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  “Let me read it,” said Sebastian.

  Caleb pushed the iPad into Sebastian’s hands. After a few silent moments as Sebastian read, Sebastian looked up. “I’ll call Levi and see if he can make a correction.”

  “Please do. This article makes me look hateful and angry at NASCAR, and it’s not about racing itself.”

  “I know. It’s about some people and their expectations or stereotypes on who should be in NASCAR.”

  “I should’ve never done this, this fucking interview.”

  “Caleb, I know you’re mad but look on the bright side—”

  “Bright side? Bright side? There’s no fucking bright side to this!” yelled Caleb. “I should’ve never agreed to do this! What the fuck was I fucking thinking?”

  Sebastian walked away and left Caleb alone the kitchen, glasses unpacked and spread around him. Caleb counted to ten. Then counted again. Then counted again. After some long exhalations, he realized that there wasn’t much he could do.

  The written piece, now accessible to anyone with a computer, mobile device, or tablet could read the story, share it, and deride him on Facebook or Twitter. He was out to the world. What was worse—Levi’s story portrayed him as if he was mad at NASCAR. And, he was irretrievably going to be known as the angry gay NASCAR driver.

  It could be worse.

  He checked up on Sebastian. He lay in the bed, his eyes a little red and the area under his eyes were a little puffy.

  “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I didn’t mean to lose it.”

  “No, it’s my fault. I pushed you to do this article.” He held up his phone. “I tried calling and texting Levi, and he hasn’t called me, or texted me back. I read the article two times already. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ve seen my dad give interviews and the story gets twisted for whatever angle or context that the writer or newspaper wants to bring out. They have to see newspapers or advertising, I get it.”

  Caleb lay down in bed with Sebastian who turned to Caleb. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. Are you angry with me?”

  “No.”

  “My dad wants to go out to dinner with us.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But we might want to wait until after this story blows over. I’ll have to let Joan know about this story pretty soon.”

  “I’m sorry,” repeated Sebastian.

  “Don’t be. My story had to be told. Maybe things will change one day and maybe some of the truth that it’s imbedded there will help another driver one day. So thank you for encouraging me to be who I am and accepting me as I am. Faults and all.”

  “I do have to say that I like the pictures that he picked out that I sent him.”

  “And about that…Where did you get my high school swimming photos? Especially that one in the bikini racer?”

  “That wasn’t from me. I got credit for the ones I took from a few months ago.” Sebastian slid his phone open and looked at the article. “It says here photos courtesy of New Smyrna Beach’s St John’s Catholic High.” Sebastian smiled. “These are pretty hot photos.”

  “That was like when I was eighteen.”

  “I never knew you could fit into Speedos like that. I mean, do you wrap your junk to the side and to the back?”

  “Funny. Don’t forget we swim in cold water.”

  Caleb kissed Sebastian gingerly on the lips and Sebastian whispered. “I love you, Caleb Joseph Youngblood.”

  Caleb gazed into Sebastian’s beautiful blue eyes and spoke. “I love you, Sebastian Harry Rush.’’

  Chapter 6

  Shit! Why am I so fucking nervous?

  Caleb sat in the mandatory safety meeting before the race. Sebastian and Garr sat on either side of him wearing Youngblood racing credentials. Since the family meeting after Levi’s article came out, Joan had drafted a plan of contingency. Garr jokingly called it a plan of attack. They didn’t execute Joan’s plan until yesterday. The day before, the shit hit the fan when Orlando’s local paper published “Floridians Driving in the 400” and officially outed Caleb. Today, they walked in, waved off interviews from the print and TV media. Sebastian stepping in from time to time to repeat that Sebastian wasn’t taking questions before the race.

  Joan was somewhere on the speedway, making her rounds, attending little meet ups, talking to different owners, making sure there was peace among them. Caleb’s letter to the organization had already been circulated, stating that his interview with Gay Sports Magazine failed to point out his feelings were about homophobic fans, and that his criticism wasn’t against NASCAR. She had copies of Caleb’s letter, which she wrote after listening to the audio recording Sebastian and Caleb made. Caleb signed the letter after making a couple of corrections.

