Revving It Up Box Set Page 2

  “Promise me that if you do come out publicly, you’ll let me contact a good magazine that will do justice to your story?”

  “You mean, you don’t want to write it?” asked Caleb.

  Sebastian smiled. “I think I’m way too biased now. It’d be more of a glowing sexual report card if I wrote anything about you.”

  Caleb grabbed Sebastian’s hand and placed it back on Caleb’s dick. Sebastian jerked Caleb’s cock, being careful to use his thumb to rub underneath Caleb’s dick where the foreskin tightened. Caleb watched as Sebastian licked Caleb’s nipples, as Sebastian rubbed his hand over Caleb’s lightly dusted chest hair in the process. Caleb’s breathing became more pronounced as Sebastian’s face inched down. Caleb closed his eyes and waited in anticipation after he felt Sebastian’s breath over his balls and when he felt the familiar flicker of Sebastian’s tongue over his penis, he knew that nothing on heaven and earth would separate him from Sebastian.

  Nothing.

  Chapter 2

  Earl Youngblood glared at his phone. Caleb had dodged his call again. He wiped his bald pate, then his face as he grunted in frustration. Resting his elbows on his desk, he clenched his hands together as he pondered what he would do next. He should be focused on payroll, and the latest marketing reports his daughter, Joan, brought him, but this thing with Caleb had distracted him for several days.

  He glanced at the phone and deliberated on calling Sebastian Rush. Joan had said that Caleb seemed to be taken with him. Earl weighed whether calling a stranger, a man his son hadn’t introduced him to, would help Earl in making it right with Caleb. He picked up the handset but put it down once he heard a knock on the door.

  “Dad?” Joan’s head peered around the door as she stepped inside the office. “Got a moment?”

  Earl smiled. “Sure. Come in.”

  Joan walked in and plopped in the chair in front of Earl, taking a pen from his desk and handing him a clipboard. As he glanced at the paperwork, Joan crossed her legs, flattening out the khaki pleated shorts she wore with her Youngblood Racing blue polo shirt. Joan cracked her neck then moved a long strand of dark brown hair behind her left ear before she spoke. “We’re going to have to consider trimming some staff here if we don’t start getting more sponsors. Our overhead is killing us.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  She leaned to point at something on the clipboard. “Look at those penciled numbers. Bob hired some specialists two months ago that we don’t need. Not right now anyway. We already have one tire specialist and one engine specialist. Why do we need two more?” asked Joan.

  “Bob thought having a back-up for trained tires and engines would be helpful. You know how it is. These guys have families; they can’t be there all the time. So we need someone to fill in at the last moment.”

  “Dad, you’re getting soft. You wouldn’t have cared about this shit ten or even five years ago. Bob’s our crew chief. I defer to him about anything mechanical. He can be the extra tire specialist and engine specialist if push comes to shove, but we can’t keep doing what we’re doing. Listen to me on the budget, marketing, and payroll. We have too much outgo and not enough incoming. We let these two specialists go before their ninety-day probationary period, we won’t get a charge on our federal or Florida unemployment taxes. We have to cut costs for the time being.”

  Earl nodded, avoiding the dark brown eyes of his only daughter. He knew she was right, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. Not yet. “We have to wait until the 400 race. We just need a couple of weeks until that race is over then we can take stock again of our financials. We might be able to get more endorsements if Garrison places well.”

  Joan slid back in her seat. “Well, we need a lot more endorsements. Otherwise, we’re back to the brink of bankruptcy. Two of our big sponsors aren’t renewing. I’m trying to line up Acme Household as a sponsor but I heard they’re looking at someone else, too.” She clicked her pen a few times then continued. “If Garr listened to me, we’d probably have more endorsements.”

  “He already told me some of the ideas you pitched. He’s not going to do shirtless calendars, or pose nude in a sports mag body special.” Earl paused. “I’ve also forbidden him to do any beer commercials or liquor advertisement.”

