How I Disappear

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Summary: “Listen to your heart, June.  Go be a Winner.”

AUTHOR: Gwen
EMAIL: gwen@cryptoffic.com
RATING: NC-17 - warning...explicit m/m sex.
CHARACTER: Dale Earnhardt Jr./Tony Stewart, Alternating POV
DISCLAIMER: Pure fiction. I’ve got no claim on these two, other than they’re my favorite toys. No money made, no harm, no foul. I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is how “The Announcement” went down, at least in my fantasies. And if you're a Teresa Earnhardt fan (and I know she’s probably got one out there somewhere), you wouldn’t be happy reading this one.
AUTHOR’S NOTE2: Title stolen from My Chemical Romance but I bet they wouldn’t mind. Also ~*~*~ denotes POV shift.
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“Who the hell is this guy in the mirror?”

I’m pale, there’s dark circles under my eyes, and I can’t hardly shave because my hands won’t stop shaking. My eyes are bloodshot and that’s not surprising, seeing as how I don’t think I’ve slept a night through in months. 

Deep breath, and I take aim with the razor again and tell myself it’ll all be over in a few hours.

Today’s the day I step up to the mike, in front of God and ESPN, and tell the world that I’m walking away from the company my daddy built.

The one he built for me.

I take another look and wonder, for the millionth time. Is this a guy who’s taking a stand? Stepping out to make his own name, in his own way, in a manner that would make his father proud? Or am I staring at an ungrateful son of a bitch who’s throwing away everything his old man worked to give him? Somebody who’s scared as hell he’ll never be able to make the grade outside of his father’s shadow? And never be able to fill the shoes he’s supposed to fill if he stays? 

If I separate myself from DEI, from the one place that everyone…except my stepmother…thinks I belong, will Dale Earnhardt, Jr. just disappear? 

I wish I knew. I thought I knew.

Toss the razor down on the counter, wipe my face clean, and pull on a t-shirt. It’s like I’m moving in slow motion, or underwater, or something. Like my mind knows what I’ve gotta do, but I’m just so fucking tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of wishing. Tired of fighting.

Tired of begging for what was always supposed to be mine.

I go through the motions, finish dressing, stand at the kitchen counter with one last cup of coffee, and I know I’m dragging my feet. God, I thought I was ready for this.

But, even after all the months of denial, of not believing that the stepmother that I thought I knew--the person my Daddy lived with and loved and trusted--would screw me over this much. I still don’t understand it.

Shake my head, toss the rest of the cold coffee into the sink, grab my keys and pull on my shirt.

What’s done is done. She’s never going to come around and I can’t stay and watch her go against what I know daddy wanted. So. I’m doing this thing.

I just wish it didn’t feel like I was stepping off the edge of the world.

I’m out the door and off the porch before I see him. He’s leaning up against my truck, legs crossed at the ankles; hands shoved in his jeans pockets. Doesn’t move, just watches me till I’m standing in front of him.

“I thought Gibbs had you doing promo in Texas.”

He shrugs, then straightens up, grabs a fistful of my shirttail and pulls me closer.  “That’s why God made private planes, June.”

I settle my hands on his hips and I’m not sure I can speak around the lump in my throat. Now that he’s here in front of me, strong and solid and ready to stand between me and the world, I realize how scared I was about facing this without him.

“Why didn’t you come inside?”

Quick grin, and he knows me too well. “What, to give you someone to listen while you list…again…all the reasons why you don’t think you can go through with this?”

My sigh of frustration is swallowed up when he kisses me. Long and slow and full of every single thing I need, and I don’t let go, even when it’s over.

“Dale, listen to me.” Dark eyes that go right through me, sees everything inside me like nobody else can. He still has hold of my shirttail, and gives it a shake.

“You know this is right. You’ve fought it, you’ve bent over backwards to prevent it, you’ve given way, way more than anyone would ever expect you to, most of all, your Dad. You know what he dreamed about for you, and you know what you want for yourself. And, you know you’re never going to make those dreams come true until you leave Teresa.”

Trust Smoke to cut through the shit and get to the heart of it all. And, I know all this, have known it for a long time. It just helps to hear it one more time and, especially, to hear it from Tony.

I wish he could go with me but, hell, it’s going to be enough of a circus as it is. I almost laugh, thinking how the press would react if I walked in dragging my boyfriend by the hand.

“Hey.” He’s got my attention and I guess I’ve stalled as long as I’m going to get away with, cause he’s shoving me into the truck. ”I’ll be here when you get back.”

He leans in for one last kiss that makes that a promise. “Knock em dead, babe.”

I throw Big Red into gear and head for the highway. Now, I can do this.

~*~*~

This is ripping him apart. God, just the look in his eyes this morning. That empty, haunted look. It makes me want to hit something.

No. It makes me want to put my hands around Teresa’s throat and squeeze. Hard.

“GOD DAMNED, FUCKING, GREEDY-ASSED, ICE QUEEN OF A BITCH!!”

