation for a mid-stretch temper tantrum that resulted in sending Greg Biffle into the wall and out of his car for the rest of the year. The crowd loved the fresh, raw energy but the respective heads of Nascar feared that this latest incarnation of The Intimidator would intimidate the investors right out of the sport, thus tearing apart the billion-dollar entertainment empire they had so meticulously crafted over the years. Nascar wanted "clean", "safe" drivers like Ryan Newman and Matt Kenseth.
There were others who thought differently, the older fans, veteran drivers and owners who could see the rot starting underneath the gleaming black and gold Nextel paint. Over the years, Nascar had tamed the rebels who dared to step out of line-Tony Stewart and Kevin Harvick being the most notable. Dale Earnhardt would probably never stand a chance in this watered-down version of the sport he loved with so much passion. Few could honestly argue against Mick. With his long, shoulder-length ebony mane of curly hair and icy blue eyes, he cut a striking figure as he literally towered over the other drivers. (with the notable exception of old Michael) The chip on his shoulder was for all to see; he asked for no quarter and gave none. Couple that with his hard-scrabble beginnings on the mean streets of Belfast with a mother who’s ancestors fought for Ireland’s freedom and his father, who went from a hard-luck journeyman driver to a champion. In his short career, Mick had captured the imaginations and hearts of fans just as Junior had a decade ago.
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Rick Hendrick leaned against a tool box in the Dupont garage at Lowes, wondering if perhaps Richard Childress should have taken Mick under his wing when he had the chance. Childress was long used to handling drivers with fiery tempers-he knew how to channel that excessive energy into something positive and turn out a legend. Rick was used to polished professionals like Jeff and Jimmy. He knew he couldn’t break the boy’s spirit, in fact-he was at wit’s end as to what to do with Mick. He sighed heavily and looked over at Jeff, who shrugged helplessly. Mick also leaned against his car; arms crossed and chin tilted up.
"Look-he hit me about half a dozen times out there. He almost spun me out in 3....I swatted him once and he lost it....I’m sorry."
"...and then you shoved him in the garage." Jeff said slowly, trying to choose his words with care. "I know there’s bad blood between you and Kyle-hell, the whole world knows it! But that was just plain inexcusable. Kyle is still your teammate! You don’t have to like him-but you still gotta learn to work with him."
"Mickey, that car of yours was tanking and you were a lap down-you were holding Kyle up-that’s why he bumped you." Rick admonished.
Meanwhile, Michael had wandered over from the Napa garage and Mick clenched his jaw as his eyes met his father’s. Michael had been caught up in Kyle’s wild spin; sending the Napa Chevy headlong into the inside wall. He subsequently lost two spots in the point standings and naturally wasn’t at all pleased when he learned of the cause of the incident.
"Boy, when you’re done here, I oughtta knock the shit out of you." he growled. He was about to add to this epitaph when Rick waved him off. Jeff closed his eyes as he knew what was coming and it broke his heart. He had recognized Mick’s talent early on but he knew what Rick demanded in his drivers and this clash of personalities could only result in things ending very badly.
Mick sighed and picked up his helmet, "I’ll take it easy next time. I promise I’ll try to work with him from now on. I’m going over to his garage to apolo-".
Rick shook his head, "I’m sorry Mickey but there’s not going to be a next time. We can’t sanction this type of behavior from any of our drivers. You’re truly a gifted driver but you’ve got a lot to learn, son." Mick stared blankly at him, not at all grasping the words being said. Michael’s expression softened as he looked out the garage door, trying to focus on anything other than his son who would soon fall apart once he fully understood the implication of Rick’s words. Racing was as essential to Mick as the very air that he breathed. Take that away from him and you may as well put a bullet in his head. Rick sighed then continued, "I’ve gotta let you go, Mickey. I’ll buy out the remainder of your contract and I’ll let other teams know that you’re a free agent now."
But he didn’t fall apart. Something Rory had drilled into him long ago, reminded him to never let them see you cry and don’t let the bastards get you down. What doesn’t kill us, will make us stronger. It’s what got he and his mother through some of their darkest days and it would see him through many more before he was done. Mick straightened himself, blinked once and simply nodded, "Well then. Fine-it’s been grand working with you, Mr. Hendrick." He calmly extended his hand, "I’m sorry this didn’t work out." Inside, his blood was boiling but damned if he was going to give them the satisfaction that Michael Patrick Waltrip was beat.