  Joan crossed her arms. “I only mentioned that beefcake stuff because he needs to be better known. Our sales of shirts and some marketing items increased when Garr admitted he was an alcoholic. Some counseling groups wanted him to visit and be a speaker, but he turned them down. And most of the product placement in NASCAR is pretty limited unless he’s a top name or finisher in NASCAR. He’s low on the Sprint Cup points, and he’s not going to get national coverage unless he starts winning more races.”

  “Garrison is going to win Daytona one day. I can feel it. This is his backyard. Right now he’s doing what he can to earn points, taking laps and finishing decent. Hell, I took all three of you to every race, showed you all everything that is NASCAR but Garrison—I feel he was just born to race, like he didn’t even need to be exposed.” Earl exhaled and gestured with his hands. “Well, I don’t know anything anymore. It seems every year the rules change around here. One year, it’s pack qualifying to get pole position; another year, it’s something completely different. It’s about ratings, advertisement, and products. I remember when NASCAR was just about racing. Now it seems that racers are chasing endorsements, public appearances, and social media feeds and more work is done away from the track than on it.” Earl paused and clasped his fingers together. “What about sponsorships from manufacturers of lawnmowers, car parts, you know the gamut of home improvement, mechanical parts?”

  “All the big ones are taken. Besides, the true beauty in the family isn’t Garr anyway. It’s Caleb—’’

  “No. Definitely no, and hell no. The press, social media will eat Caleb alive if they knew.”

  “Dad, it’s a new day. NASCAR is changing. He can easily grace GQ or some sports mag. I even turned down the naked body issue for ESPN when they called our office looking for someone for NASCAR. If he doesn’t want to be out, and it’s his choice, just think of the money. Women are hot for him.”

  Earl shook his head. “That all may be, but my son is not going to be a guinea pig. I promised your mother before she passed I would make sure that Caleb and you would be protected from the vultures out there. And believe me, there are some condor-sized harpies in this effed up world. Garr can handle his own. You know how it is in racing. This isn’t a world for women and gay drivers. And you know there is no way in hell that Caleb’s secret will remain in the closet. Newspapers and everybody are aggressive if they even hear a whiff. We won’t be able to control him. Isn’t he dating someone right now? Is he too ashamed of me to let me meet this guy?”

  “He’s not ashamed.” Joan sighed. “And I hear what you’re saying. But, I see pockets of change. Look at Danica Patrick’s following. If we waited for people to change we wouldn’t have women drivers! I’ve done the market research. Attitudes towards gay issues and gay rights changed.”

  “But stock car racing isn’t ready for a gay driver. We’ve had two drivers before Caleb come out. Look at how welcomed they were. This is the South. All but a few racetracks are in the South. You show me market data that Caleb will be accepted as an openly out gay man, then I’ll change my mind. I don’t think attitudes have changed that much since Stephen Rhodes came out in the Camping World truck series. I don’t want someone going after him all twisted up in hate. So yeah, I’m not outing my son for the whole world to make him be their road kill.” Earl placed his palms flat on the desk.

  Joan stood and paced back and forth before she spoke again. “You need to tell him that then. And you need to be honest with him and tell him that’s the reason you will never let him drive for Youngblood Racing.”

  “You know I agreed with your mom that he should’ve finished school. When he decided to move back here to be with us, I was happy. Your mom was happy. I didn’t ha
ve the heart to tell him that he shouldn’t race for us. And when your mom passed, I just couldn’t get myself to tell him for a long time. I tried explaining why I wouldn’t let him race, but he cut me off. He stormed off! He didn’t let me explain!” Earl’s faced flushed. “I’ve tried reaching him. You know that. He won’t return my calls.”

  Joan remained quiet so Earl stood and walked to where she was.

  “If I can get him to talk to you and me, will you talk to him without shouting?” asked Joan. Earl nodded. Joan pointed to a photo frame on the shelf. “I need to get a copy of this one day.”

