Free The Rookie (Racing On The Edge #7) by Shey Stahl Page A

was blaming him. Easier to blame him than blame myself.
    When you’re in clean air, your engine is cool in clean air. When you’re surrounded by cars, there’s no clean air. It’s full of bumping and banging, dirty, hot air. Your car heats up and sooner or later you need to find clean air so you can get that cool air in the radiator.
    If that water temp continues to rise, sooner or later you’re gonna have to release that pressure. If you don’t, your engine will overheat.
    I was overheating.

    I took a commercial flight to Cincinnati and called Lily for a ride. She came and got me right away without question. Well, kind of.
    “I’m assuming because you’re here and not at the 600 that something went wrong?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    She shrugged pulling her thick blonde hair back into a messy ponytail before starting the car. “Fair enough.”
    Jacen was screaming in the back seat. It wasn’t like she could hear me if I did tell her what happened. “Where’s Jack and Jonah?”
    “With Hayden at the track…” she paused. “We should probably get back soon.”
    I laughed, it felt strange after crying the entire flight.
    We were at the track about forty-five minutes later and it felt right.
    There’s something about dirt track racing that I find comforting. It’s home. It’s that feeling I got that night in Charlotte when I snuck over to the dirt track. Maybe it’s my family, or maybe it’s just the atmosphere. Whatever the magical ingredients were, I was home.
    It’s dirt track racing. It’s a legend on the last lap, a champion pushing up the cushion, a rookie riding the rail, won’t settle for second and out of control. It’s an inversion or the last chance showdown. Wide-eyed to the aggressive, pill draws, heats and trophy dashes. It’s all about the A-Feature and 4-Wide. It’s the bullrings to the half mile. Dry slick, tracky or glazed over, slide jobs, hugging the rail, pushing the cushion. It’s full throttle, no lifting, only left. Dirt track racing is the feeling you get sliding into three and four to take the win and doing the wing dance. It’s battling from twenty third to first, feeling racey or roosted and wheel stands. Like I said, it’s dirt racing. Top groove, high groove, reeling in legends and rookies facing fear, fueled by speed, adrenaline and desire. There’s nothing else like it.
    I had turned off my phone on the flight but when I got to the track, I turned it back on to see sixteen voicemails from Easton and something like fifty text messages.
    I didn’t open a single one. Just tossed my phone in my purse and ignored it. He really didn’t want to talk to me right now because I guarantee if he did, I’d be filing for divorce come Monday. I was that mad over this.
    As soon as I stepped foot from Lily’s car, the sound put me at ease.
    I loved the sound. That thunder when you’re in the pits and you hear one get on the track. You feel it in your heart and bones, a roar that leaves you breathless, wanting and needing more.
    The entire atmosphere here is different. There’s no pressing media hounding you at a dirt track or the day-to-day pressure of all the bullshit that has nothing to do with racing and everything to do with corporate financial obligations. There’s pressure to win, sure, but nothing like what you’re seeing in NASCAR. There’s not as much money on the line. Money makes the world go round and NASCAR knows it.
    During the heats I went inside Axel’s hauler where Lily and Hayden were.
    Parked side by side, six haulers lined the far left of the pit entrance where the JAR Racing boys were. Always parked together. When I walked inside the hauler Lily and Hayden were both talking about Casten and how inappropriate he is at times. This is nothing new. He’s always been this way but his favorite suspect is Axel, because he’s embarrassed so easily.
    “Casten told Jack he got Hayden pregnant with his balls.” Lily said, her cheeks flushed