My glass crashes against the brick fireplace and shatters. I wish I could say it makes me feel better, but it doesn’t, not at all. I just feel so fucking helpless.

All I could do was stand there in the driveway and watch him leave. I’d gone as far as I could go with him. I just hope he knows he’s not alone in this.

And, not just because of me. Hell, he’s had me wrapped around his finger for a long time and he knows that if he jumped off a cliff, I’d be right behind him.

But, this time, he’s got everybody in his corner. That’s been hard for him to grasp. Partly because he’s a humble guy and has never been one to believe his own publicity. Everyone else has always had a lot more confidence in Junior than he has in himself.

He’s actually scared that his fans are going to be disappointed with this decision, so much that he’ll lose them. And, it says a whole lot about June that this worries him so much. 

But, I’ve got news for him. Junior Nation’s not going anywhere. He’s like the freaking Pied Piper of Nascar--where he leads, they will follow. He just doesn’t realize he’s ten feet tall and bulletproof.

The TV catches my attention when the broadcast is interrupted for his press conference. He walks into camera range and sits at a table, with his sister. I’m glad Kelley is there; she’s been a rock through all of this for him.

And, I know his mom and grandmother are there, too. The Earnhardts have closed ranks around their boy and I sure wouldn’t want to be in Ms. Teresa’s shoes from here on out. 

He starts reading the statement he prepared over the last week or so and I remember watching him sit at the kitchen table for hours, sweating blood, trying to put what he felt in his heart down on paper for the people he cared about. For family, friends, fans, employees, sponsors, his racing peers, the press--so many people who, however innocent it might be, lay claim to a piece of him. 

He’s never taken that responsibility lightly. 

Finally, one night, I found him sitting out on the porch, just after sunrise. He hadn’t slept well in days, not since he’d made the final decision to leave DEI. He knew it was his only real option, but he couldn’t find a way to make it public, couldn’t find the words he needed. A pad of paper lay in his lap, empty, cup of cold coffee resting on the porch railing. 

I sat down beside him on the steps and we watched the sun come up. It was dead quiet, not even any birds making noise, or dogs barking.

He sat there, not talking, staring out over the front yard, fingers nervously working at the stitching on his jeans.

I knew exactly what brick wall he had run into, and I knew there was nothing that I or anyone else could do to help him over it. This was one he’d have to clear on his own.

Over the past weeks, he’d made it a point to talk to every single person who mattered to him, who he respected and wanted to learn from. He sought advice from his mom and sister, Tony, Jr. and his racing team, D.W., Richard Childress, Jeff Gordon and Richard Petty, and a whole string of others. All the people who he knew would give him straight, honest advice.

Then, he’d chewed on all that for months, put it with what he knew in his own head, and had come up with his decision.

In order to fulfill his dreams and goals, in order to be the driver and the man he wanted to be, he would have to leave his father’s company and go out on his own. Even though he and everybody else knew that Dale Earnhardt had built that company with the goal of someday leaving that empire to all his children, with his namesake at its helm…well, the wicked stepmother changed all that.

Dale hadn’t expected to die on that track in Daytona. He was invincible, we all thought so.

What happened that day not only took his own life, but sealed the fate of his children, as well, and now Junior and Kelley were paying the price. They’d not only lost their father, but the opportunity to continue what he’d started.

Sitting on the steps that morning, I wished so badly that we could turn back the clock, make everything go back to the way it was before.

Because now Dale was gone and Teresa was never going to let Junior hold his rightful place at DEI.

So, we sat there in the North Carolina morning and thought about what should have been, about what everyone wished like hell had never happened. 

He was so quiet. The first sign I had was when I saw his hands ball into fists, tight and frustrated and furious. Then, his shoulders started to shake. I reached for him, but he was having none of it, shoving me away, getting up and stalking out into the yard where I couldn’t get to him. Threw his head back and screamed to the skies.

“GOD DAMN IT!!” He just dropped to his knees in the wet grass, his whole body shaking from all the fear and anger and guilt…. Just everything from the months and months of struggling, pouring out of him in hoarse sobs, and my only thought was to get to him. To gather him up and hold him tight and just wait it out.

His nails raked lines down my arms, his fingers dug into my skin, he cried and he cursed and he fought, but I hung on through it all until he finally gave out and quieted. Until the shaking was down to a fine tremor and he rested against me with his eyes closed. 

That’s when I remembered. And, I sat there and told him about one hot summer afternoon a few years back, when I had sat with his daddy at the side of the track at Talladega, watching Junior run a practice lap. The sun was beating down on us, and Dale sat there and watched, never taking his eyes off the car. I elbowed him in the ribs and said something like he’d better watch out or Junior would catch up to him one day. 

“Nope.” He shook his head, still watching the car digging around the track.  “He’ll be better than I ever was. He’s a Winner.”

We got up from the grass, both of us wet and worn out and shaky. I kissed him, and made sure I had his attention.  “Listen to your heart, June. Go be a Winner.”