  Earl looked over Joan’s shoulder. It was the last picture of his wife, Amanda, before she’d started chemo. The kids had insisted on scuba diving at the Great Coral Reef before the oceans had completely bleached the sea life. Garrison had his arm around Amanda, Joan was on the other side of his wife. Earl sat next to Joan. Caleb’s arm was around Earl. Caleb was probably twenty-one. Everyone’s dark hair was wet except Earl who benefitted from male pattern baldness. Of all his kids, Caleb looked the most like his wife. Even now, thinking about her pained his heart. He stared at the photograph a few seconds more and wondered what his wife would suggest if she were here in the office.

  “Yeah, it’s a great picture of all of us.”

  Joan moved closer to Earl and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I miss her, as I know you do. You know sometimes I forget how much she and Caleb looked so much alike. Same nose, same eyes.”

  Earl nodded. “I know.”

  Joan faced her father. “I’ll try to reach Caleb. We need to face these problems as a family. But if I do will you be honest with him?”

  “Even if he hates me for being honest?”

  “He has to know why you’re saying no. You need to tell him. I’ll help you make Caleb understand.”

  Earl nodded. “Thanks. That might help. You know you, Garrison, and Caleb are it. If the business fails, so be it. But I can’t live without the three of you so I hope you’re right: that telling him the truth will be good because I don’t want to lose him.”

  Joan sighed. “I hope I’m right, too.”

  Chapter 3

  Garrison changed gears and the seven hundred horsepower engine roared in response. He took the top of the turn, guiding his car at one hundred ninety miles an hour on the top of the backstretch. In seconds, he approached the frontstretch and radioed in. “Track’s fast, Bob. Sure wish we kept the higher horsepower around here because this baby is moving. Real smooth, too.”

  “Just watch that turn, Garr.”

  Garrison harrumphed. “I know.” He knew which turn Bob talked about. No one talked about it, not at Daytona Speedway and definitely not before a race. At least Bob and Garr didn’t. They were both superstitious. Shit, Bob still made it a habit to clasp both of Garr’s shoulders and squeeze before Garr slipped in the car. It was a ritual that started a long time ago, back to the time when Earl, Garrison and Caleb’s dad, drove. And that ritual passed down to Garr and then Caleb when he drove, too.

  The fire suit clung to Garr; the sweat on the back of his neck beaded down underneath the undershirt. The dog days of summer were upon them already even though July hadn’t started.

  At least we got on the track before the temps hit the nineties.

  Garrison figured he’d probably sweat five pounds of water this morning, just from driving for a couple of hours. But other drivers would be heading for the track, too, taking their practice runs. Garr knew he had limited time to get used to this track with the changes to this stock car. He wasn’t clear why NASCAR had changed the rules on the spoiler. They came up with changes: all of it to attract more ratings for sports channels, and more fans.

  Make it faster! Make it more exciting!

  More fans meant more money.

  More! More! More!

  They were even actively recruiting for African-American drivers but came up short, too. Diversity was a phrase that some owners bandied about, but the idea was hard to execute in practice.

  Diversity. Shit, if they only knew about Caleb.

  Garr took another turn and watched the gauge inside the stripped down Toyota. He wanted to go faster so he pressed the accelerator to see if the tires could handle the turn he planned to make. Winning was key to survival in NASCAR—that and placing in the top races for the Sprint Cup series. Finishing first or second meant money, endorsements, and points. More points meant racing for the Chase for the Sprint Cup Championship. Youngblood Racing only had two racers: Garr and Caleb. But Earl had grounded Caleb after a recent short track win up in North Carolina. Dad didn’t say why, either. It wasn’t due to loop data because Caleb kept up with Garr. In fact, Caleb often outraced Garr lately in run data, but Garr seemed to average higher on the turns.

  Garr looked behind him and wished Caleb was on the same track. They’d practiced countless times. How to box a car in, how to draft to get more speed, how to punch through on the track.

  He loved his little brother and didn’t know why lately they seemed to have drifted apart. He wished they could talk more; Caleb by now would have read the rulebook for the 400 race and quizzed Garr on it.

  Did I do something to cause this distance?

  Garrison’s thoughts were interrupted. “You were doing close to two hundred on that last turn. How’s it feeling?” asked Bob.

  “It’s humming.” As soon as Garr spoke, he saw smoke from the engine. “Hey, Bob, are you seeing this?”

