Dirt Driven (Racing on the Edge Book 11)

grandma somewhere.”
Hudson stood up on the counter and wrapped his arms around my neck and smooshed his face to mine. “My daddy.”
I held onto him with one hand and passed the T-shirt back to the woman after signing it. “This one got himself kicked out of daycare.”
I hadn’t noticed until it happened, but Hudson had gotten the cap off one of the markers in his hand and scribbled on the shirt before the woman took it. “I’m sorry. We can get you a new one.” I motioned for Kinsley who had been behind us restocking the trailer. “You got another one of these?”
The lady reached for the shirt. “No, that’s quite all right. I love that he signed it next to his daddy.” She beamed.
Hudson grinned and pointed to the car on the back of the shirt, drooling all over it. “Daddy!” He smacked his hand down on it. Unfortunately, the white shirt now had chocolate chips on it too. And me.
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want a new one?”
“I’m positive. Thank you.”
The next ten people in line got Hudson’s scribble as well. They all tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t having it. He’d sign their shirts, but God forbid they try to talk to him or touch him.
After the autograph session, Caden had an appearance in town with his sponsor, so he took off with Kinsley. That left Jameson and me walking back to the pits together. His mood was visibly different from an hour ago. His hands buried in his pockets and a set frown on his face.
I smiled. “If the hat means that much, I can get it back for you,” I teased, motioning to Hudson who took off running when he spotted Arie returning from the concession stands with food.
He motioned with his hand to a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Caden. “I knew his uncle, at one time.”
“Caden’s?” Caden Carson was a kid from Santa Rosa California. He’d made a name for himself racing USAC, much like Jameson had growing up. He’d also been a frequent champion in the ASCS (American Sprint Car Series) National tour. Jameson signed him when he was sixteen and he started racing for Axel when Jack had passed away, and me a few times after a string of concussions. For the past two years, he was now a permanent fixture with the JAR Racing boys.
“Yeah. His mom’s brother died of leukemia when he was five. I knew him. He was part of the Make a Wish Foundation and wanted to meet me. I spent a few days racing go-carts with him my rookie season in NASCAR. He passed away the following month.”
“That’s crazy.”
“What’s even crazier is that from the moment Caden was born, eighteen years later, he’d been obsessed with racing. His grandma, Sara, over the years I stayed in touch with her and she told me about him racing. I went out and watched him when he was about eleven or twelve and he immediately knew who I was. Mia, his mom and Axle’s younger sister, was a single mom trying to make her son’s dreams of racing come true.”
“Naturally,” I teased. “Does he know the connection?”
He smiled. “He knows. CST Engines and Gomez Gears sponsored him for six years before I signed him onto JAR Racing.” Jameson twisted his head toward me, our walk slowing when we rounded the side of the concession stands. “Do you remember when I met you for the first time when you were seven?”
The memory tugged at me. It was the first time I saw Arie too. She was only three at the time, but I remember it so clearly. “Williams Grove. I still have the poster you signed for me.”
Throwing his head back, he laughed. “Probably worth some money now.”
“It’s worth more than money to me.” I wasn’t lying. This legendary man standing beside me, I’d learned more from him than anyone else in my life. As a driver, he was unbeatable most nights and highly influential as a man. Spend any amount of time around him and you’d never forget him. He’s Intimidating by nature and I found myself constantly in awe at what he could do behind the wheel. But I’ll tell you this. It was far more rewarding to know Jameson as a person, than it was to work for him. He taught me everything I knew about open wheel racing, and how to handle myself in a sport that gave very little in return. That was what I called dirt driven. Jameson Riley.
In the distance I could make out the row of JAR Racing haulers lined up together. All in order. Casten, Axel, me, Jameson and Caden. Always in that order. I refused to park next to Casten. Ever. Axel was forced to because he was his brother.
“Can you believe I started this team when I was twenty-two?”
I nodded.
“Thirty-three years I’ve been running this same tour. And kept the same original three drivers until five years ago.”
Jameson was incredibly business savvy. It was why he owned a sprint car team, a NASCAR team, the engine building company his grandfather started, a racetrack, a restaurant, and three more side businesses. When he saw opportunity, he took it.
“It’s impressive,” I told him, shoving my hands into the pockets of my cargo shorts. “Especially with the level of competition these days.”
He tipped his head and watched the kids following Arie toward the motor homes. “It’s something special, you know? To be able to get a group of guys and have them work together.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t say Willie and Dave work together,” I teased.
“Sure they do. On killing one another.” We both laughed and kept walking.
It was then I looked over at Jameson and the way the sunlight hit his face and the rusty brown in his scruff jaw. He sighed, as if he was trying to figure out how to tell me something.
“I want to ask you something,” he began as he stopped walking. I