  Caleb surveyed the packed room. He wasn’t going to lie. He had always imagined when he was a kid what this moment would be like. He wished he could savor the feeling. But now, he wished Garr was riding with him. He felt like Garr should be in the hot safety suit, with dwindling endorsement patches, wearing the white baseball cap, not him.

  Garr qualified, after all, and not him.

  Caleb got a lot of judgmental looks as he walked in with Dad, Sebastian, and Garr. He sensed some of them felt he shouldn’t be here because Garrison qualified. The others probably didn’t want him because he was gay. He just wasn’t sure who was against him because of Garr, who was popular among all the racers, and who was against him because he was gay.

  Garr sat to his right, taking it in. He was happy to be here but he knew if he could, Garr would switch with Caleb in a heartbeat, doctors’ orders, and NASCAR’s policy on concussions be damned.

  “I wish it was you instead of me, Garr.”

  “Well, little brother, I had imagined that we both would be racing and doing it as a team. But you never know in NASCAR. But if there is anyone I want to see race and win, besides me, it would be you.”

  “What about me?”

  Caleb looked behind him and nodded. “Cujo, you should be racing for Youngblood Racing,” whispered Caleb. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see if his dad was still taking notes next to Bob.

  “Well, your dad did say hello. I figure he’s not pissed at me anymore,” said Cujo.

  Caleb shook his head and laughed. Cujo and his brother driving again would be awesome. Best friends since grade school. Garr and Cujo played high school football together, womanized together, drank together. Cujo, at six one, stood an inch taller than the Youngblood brothers but everyone could easily pick him out anywhere Caleb and Garr went based on Cujo’s bright red hair and very fair complexion.

  Caleb’s mom and dad blamed Cujo for influencing Garr when they were teenagers. Cujo and Garr got in trouble for underage drinking on the Boardwalk. Earl had to hire a lawyer to get Garr out of battery charge from a bar fight that Cujo instigated.

  Cujo was such a part of the family that they routinely invited him over for dinners and Amanda, their mom, always invited Cujo to her birthday lunch in St. Augustine every year when she lived.

  But, when Cujo broke his hand in a fight, after a race in North Carolina against another driver, Earl told Cujo he would be finishing the season and was not being offered any more chances to race with Youngblood Racing.

  When Cujo left, Caleb slid in Cujo’s spot.

  Maybe Bob and the crew liked Cujo more.

  Caleb glanced over at Sebastian who’d sighed from time to time since they’d walked into the safety briefing. He knew it was a waste of time to ask what Sebastian was finding out as he monitored social media for the family. Sebastian and Joan had agreed that Sebastian would monitor the social media traffic and give a rundown of all good and bad posts and tweets to Joan, not Caleb. Caleb’s own phone was in Sebastian’s possession and had been for the last two days. If anyone wanted to reach Caleb through his phone, they had to go through Sebastian. He didn’t know which one at this point was more protective, Sebastian or Joan.

  He closed his eyes for a second and exhaled. H
e wished someone had told him how nerve-wracking this would be. Caleb recognized many famous faces in the room. Some of them came to say hello to his dad before they walked into the briefing. No one said hello to him.

  Maybe there’s an invisible scarlet letter G on me.

  Don’t talk to the gay man. He’s ruining our sport.

  Maybe he was sweating too much because of the safety suit. His fire-retardant racing shoes had a heat shield to keep his feet comfortable in case the engine got too hot but this didn’t help to keep him cool either. The room had wall-to-wall people adding more heat to the room.

  He glanced over to Dad and Bob again. He wondered what was going through their minds as they heard the rules. They had poker faces and whispered like conspiring murderers amongst themselves, scribbling on note pads with Bob scanned the room from time to time as the safety rules were announced, and a track update by the track president’s spokesperson.

  Caleb’s hands wouldn’t stop sweating. He kept wiping the sweat on his fire-retardant suit as he listened to the finer points of the briefing.