  “Yeah. Slow the fuck down and pull into the grass,” shouted Bob.

  Garr pressed the brake, but the Toyota started to spin. Garr saw the wall and as he spun, he turned the wheel to avoid a head-on with the concrete. The back of car collided with the barrier and more smoke billowed from underneath the hood.

  Garr’s head jerked forward and back. He opened his eyes and heard nothing. He coughed because of the smoke.

  “Get out of there!” yelled Bob.

  “Shit! Fuck! Shit!” screamed Garr. He shook his head.

  Did I black out?

  “Climb out of that shit now.”

  Garr unhooked the harnesses and climbed out the window. As he did so, he saw the fire truck pull up. He jogged then walked to the paramedic who came out, watching a fireman yank a hose and begin spraying down his Toyota. As he moved forward he felt lightheaded and pressed his hand to his head.

  “Are you okay?” asked the paramedic.

  “I think so. I don’t know.”

  “Well, let’s take it easy and check you out.”

  Garr nodded. He didn’t want to argue. His neck felt sore, and his whole body quaked like he’d been shocked with electricity. He leaned against the fire truck and watched Bob run up to him. Garr shook his head and mumbled. “I don’t know, Bob. I don’t know.”

  Bob put a hand on Garr’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay. You’re okay.”

  “The car?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to check it out after the fire is out and get it towed to the shop.”

  Garr nodded and watched a second fireman help out put out the engine fire. He’d thought today was going to be a good day. Boy, was he wrong.

  * * * *

  White billowy clouds moved across blue skies. Garrison tried to focus on what was happening outside the window and tried to ignore the doctor who pointed light into each of his pupils. The physician had tried to make small talk earlier by commenting how long he had had been an approved provider for NASCAR.

  “Well, everything looks good. But I am concerned about the headaches you’re having. The neck CT scan showed nothing remarkable. As a precaution, you should see a neurologist.”

  Garr didn’t say anything. He knew the doctor meant well. But he also knew that even though he was getting checked out at the hospital, this was the speedway’s doctor checking him out, and this doc had the power to recommend Garr’s return to racing or hold back medical clearance. Garrison eyed the bespectacled doctor suspiciously as the physician starting writing his notes on a chart and
then fished out a small device to dictate. “If we were back in my office, I’d be using my iPad, but race officials want a paper trail.” The doc studied Garrison for a second. “You qualified for the 400, right?”

  Garr nodded. “Yes, sir. I did.”

  “Well, if the brain MRI shows nothing and the neurologist says everything is okay, I’m sure you’ll be able to race on July fourth.”

  “Thanks.” Garr opened his mouth to speak before the doctor starting dictating, but a knock on the door interrupted them both.

  Garr looked at the physician who then spoke. “Come in.”

  A familiar head popped in. “Hi! Can we visit now?”

  The doctor nodded as Joan and Garr’s dad, Earl, walked in to the edge of the table where Garr perched, only wearing a patient gown. They stepped around his fire suit bundled up in a bag on the floor, which also trapped the smell of smoke from the car fire.

  “Everything okay, doc?” asked Earl.

  “Yes. We need him to get a brain MRI, which I’m writing up now. And he needs to see a neurologist.”

  Earl cocked his head. “Is that necessary?”

  The doctor arched an eyebrow, raising his head slightly to peer over his readers. “We have to rule out any sign of possible concussion. It’s better to be safe than sorry. But don’t worry, if everything checks out, he’ll be able to drive the 400.”

  Joan hugged Garr and released him. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Thanks. Have you heard from Bob? Is the car drivable?”

  Earl shook his head. “We’re going to have to use a different one.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’ll find out when the MRI can be done, and see if the scheduling nurse has an idea when the neuro can see you.”

  Garr watched the physician leave the room. “Fuck, that was the car I qualified in!”

  Earl crossed his arms. “Can’t change that now. The rule’s the rule. You got to start at the back of the field now.”

  They all heard knocking at the door, and before Garr could say anything, Caleb walked in carrying a large paper bag. “Hey, I came soon as I heard.”