Rick quietly clasped his large hand in his own, "You’re a good kid, Mickey. You’ve got the potential to be one of Nascar’s greatest drivers."
Mick looked at him with concrete in his eyes, "Nascar’s greatest drivers?" he laughed bitterly, "I’m done with Nascar. This isn‘t about racing to win anymore. It‘s all bullshit. " With that, he turned and walked swiftly out of the garage, leaving his stunned father, Jeff and Rick Hendrick. It was their turn to absorb the words and all the implications of their meaning.
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Sunday descended into a fireball sunset as the departing afternoon clouds from an early thunderstorm painted the sky and Lowe’s grandstand in various shades of orange, pink and scarlet. Michael finished his pre-race interview and turned to step into his Monte Carlo. Something made him look back over his shoulder and his eyes met Mick’s. He knew this was killing Mick. Nothing was said to the media until the official press release was due to come out on Wednesday. Sighing, he gave the boy a sad smile, "What’s up, son?"
"I just came by to wish you good luck, that’s all." Mick returned the smile and gave his father a quick hug, "Give ‘em hell, Dad."
"Thanks, kid." A moment of unspoken love and pride passed between them before Michael gently squeezed his shoulder, "We’re gonna get through this." The various pit reporters and journalists from every racing publication stared curiously wondering why the younger Waltrip wasn’t starting the 600. Most assumed that it was simply because this was his rookie season and Hendrick didn’t want to push him too hard but others quickly speculated and drew up their own conclusions based on Mick’s controversial season.
Mick turned and walked up pit row. He could feel they eyes of the others boring into him; unspoken questions on their lips. He wished he had simply gone home after his dismissal. He knew Taylor was perched Junior’s war wagon and it probably would have done him a world of good to be with her, but right now all he wanted was to be left alone and miles away. He heard the pounding footsteps behind him as he walked down that long line of cars but chose to ignore the sound until a hand grabbed his shoulder.
"Mick! Hey bro, wait up!" It was Stedman, dressed in his DEI finery. He had taken a provisional due to a lackluster qualifying effort. He was keenly aware that starts like this weren’t taken lightly by the company’s top brass and Michael gruffly indicated that if he wanted to keep his ass in the driver‘s seat, he best make up for it in the race. Mick smiled wanly at his old friend as they walked to the back of the pack. As they passed the 97, neither looked up as Kyle and Kurt Busch idly regarded the two.
"Waltrip! How’s it feel to be a free agent these days?" snorted Kurt as his younger brother snickered at his side. A few of Kurt’s crew and assorted flunkies followed their leader’s cue and uttered a few guffaws of their own.
"How’s it feel to be an asshole?" Mick muttered just loud enough for them to hear.
"What was that, boy? Big words for somebody lookin’ for a ride!" Kyle retorted, stepping in beside Mick and Steadman. Kyle was starting just in front of Stedman, thanks to an equally abysmal qualifying run.
"Shut up, you fuckwad!" growled Steadman. "You don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout Mick’s deal."
Mick could feel his blood beginning to boil once more. The anger he had so carefully kept under control was quickly heading for a melt-down. He calmly turned to Kyle and put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"Put up your faceshield. I got something to say to you and I’d appreciate it if you could be a man for once in your life and look me in the eye." he said quietly. Kyle smirked behind the shield and he reached up and pulled off his helmet. Too late, he realized the mistake he had made as Mick’s ham-sized fist drilled him straight in the face. He howled as the crack of splintering bone and nasal cartilage resounded like a cap gun going off.
Kurt was almost out of his car but was cornered by an official screaming, "Stay in your car!" Another official was quickly herding Steadman into his own vehicle as two burly security guards grabbed Mick to escort him into the Official’s trailer. Medics quickly attended the wounded Kyle, who was slumped in a fetal position as blood streamed down his face.
"Easy now, lads." Mick grinned cockily as he pulled away from the guards, "I know the way. What are they gonna do to me? Fire me?? Like I give a rat‘s arse!" Deep down inside, he knew he was biting the hand that fed him but he wasn’t about to change who he was. His heart ached for his father, the man he looked up to above all others. Mick knew the repercussions for his actions would be severe-after all he was on probation. Mick sighed as Mike Helton wearily looked up from his stack of paperwork. Nobody ever told him that his road in life was meant to be an easy one.
