Not an Addict

Home : Stories by Mick : Not an Addict

Summary: After being ejected from Daytona and given a four race suspension, Chad Knaus finds a way to ease the sting.

AUTHOR: Mick
EMAIL: mick@cryptoffic.com
RATING: R, for heavily dark themes revolving around drug use and some sexual reference.
CHARACTER: Chad Knaus, Chad POV
WORD COUNT: 8,061
DISCLAIMER: If I owned them I'd be too busy to write this stuff. Just fiction, folks! 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 fic is dark and not like anything I’ve ever written before. The idea came about right after Chad was suspended for the illegal part on the car in Daytona of 2006. At the time I was going through some things with a very close family member who was suffering from an addiction and this was my way of coping and trying to make sense of everything that was going on. I’m happy to say that after going through rehab she’s ditched her habits and is back to normal, which makes me an incredibly happy person. The title for this fic came from a K’s Choice song of the same name, a song I listened to almost nonstop for several days when I first started to write.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He pulled a bowl and a tiny ziplock bag from under a stack of papers in the very back of a cluttered drawer. Going back to his desk, he pulled open the bag and skilled fingers pulled out a bit of the herb waiting inside. He packed it into the bowl and pulled a Zippo from the left front pocket of his jeans. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped it open and hit the striker with his thumb, sending a nearly inch-long flame into the air. With practiced ease he lit the herb and brought the pipe-end of the bowl to his lips, wrapping them around it to take a long, slow drag. He sat back in his chair and after a moment, let his breath out even slower than he’d inhaled, watching as the smoke rose into the air and disappeared. Three hits later, he cleaned everything up, stowed his belongings away, and got down to work.

Ever since his first time using pot, at the ripe young age of thirteen, his thought process never functioned correctly unless he was stoned. Things flowed easier in his mind once the haze took over; thoughts came more easily. When he was straight, nothing seemed right. Nothing flowed. It gave him headaches to attempt his job without the aid of his oldest and dearest addiction…not that he was addicted or anything.

*          *          *

Jimmie Johnson looked on several minutes later as his crew chief bounded into the shop, barking orders and sending his crew into a frenzy of activity. It often surprised Jimmie that no one but him ever noticed the fact that Chad was high. Then again, Chad didn’t give off any signs that he was. No bloodshot eyes or slowed movements, nonexistent munchies, 0% paranoia. He was also the only one in the building that even knew in the first place.

He could still remember the day he’d caught him, nearly four years earlier. Jimmie had barged into Chad’s office without so much as a warning knock. The sight before him took his breath away. Chad was sitting at his desk with his bowl, poised to take a hit. He yelled at Jimmie to shut the door, which he had. Quickly. He’d come further into the office, surprising Chad. He surprised him even more when he took the paraphernalia from his stunned crew chief and took a puff. Jimmie wasn’t a stoner anymore, but he couldn’t deny that his high school years had been spent getting stoned between races. The two had spent the next two hours rehashing their earlier years as the buzz grew and faded with each puff they took.

Across the garage, Chad sat with Darien Grubb and Ron Malec, going over stats they wanted to run by the engine shop. Jimmie shook his head slightly, knowing that the scent of the smoke would be nonexistent to the rest of his team. Most of the time he himself didn’t even notice. Even when he tried to smell it on him, he couldn’t. Apparently, Chad’s twenty plus years had given him a bit of a know-how in the cover-up department.

*          *          *

At the end of what had been an extremely long day, Chad trudged back up to his office and threw himself down on the plush leather couch wedged between a wall and a bookcase littered with binders, VHS tapes, and a mini-TV/VCR set. He sighed softly, resting his hands on his forehead, pressing the heels of his palms against his closed eyes. His entire body ached from an intense afternoon workout, his head pounded from the innumerable amount of data he’d crammed into his mind. Going home to his bed was the only appealing thing at this point in the day, but there was so much to be done…

A glance at the clock told him it was twenty passed six. He’d take a quick catnap, finish his work, and be home by one. After a quick bite to eat, he’d be asleep by 1:30AM, which would allow him five hours of much needed rest before flying to Daytona for the start of speedweek. Sighing once more, Chad rolled onto his side and drifted off to sleep, stats and strategies racing through his tired mind.