~*~*~*~

It’s over. Finally, it’s over. I made it through the press conference, and the endless questions from the reporters, and then the exclusive interview for D.W.. I talked to the shop guys, all the employees, my team. Had some closed-door time with the family. It’s done.

As of the end of this season, I’m no longer a part of Dale Earnhardt, Incorporated.

And, you know what? It’s okay. I’m okay. Even though I know the next months will be weird and I don’t know where I’ll end up, or what’s gonna happen, I’ll make it. I’ve made my peace with Daddy. Kelley will take care of all the business shit; she’ll help me do what’s right for me. All I’ve gotta do is race. 

That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, anyway. 

I pull Big Red up to the intersection, look towards the turn-off to my house, and see a whole bunch of reporters hanging out. 

No way. I’ve done my time, for today, at least.

I turn in the opposite direction and gun the motor. Even if they try to follow, they’ll never catch me.

Because I’m Dale Fucking Earnhardt, Jr! No matter what Teresa says or does, she can’t take that away from me, I know that now. And, it feels pretty damn good.

Turn down the access road that runs to the back of my property and rev the truck up, throwing dirt every which way. 

Now that I’ve gotten the monkey off my back, I feel like my mind and my body’s going at warp speed, just from the relief of having it done. I want to race. I want to drink. I want to run and jump and scream at the top of my lungs.

No. I know exactly what I want to do.

~*~*~*~

I’ve paced a hole in this damn carpet, waiting for him. I know he had people to talk to, questions to answer, things to see to. I’m just worried, and I’m not exactly known for my patience. 

Then, thank God, he’s coming through the door, and I hold my breath, not sure where his head’s going to be after the afternoon he’s had.

He tosses his keys towards the table by the door and grins at me, that slow, sure, cocky Junior grin that generally means he’s up to something.

“Hey, Smoke.” Starts walking towards me, shedding his button-down as those long legs eat up the space between us. His shirt hits the floor and before I know what’s happening, I’m up against the back of the couch with his mouth on my throat and his hands inside my t-shirt and, okay, I’m just going to go with this. 

“Um…God…um…oh, yeah…um….” I’m trying to be coherent here, I swear I am, but the part of him that’s pressed up against me is kind of making it hard to think. Oh, yeah, he’s supposed to be distraught. I put my hands on his face and hold him still enough to make eye contact.

“You okay, June?” 

He grins, that patented slow, mischievous smile that always does funny things to my insides.  “Oh, yeah, I’m great.”

Then, he kisses me, hard and demanding. “I’m greater than great, Smoke.” Sharp, quick press of his hips against mine.  “You’re looking at a free agent, baby, and I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

Well, hell, I’m in. 

His tongue strokes against mine, suggesting all kinds of wonderful things I can’t even imagine, and then he backs up long enough for us to pull t-shirts over our heads, throwing them across the room. His hands slide down my sides and we’re going to the floor.

I remember just in time and manage to break the kiss long enough to mutter,  “Careful. Glass.”

He pauses, with one hand on the button of my jeans. “Aww, Tony. Another glass, man?”

I like a long line across his chest and bite at his nipple. “S’okay. Not one of the good ones.”

He laughs and, God. That’s the best sound I can imagine hearing right now. It’s been a while since Junior’s laughed much.

A glance towards the fireplace shows us we’re out of range of the broken glass, so it’s back to business. 

Sharp bite at my collarbone, and he pushes a knee up against my crotch just hard enough to make real sure I’m paying attention. Licks at my ear before he whispers. 

“Pitch or catch, Smoke?”

Low laugh, when he feels me shiver. I want to answer, but I think my brain cells all just shorted out.

“Time’s up, I get to choose.” Talented fingers pop the button on my jeans.  “I think I’ll pitch, whaddya say?”

“Uh…God…June….” What the hell, have I just freaking lost my command of the English language?? But, I don’t have time to worry about that, cause he’s sliding out of his jeans and something tells me I better do the same. Junior is not a patient man at the moment, and I am not missing this party.

Besides, I don’t need the English language for a while, except for the occasional “Ohhhh” and “Jesus H. Christ!” and “Fuuuuuuuuck!” and then, finally, I’m out of breath altogether. 

Junior’s an All Star Pitcher, I’ll say that for him.

I try to hang onto all the little details. The way his mouth feels on the inside of my thigh. The sweet pain of his teeth on my nipples. The sure command of his hands around my cock, the way he knows exactly what I want and need, and gives it to me just when I think I’ll die in one. more. minute. The way he looks when he’s fucking me with strong, sure, steady strokes. Blue eyes staring into mine with an intensity that makes us the only two people in his world right now, holding my gaze while he comes inside me, pushing and straining. Long, low moan that skates up my spine and makes me pull him in closer, tighter, until we’re spent and sprawled out and fighting to breathe.

Later, when we’ve moved from the floor to the bedroom, I watch him sleep. He hasn’t slept this soundly in weeks. I look over at the picture of him and his Dad that he keeps on the end table, and have to smile. 

I think my Champion’s going to be just fine.

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Gwen - gwen@cryptoffic.com