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"Where’s that boy of mine?" Michael grinned as he pulled Rory into his arms. Junior bounded into victory lane, practically choking Michael. Junior had finished second behind him-it was just like the old days when they finished 1-2 on many an occasion.
"Hey bud! We gotta do this more often!" Junior laughed as he sprayed Michael with a can of Budweiser. "Just like back in the day, bro!"
Macy and Taylor joined the joyous melee in a sea of blue and red shirts as both teams descended to celebrate. Spotting Taylor, Michael kissed his future daughter in law on the forehead. Then he noticed her tear-streaked cheeks and his heart fell to the ground. "C’mon...let’s head back to the hauler for a minute-that’s about all I got before I do the post race interviews." Rory sighed as Michael motioned her to join him; she already knew what had transpired in Helton’s mobile office. Michael waved to the crowd before heading quickly to the Napa garage.
"What’s going on?" the puzzled Junior asked. "That boy of yours had better not done anything to my baby sister!"
"Mick’s been suspended indefinitely. ‘Tis bad enough he lost his ride with Rick...." Rory muttered, shaking her head. The low rumble of the incoming 15 pulling in behind her took her attention back to business as Brendan pulled himself out of the car. He had finished fifth; all things considered, it was a great day for DEI. Junior glowered in the direction of the Napa hauler just barely visible. Rory looked over at him, "Come on, we’ve got sponsors to bless with our presence. Poor Michael...he has such big hopes for Mick. He just doesn’t have the mindset for racing at this level. You’ve got to give and take here and he just can’t see that..."
Junior shook his head, "I was the same goddanged way. Too young...too stupid...too stubborn to know any better. Daddy used to ride my ass on everything from wearin’ the right hat to which ass to kiss." With a heavy sigh and a quick smile to a photographer, he added. "I ain’t gonna give up on him-besides, I can’t. Big, dumb turd is gonna marry my sister and I sure as hell ain’t gonna support his lazy backside too!"
As the media swarmed around Rory, Slugger, Junior and Brendan, they put the inner turmoil aside. They had all endured every conceivable peak and valley the sport had to offer. They would endure Mick’s growing pains as well-either he would straighten himself out or he would have to find another line of work to support himself. Michael eventually rejoined them in the Media Center for the inevitable question and answer period; smiling broadly and joking with reporters as he always did. Only those closest to him could see the pain and disappointment in his eyes.
**************
"You don’t need this, Mickey. You could race in any series and blow their doors off! To hell with all of ‘em!" Taylor leaned her head against his shoulder as she rubbed his back. Mick sat fixedly in front of a small TV that sat on the counter in his coach. He nursed a cup of coffee and a couple rounds of Advil to rid himself of the pain in his bandaged hand. All the Advil in the Western Hemisphere couldn’t rid the hollow ache in his heart as he watched Michael go through the motion of his interviews. He knew how much his actions were hurting his father. Memories kept flashing through his mind and it only added to the already bitter taste in his mouth.
"Look at him, Tay..." he whispered, "I’m killin’ him....I can see it in his eyes..." He buried his face in his hands. "Why? Why did I have to be so fucking stupid?"
"Mick-listen to me." Taylor cupped his face in her hands. "You were standing up for something you believed in. Everybody knows Nascar is goin’ to hell and Brian France is the bus driver. He’s choked the life out of this sport and all you were doing is being yourself..."
"I need to get away for awhile...before I can do anymore damage or hurt anybody else." Mick stared blankly at the screen. The first drops of rain began to pelt the windows and dance on the roof of the coach. He knew it wouldn’t belong before somebody would be ‘round to take them to the plane and back home to Sherrill’s Ford.
"We can go anywhere you want. We’ll take as long as you need."
Mick shook his head, "No, Tay. I can’t drag you down too....besides, you’ve got to go back to school in the fall. No way am I gonna let you quit!"
"Then come with me, Mick...I can’t stand the thought of being away from you. Ithaca is about as far from Nascar as you can get without leavin’ the country." Taylor took his hand and gently squeezed it; brushing her lips across his. "I love you, Mickey."
"Love you too, Taylor....but I can’t help but feel like I’m this huge disappointment to everybody. Hell..." he shook his head, "Uncle Dale woulda kicked my ass home and back again."