*          *          *

Chad frowned slightly as he boarded the plane to Charlotte. It’d all happened so damn fast. The car blew everyone away all weekend. He’d been so careful to hide his “addition” to the rear window. Then one little slip-up and everything came undone in post-qualifying inspection. He couldn’t help thinking that if he’d been stoned, he would have remembered.

NASCAR took no time to even think it over. By the time he got the news of his ejection, his coach was already gone from the lot. They told him if he wasn’t on the first possible flight home, he’d never work in racing again. Jimmie had driven him to the airport, dropped him off, and went back to the track. Now here he was, stuck between a sleeping fat man and a chattery Asian woman. He was pissed.

*          *          *

Jimmie frowned as yet another reporter asked him about Chad. He wanted to tell them to fuck off, but that wouldn’t be very “Jimmie” of him, so he bit his tongue. He smiled for the cameras, gave them an “I don’t know” shrug, and went about his business. He didn’t want to let on that he was worried about his crew chief’s well-being.

The ride to the airport had been awful. After a shaky apology, Chad hadn’t said much of anything. He’d been sober all weekend - he refused to smoke at the tracks - and the irritation was clear in his eyes. Jimmie wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he’d lit up right there in the car. He couldn’t help feeling slightly relieved when he didn’t. Now here he was, all alone to fend off hordes of reporters swarming around him. God forbid they bugged someone else. Like Mr. Hendrick.

*          *          *

With a groan Chad rolled over, nearly falling off the couch and onto an empty bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label. As the throbbing started in his head and his stomach began to churn, Chad suddenly remembered why he preferred pot to alcohol. His stomach lurched and he jumped up, making a mad dash for the nearest toilet.

Several minutes later, he leaned against the bathroom wall, his head spinning. He hadn’t puked that much in years. He groaned when his head started to ring, and then blinked when he realized it wasn’t his head, but the doorbell. Irritated, he hauled himself off the floor and stumbled to the front door, cursing as the bell continued its persistent medley of classical music.

When he pulled the door open, any anger he’d had melted away. Standing before him was a childhood friend he hadn’t seen in ages. An overnight bag was slung over one shoulder, a bottle of Skyy Vodka  in the other hand. A wide grin spread across Chad’s face as he pulled his friend into a tight embrace. He hadn’t been this happy in years.

The petite blonde woman pulled back a moment later and laughed softly as he asked what she was doing on his doorstep. He stood to the side to let her in and she explained everything as he took the bottle of vodka into the kitchen.

Laurie had heard about what had happened down in Daytona and thought he could use a friend. As he placed two ice-filled glasses on the counter between them, she told him how she’d tried calling his house and cell, and got worried when she got no response on either. She’d caught the first flight out of Chicago to Charlotte, and there she was. Chad slid a glass filled to the brim with alcohol to her and grinned, thanking her for caring.

She picked up her glass and tipped it toward him, making a toast to the best damn crew chief she’d ever known. He clinked his glass against hers and they both took a gulp of their drinks.  Chad let out a satisfied sigh as he felt the liquid burning its way down his throat. He hadn’t drank this much since college, and he was secretly glad to have some company.

Laurie watched him curiously as they drank in silence. She and Chad had met when they were ten, at a race track. His father and her oldest brother were both running late models at a local track, just outside of Rockford.  They’d hit it off for some reason, and as they grew up and went their separate ways they managed to keep in touch. She was the first person to see him stoned, to see him drunk; hell, they lost their virginity to one another. They shared everything, no holds barred.

Chad caught her watching him and cocked an eyebrow, “Penny?”

Laurie smirked, “So, where’s your stash? And don’t even try the ‘I Quit’ thing, Knaus, because I know better.”

With a chuckle, he sipped down some more of his vodka and nodded toward the stairs, “Same place I’ve always left it.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be hiding dope in your underwear drawer?”

They both started laughing and Chad rolled his eyes, “I’ll go get it. Go make yourself at home.”

With a nod, Laurie picked up her glass and the bottle of Skyy and made her way into the living room. Chad went up to his bedroom to get his stash, feeling a sudden sense of giddiness. He hadn’t gotten stoned just for the hell of it in years. Since he’d gotten his crew chief position with Jimmie, he’d made a promise to himself that it’d be a work-only thing, so he could concentrate better. So much for that resolution.