  Everyone knew that the thirty-one degree angle turns at Daytona required expert maneuvering. The restrictor plates in the cars kept the horsepower at a cap. This safety provision was instituted after some bad crashes at Daytona. The horsepower restricting devices led Daytona drivers to drive in large packs. This is why many laps show vehicles at Daytona riding two, sometimes three abreast, inches behind each other. The 400 was famous for car wrecks. Twenty-one of forty-three cars wiped out one year at one time because of crashes involving a large pack. A few years later, twenty-two cars wrecked wiped out at one time.

  Caleb looked up and saw that the briefing was coming to an end. He stood up when they all did and his team grouped together.

  Earl turned to Garr, then to Caleb. “Remember, our only goal is to drive safe. Caleb is the last to go out.”

  Sebastian arched his eyebrow. Caleb whispered to Sebastian in response. “Garr, not me, qualified in a different car so rules require me to start in the back of the field.”

  Bob spoke. “I see the groups that are racing today. They’re definitely going to maintain the status quo of going most of the laps together and no one’s going to break out until we are close to the end.”

  “Remember, this race has a history of being highly charged and cars and drivers wiping out. We’ve got a fast pit crew, we’ve got a great team.” Earl paused and pointed to Bob. “We’ve got the smartest crew chief here and we’ve got a skilled driver in you, son. We know you can do it.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Caleb moved to hug his father. “We need luck, too, a fast track, no parts or car failures.”

  “And no wrecks,” added Garr.

  “Well, it’s time for you to go out in the line,” said Bob. Caleb nodded. Tradition required that his name be called out as one of the last. He would see Sebastian, Garr, Bob and his dad soon. As Sebastian walked away from Caleb, Caleb saw Sebastian look his way. He knew that look. He winked at Sebastian, who winked back. It wasn’t a kiss, but it would have to do now.

  * * * *

  Caleb blocked out the memory of boos. He heard a lot of cheers, too, as his name was announced. He thought about his mom when his name was called, and wondered if she would be happy that he was racing at the 400 today. He’d promised her he would go back to school and he never liked to disappoint her.

  Funny how he thought about her twenty laps in. He was the last car in the field. At this rate he wouldn’t be a lap leader any time soon, and earn points.

  On turn three, one hundred laps down, Bob radioed him to try to move up once the caution flag was lifted. Ten cars were wiped out by the lead car. From forty-three to thirty-three cars.

  “Everyone safe?” asked Caleb.

  “Yup, but you be safe,” said Bob. Caleb chuckled. Bob was always to the point and very short in conversations. Bob radioed gain. “I’ll give you a heads up on the weather. We’re getting cloud cover. Small chance of rain but if it rains, you know what happens.”

  Caleb had already undergone required pit stops for fuel and tire changes and barely had a chance to notice how some of the viewing stands had Fourth of July bunting. At least he’d gotten to see part of the Thunderbirds flyover before the race started.

  Halfway through the hundred and sixty laps and the sun began to set. The Speedway’s lights began the illumination for the rest of the race. Parts and engine problems affected ten more cars. By the last thirty laps, twenty cars were in the mix with Caleb in the middle of a pack. Cujo drove next to him for five laps, and Caleb continued to match his speed. Twenty laps to go and the lead car lost control on a turn taking five cars with him.

  Bob radioed Caleb. “Once the caution flag lifts, try to punch through.”

  “Okay.” Several cars were ahead of Caleb and when the signal was given they all increased speeds. Caleb followed suit, but moved over to the left. Another car tried to move to his right as he pressed the accelerator. Two cars ahead of him rubbed in front of him, and another next to him brushed him. He moved more to the right and bumped the other car, a black Ford. Caleb knew that rubbing was okay in racing but he didn’t want to cause a wreck. He moved to the left and then pushed the accelerator. The car in front of him moved over to the grass. Caleb radioed ahead. “Car 30 just ran into the grass.”

  “Looks like engine trouble, the driver is getting out through the safety net.”