"No...he wouldn’t." Taylor smiled that old Cheshire smile. "He’d be bustin’ with pride right now. He’d say, ‘Boy, you done awright! The rest of ‘em will catch up with you sooner or later.’ "
Mick wrapped her in his arms as he stared at some old photos on the wall of Taylor and her father. One picture in particular caught his eye. In it, Dale was holding Taylor as she snuggled against his whiskery chin but he was looking over her shoulder. It almost seemed as though he was looking right at Mick. And he winked.
chapter 6
July
The big Kenworth tractor slowly backed up to entrance of Michael’s Busch race shop. The sides of the trailer were brightly painted up to match the design of the "Aaron’s Dream Machine" as the Busch car had been known for the past decade. As soon as both cars and the rest of it’s million-dollar cargo was loaded, it would be on the road to Daytona. A host of hydraulic lifts aided the crew in securing first one, then the back-up car in the elevated storage compartment. The steady rumble of the diesel engine drowned out most noise of the crew; in a strange sort of way, the drone was almost soothing. Daytona and Waltrip went together like cold beer and Hooters wings; Michael had conquered the track nearly as many times as Earnhardt himself, yet still the crew always felt that little tinge of apprehension. Tragedy always rode shotgun with victory at Daytona.
A weathered old man leaned against the gleaming white rail fence that edged the driveway, occasionally bantering with the driver and crew chief. "Old DW", as most folks referred to Darrell Waltrip, ran a hand through his bristly salt and pepper hair. He looked up and cast an eye at the line of thunderheads to the west. Well into his late sixties, the old veteran’s cerulean blue eyes still snapped and twinkled with mischief.
He had long ago retired "for good" from both the track and after this weekend, it would be his last call in the Fox booth. Fitting it seemed. Michael had won that very first race he called and though he would never admit it to anybody, he hoped to see his "little brother" in Victory Lane just one last time as an announcer.
"Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout, Old Goat?" Rory grinned as she nudged against him. "You’re too quiet and that’s dangerous."
Darrell grinned as he took the glass of sweet tea she offered. "Ohhhh..nuthin’ in particular. Just how time flies when you’re havin’ fun."
Rory cocked her head at him and arched an eyebrow. "I know what yer thinkin’....and we’ve been on his arse for months to get him to hang it up. He’s already got offers from Fox for your seat up in the booth." She sighed and leaned against the post with her brother-in-law. The sun peaked from behind a cloud and shown warm on their backs as they quietly enjoyed a brief moment of peace. Darrell glanced over at her and sadly looked at her hands. Hands that should be holding a glace of white wine and manicured to the fine with the other wives in the luxury of a lunch date at one of the exclusive country clubs. But no-this was her lot in life, beside Michael on pitrow and the garages. Tiny hands that delicately held the Waterford tumbler bore the scars of cutting sheet metal, nails filed to the nubs and calluses proudly earned. It was no wonder she was one of the most respected crew chiefs ever to field a Cup car. As if reading his thoughts, Rory turned to him, "What?? You’re thinkin’ I should hang it up as well?"
"Weellll...I wouldn’t tell that to your face ’cause I value my life!" He pulled back, feigning shock, "But y’know...maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. You an’ Michael are in a position to just set back an’ enjoy yerselves. Y’got Mick and Taylor gettin’ married, pretty soon yer gonna be up to your eyeballs in grandbabies-."
Rory furiously shook her head, "Hold it right there, old man! I’m not ready to be anybody’s grandmother! Sittin’ by the fire with me shawl an’ pipe! I can’t imagine it-can’t see myself givin’ it up yet. There’s too much I want to do yet and the day Brendan wins the championship, then I’ll consider it." Darrell grinned in spite of himself. Her Irish brogue had been tempered by the years but whenever she was flustered, it rose up with a vengeance. He gave her a good-natured poke in the ribs.
"Hah! Got yer Irish up, didn’t I?"
Rory glowered at him, refusing to let him get the last word. "Ye Old Fart!" Suddenly her face softened as she gazed back out on the fields behind the house. Darrell followed her gaze and solitude settled on the pair once again. Darrell smiled softly and gave her a nudge.
"Now who’s gettin’ all quiet?"
She never broke her gaze of the pastures and pines beyond. "Do you remember when I went back to Belfast to settle my mother’s estate, D?"
The old veteran’s face darkened at the memory. After all these years, those terrible days still haunted him. "How could I forget? I thought we were gonna lose Michael for good. What brings that up?"