When Chad came back downstairs moments later, there was a new spring in his step. Whether it was from the alcohol or the fact that he was about to smoke with his best friend for the first time since college was beyond him. He made his way back into the living room, but stopped short in the doorway.

Laurie was sitting on the couch with a needle in her arm. He stared at her in shock, barely able to keep his composure. What was she doing? His mind raced as he continued to watch her. No way in hell was his best friend shooting up on…on…on what? Heroine? Morphine? Maybe she’d gotten diabetes and it was just an insulin shot. Yeah, that was it. It was insulin.

She looked up at Chad as she dropped her needle into a medical bag on the coffee table. She gave him a smirk and leaned back against the couch, “You plan on staring at me like a peeping Tom all night, or what?”

“I wasn’t - I mean…Oh shut up!” He came into the room and placed a bowl and a dime bag on the coffee table. He glanced at the bag and hoped it really was just insulin, “Laurie…what is that?”

She rolled her eyes as she set to work with the pot, “What do you think it is, Chad? You’re smart, figure it out.” She pulled a lighter from her pocket and lit the leaves, taking in a long breath before passing it over to Chad. He mimicked her actions, reveling in the feel of the familiar haze that was taking over.

As Laurie took another hit, Chad let out his breath and said what had been on his mind, “I’m hoping that’s just insulin, but I have a feeling it’s probably not.”

Laurie giggled, “You always were funny, Chad. It’s morphine. Want to try some?”

*          *          *

The next morning Chad rolled onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow. His head was once again throbbing and his stomach was churning. He really, REALLY hated alcohol. He went to roll onto his side, but stopped when he heard slow, steady breathing coming from the spot next to him. It was only then that he became aware of the soft, warm body next to him, just
barely pressed against his side. A single thought flew through his mind:

WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO LAST NIGHT?!

Struggling to regain his muddled thought process, Chad slowly tried to piece everything together. There was the failed inspection, getting ejected, arriving home to drink himself under the table, Laurie show-

LAURIE! It was Laurie in bed next to him! All at once, a rush of memories flew into his head. Drinking with Laurie, getting stoned, finding her shooting up with…oh god. Oh god, he didn’t let her give him morphine, did he!? No, he wouldn’t have let her. Even drunk and stoned, he knew better than to go sticking dirty needles full of drugs into his arms. At least…he hoped so.

In a sudden panic, Chad shot up in bed, cursing softly when he realized he was naked. Good Christ, what the hell else had he gotten himself into?! Did he and Laurie…had they…No! No, that was too awkward to even think about. The last time they’d fucked they were twenty and in college and vowed they’d never do it again. No, he definitely had not slept with his best friend.

…but then why was he naked in bed with her? This was turning into a nightmare that got worse by the second.

The bed shifted slightly as Laurie stirred awake, giving him a lazy smile. She sat up, the sheet over her body slipping down to her waist to reveal two perfectly rounded breasts. Chad’s heart skipped a beat and a blush crept across his face as his eyes locked onto them. He prayed to god his morning wood wouldn’t get any harder.

Seeing the confused and almost frightened look on Chad’s face amused Laurie. She scooted over and rested her chin on his shoulder, kissing his cheek softly. She felt him stiffen  up at her touch and pulled back, giving him a concerned look, “Chad?”

Chad frowned slightly, looking down at his hands, “Laurie did we…Christ, I can’t even believe I have to ask this…”

A frown marred Laurie’s pretty, almost child-like face, “…you mean, did we fuck.”

He nodded, grimacing at the weight behind the word, “I…I honestly can’t remember a thing that happened last night, after I came downstairs. I don’t know if it was the alcohol, or the pot, or…” He frowned, not able to bring himself to say it.

“Chad you didn’t do anything. I offered to let you try, you said no, I put it away. We had a couple more shots and I brought you up here, but you passed out and I got worried so I stayed with you just in case…”

“…then why are we naked?”

“Since when have I ever slept with clothes on, Knaus? And I figured you’d have boxers on when I pulled your jeans off. Imagine my surprise when your floppy dick popped out to greet me.”

Chad blinked, his mood suddenly lifting, “My dick is NOT floppy!”