  Caleb pushed through and was car three after the lap. Cujo bumped him from behind as Caleb drafted behind two vehicles. They raced in this formation with Caleb drafting behind the two cars, who kept trading leads and Cujo as car number four in formation.

  “Bob?”

  “Yes?”

  “With this safety helmet I can’t tell what all the board says. How many more laps before final lap?”

  “Enough to be lead. Let us be your eyes and ears, Caleb. That safety helmet doesn’t give you a lot of peripheral. Hold on.” Caleb heard radio silence for a moment and then Bob came on. “Go for it. Our spotter radioed me that the two lead vehicles keep rubbing against each other. If you can’t tell on the backstretch there it’s Billy Joe and Jimmy P. So, move to the right on the next turn.”

  Caleb knew that Billy Joe and Jimmy P had a longstanding feud and would be distracted. As the turn came up, he saw the angle he needed to take. He knew it was a big break from the small leading pack he was in but he pushed forward once the angle allowed him.

  “Cujo’s behind you,” radioed Bob.

  As soon as Bob said it, he saw Cujo’s Chevrolet from a slight turn of the helmet. They both took the right and passed the lead vehicles who struggled to cut them both off. Based on the angle, they easily took the lead, Cujo taking the right and Caleb taking the left blocking any passing.

  “Holy shit!”

  “What?”

  “Billy Joe and Jimmy P just crashed into each other, and they’re both spinning. I see Jimmy P heading for the grass. The second pack has stayed back a little. You should punch it in case there’s a caution flag.”

  Caleb didn’t need to be told twice. A yellow flag wouldn’t help him right now. Caleb and Cujo kept two abreast. He wanted to radio Cujo, but he realized that there was no need. Cujo had raced with Bob and Earl for years and probably knew what Bob would communicate right now. They kept pace for the next lap, surprised that no caution flag went up as both Billy Joe and Jimmy P pulled over to the grass clearing the field, but not in enough time for the second pack to catch up.

  “Final lap flag.”

  Caleb couldn’t believe that the race hadn’t dropped the yellow flag. Maybe because they were so close to the final lap and everyone else made it out in the clear. Now it was just him and Cujo, Garr’s best friend, the guy who was like a brother to him and a family member.

  Both Caleb and Cujo entered the final lap together, but Caleb had surged a half nose ahead on a turn.

  Crazy thoughts flooded him.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t get ah
ead of yourself.

  He said this over and over and tried to focus on finishing and crossing the line where the checkered flag would be waving. He thought about his mom, though. Then Earl. He hoped his dad would be happy. Youngblood Racing would go in the history books. He thought about Garr and the fact that Garr should be here racing with Cujo who kept pace with him.

  Then he thought about Sebastian. And their future together.

  What would a win mean for them?

  With that thought, the image of Sebastian winking at him at the drivers’ meeting still fresh in his mind, Caleb took his foot off the accelerator for a half-second.

  Only a half-second.

  Chapter 7

  Caleb drove with the moon roof open, glad he was driving Sebastian’s Volkswagen Passat rather than his truck. February weather on the beach tended to be the most amazing. The days were sunny with high cirrus clouds providing very little cloud cover, but the temperatures were cool enough to open the moon roof and the winds provided good waves for surfing.

  “I need to belch.”

  Caleb guffawed. “Then belch, Sebastian.”

  “You won’t think badly of me?”

  “Umm, you’ve farted in bed. I think belching is the least thing you should worry about.”

  “It was just a lot of food. Incredibly delicious, but just a lot of food.”

  “And I see you had some sangria,” said Caleb.

  “I couldn’t help but be tempted by Joan. Earl had some, too.”

  “I saw your mom laughing at a lot of my dad’s lame jokes. You don’t think it was the sangria, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. They were too close. Almost awkward for me to see it.”

  “Yeah?” asked Caleb. “It did feel awkward. What if your mom and Earl started dating?”

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “Where do you think Cujo and Garr left for? They said they were leaving but coming back. And I didn’t see them return.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Caleb took A1A over the Bridge of Lions and headed south, passing roads that he knew by heart.