"Well..it’s just before I left, we had it all planned out. We’d be sittin’ on the back porch, a-sittin’ an’ watchin’ the kids grow. Growin’ old together without a care in the world." She shook her head, "But now, he’s thinkin’ he can go on forever like this. I’m just as bad-guess we could never see ourselves gettin’ old. But every time he gets in that car, I swear to Jesus, I feel like it’s the last time I’ll ever see him. I’ve talked to Teresa and Stevie both and it seems like the only way I’m gonna get him out of that car, is for something awful to happen." Her jaw clenched, "He’s still winning and he’s running well this year, Darrell. Plus, this whole thing with Mick’s suspension-".
"I’m gonna see if there’s something we can do to get those vultures to lighten up a little on the boy. Ratings for the races have been dropping! And you’ve seen those signs the crowd’s holdin’ up."
"Carryin’ on an ol’ family tradition." she said wryly. " ‘Free Mick!’ You’d think he was a prisoner of conscious-next thing you know, the fans are gonna start petitioning Amnesty International for his re-instatement! I say a little time-out wouldn‘t hurt him-take some of the vinegar outta him. He‘s forgettin‘ that Nascar has been puttin‘ clothes on our backs!"
"Crowd damn-near rioted at Richmond after Nascar made the official statement. Shit-Rick Hendrick’s been getting threats from all over. Had to change the phone numbers over at the shop!"
"...and here he is gettin’ married. I’ve been tryin’ to tell him to put it on hold for awhile ‘til he gets himself straightened out. Ach..Darrell...what are we gonna do with ‘em?"
"We ain’t gonna do nuthin’ with ‘em ‘cause this sport needs ‘em. Both of ‘em, Sister and I know that Michael’s got his hopes on settin’ that boy behind the wheel of the 3 someday. But Mike can’t keep this up forever...God knows we don’t want to lose him like we did Dale..." his voice broke as the memory of a race that should have been the sweetest victory turned to one of brutal agony at the loss of a legend and a friend. "Still..." he mused.
Rory pulled the old man into a tight embrace. "What’s that, D?"
"I wouldn’t mind callin’ him home under the checkers one last time." he grinned. "One more time and I’m sure it’s high-time Junior sat behind the wheel of that #3."
*********************
"Phew! Smells like you’re boilin’ Dad’s old socks an‘ boxers!" Mick grumbled as he peeked in the large stockpot that sat on the stove. Few things elicited a groan of pure dread like a good, old dinner of boiled cabbage and ham. But ever true to their frugal upbringing, neither Rory or Michael wasted so much as a scrap of bread. The haunch of ham left over and reposing in the freezer needed to be done away with and a boiled dinner before Daytona was something of a tradition. Mick truly loved his mother’s cooking but in his dejected state of mind, he simply felt the need to whine.
Rory shrugged as she continued chopping carrots, "Well now-seeing how your father is retiring soon and at last count, you were gainfully unemployed, we’ll probably all be starvin’ at the rescue mission come next season."
Mick glared at her as he rummaged in the fridge for a beer. Hearing the clanking of cans at the bottom of the crisper, Rory couldn’t resist one more barb. Nothing could inspire the shiftless like a healthy dose of guilt from an Irish mother.....
"..and you’ll be cuttin’ back on the beer. Your poor father isn’t riskin’ his life every weekend so you can sit on your lazy arse and drink beer! Did you call Kenny back about that job in his truck shop?" Kenny being the venerable old rascal Kenny Schrader.
"Uhm...no." Mick stood up holding the can of Budweiser, "I’ll call him later. He’s probably already at the track ..."
"Quit stallin’-here.." Rory handed him the phone, "I mean it, Mick. You’ll be goin’ to work. You’ve got this marriage idea in your thick head and you will not be loafing about until Helton makes up his mind as to whether he’ll let you back in a car."
"Already told ya, Ma-if I ever decide to race again, it won’t be anything Nascar-sanctioned." Rory leaned against the counter and folded her arms. "If you honestly believe yourself, I’ve got an ocean-front condo in Phoenix to sell ya." She quietly crossed the room and gently put her arms around his tall frame. "Don’t throw this away, Mickey. There’s kids out there who would sell their first born to have the chances you’ve been given. Your father has such high hopes for you and I know it’s always been your dream to drive that car-his car."
"I know, Ma...I know. It’s just so frustrating out there. I have all these expectations to live up to...no matter what I do, it seems like I’m bound to either disappoint or piss somebody off. It’s one thing to beat ‘em in the Busch series but I honestly don’t think I can run with these guys-Ryan, Matt, Kevin and Jimmy-I’m not in their league...."
"Yet." Rory finished. "I spent many nights listening to Michael say the exact thing. Oh your Uncle Darrell didn’t help any back then-he wasn’t the most supportive of your father at the time. Kept tellin’ him that he’d never amount to anything except a wreck magnet. But there was just enough of us who did believe in him and that’s all that mattered." She handed him the phone, "This is why I want you to call Kenny. He might be able to help you in ways that Jeff couldn’t. You cut your teeth at the very top of the level without a good, solid racer’s foundation to build on. We had you in Cup cars before you were fifteen and you hardly any time at all in go-karts like you should have. " It was the truth-it was like learning to ride a horse but instead of a Shetland pony, he started with a Derby winner. She was right and he knew it. He simply nodded and headed into the living room with the phone. Rory watched him go, wondering if maybe it would be easier if he simply got a job working in the shop but no, this wasn’t just an means to an end-it was his legacy.
*****************************
Later on that afternoon, sprawled spread-eagle on a worn picnic blanket and naked as the day he was born, Mick idly traced his fingers through Taylor’s hair as he reflected on the events of the day. When he stopped by the Earnhardt estate, Teresa had been unusually cool towards him. Not sure if she was having second thoughts about giving her daughter to him or whether it was just the pre-race stress. Nothing brought out the pre-race jitters like Daytona and Talladega. Plus, both Junior and Steve were there for lunch and that arrangement never sat well with the widow Earnhardt. It wasn’t bad enough that Steve Park was a former employee of DEI, but Junior’s live-in lover as well. Once regarded as Nascar’s "dirty little secret", their relationship was accepted and most wondered what all the fuss was about in the first place. Junior had simply decided that the time had come to simply be himself and if that meant sharing his life with Steve as a mate and his tribe of housecats, then so be it. He simply left the duty of carrying on the Earnhardt name to Kerry. Mick shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts as Taylor giggled and began to slowly drop soft, butterfly kisses on his lips; drifting slowly down his stomach to the tender flesh of his groin. The soft, dark blonde cascade of hair tickled his chest as he arched his back as waves of pleasure shivered down his spine.
Surely I don’t deserve her, he thought as tenderly watched Taylor loving him. A low moan passed his lips and he shuddered as he felt her take his now-hard manhood in her mouth. For a little while, he let her continue then gently pulled her up his body. She started to protest but he silenced her with a kiss. "It’s ok....I just don’t want to be there right now." he whispered as he slowly laid her back and covered her trembling body with his own. She gasped as they became one once more; his lips crushing down on hers as each movement became more frenzied. Quickly rolling on his back, Taylor followed his lead and rocked back and forth on his throbbing organ. He hungrily devoured her breasts as she tangled her hands in his thick hair. Release came as his hips bucked against hers, filling her with the hot rush of his own orgasm. They collapsed sweetly together as this one moment of heaven could erase all of their troubles.
****************
On their way back to Junior’s modest ranch home, Steve spied the battered old pickup alongside the road.
"Think somebody’s in trouble? Helluva place to break down." he wondered.
Junior narrowed his eyes at the truck as they crept slowly past, "It’s Mick. Him and Taylor are probably down by the crick again. I swear I’m gonna be an uncle before they even get to the alter! Then I’m gonna have to bust his skinny ass!"
"Soooo...when’s the big day?" Steve was as inquisitive as always. His simple, good-natured, quiet ways were what Junior loved about him.
"Halloween. " As soon as Junior saw the arched eyebrows, he laughed out loud, "Don’t ask. Taylor likes the fall anyway and she’s into that witchy stuff." He rolled his eyes as he added, "to top it off-we gotta go all the way up north because she doesn’t want to miss any school!"
Steve looked out the window and grinned wolfishly, "Stop the truck."
"huh?"
As Junior pulled off the road, Steve was half out of the truck before it even stopped. "What’s up with you, bro? Gotta pee?"
Steve turned and grinned at him, "Nah...it’s just that all this talk about romance, and those two kids doin’ it in the wide open, kinda turns me on. C’mon!" He turned and started sprinting down the bank towards the crick, tossing his clothes off as he ran. "Last one in’s a rotten egg!"
"OOhhhh....man!" Junior laughed at the now-bare rump of the departing Steve. "I hope he knows about those snappin’ turtles!"
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