*          *          *

That weekend, Chad and Laurie sat curled up on the couch together, watching the Daytona 500. He’d never admit it to anyone, but Chad was beyond depressed.  Racing was his life, his passion, and now he was forced to merely be a spectator.  It should have been him up on the pit box, not Darian.

As the race wore on, Chad became more and more tense. His stomach was tied in knots, his mouth was dry, his hands were clammy. Jimmie was going to win the biggest race of his career and Chad wasn’t even going to be a part of it. Talk about a blow to the face. He could practically see the NASCAR officials gloating as Jimmie took the checkered flag.

Knowing Jimmie would be expecting it, Chad grabbed his phone and called Darian’s cell. With a surprisingly calm voice, he congratulated the engineer and asked to speak with his driver. As soon as he heard Jimmie’s voice, he started to lose it. The lump in his throat grew as he told Jimmie how proud he was. His voice cracked as he asked Jimmie to have a drink for him at the party that night. By the time he hung up, tears were flowing down his cheeks in silent rivers and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

Laurie watched on as her best friend shut the TV off and dropped down onto the couch. She scooted over and slid an arm around his shoulders, letting him cry on hers. Rubbing his back slowly, she whispered soothingly into his ear, rocking him gently. Laurie had never seen Chad this upset before and she’d never admit it, but it terrified her. Chad was always the calm one, so well put together and the perfect example of professionalism. This was a side of him she’d never seen before and deep down she wondered if either of them had ever known it existed.

Nearly half an hour later, Chad pulled back and straightened up, wiping at his eyes as he apologized for his sudden show of emotions. Laurie shook her head slightly, telling him to stop. They sat in silence for several long minutes before Chad finally stood up. He needed something to ease the sting, he told her, something along the lines of Smirnoff and a good high.

Laurie stood up as well, putting a hand on his arm to stop him in his tracks. She had something better than alcohol and pot, if he’d trust her enough. He knew what she meant. She was talking about what was in that tiny medical bag on the dresser in his guest room. The drugs and needles she’d stolen from the hospital she worked at up in Chicago. He knew better than to accept. He knew he should say no…but he accepted anyway.

*          *          *

It was like a dream, like he was watching the whole thing happen from outside himself.  Laurie tied a rubber band around his arm, tapped at a vein as she picked up the syringe filled with a carefully measured amount of Morphine. His heart raced as she pressed the needle to his arm. He gritted his teeth as he felt it prick his skin and enter into his vein. Laurie pressed down on the syringe, injecting the drug into his bloodstream. A moment later she pulled it out, unwrapping the band from his arm. He sighed in relief as the blood rushed back into his system. Laurie watched him intently for a moment as she readied a needle for herself. He caught her gaze, chewing on his lip as he waited for some sort of effect to kick in.

“Laurie, I don’t…feel…should it be…” He frowned slightly, fighting to find the right words.

She finished with her shot and leaned forward to kiss him softly, gently pecking at his lips with her own, “Give it a few minutes, you’ll feel it.”

He nodded slightly, his head suddenly racing. Had he really just done that? Did he seriously let someone inject him with a drug? This wasn’t him, this wasn’t the type of person he was. He didn’t do drugs! He certainly didn’t feel the need to shoot up just to rid himself of pain he caused all on his own! What was next, slitting his wrists for fun?!

Laurie saw the look of sheer horror on Chad’s face and grabbed his hands, squeezing them gently, “Chad? Bro, what’s wrong? Do you feel all right?”

He blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts, “Lau I’m fine. Honestly I’m ok, calm down. I don’t even feel any- Whoa.”

Chad grabbed his head as the room lurched. Suddenly everything seemed lighter, moved slower. It took him a moment to realize the morphine had kicked in. Everything felt so…different. There was a hazy glow outlining everything he looked at, his focus was off. His head felt light, almost like it did when he was stoned - only stronger. He liked it.

*          *          *         

Jimmie slammed his Nextel shut in frustration, letting loose a silent string of curses in his head. He’d been calling Chad practically nonstop since the night before, but hadn’t gotten through once. It’d started out as drunk dials from random people’s cell phones while they were partying on a rented yacht. By noon Monday it was irritated redials in between calls from well-wishers. At eight that night it was worried voicemails. Now, nearly 6am Tuesday morning, Jimmie was frantic. No one had seen or heard from his crew chief since Sunday night in Victory Lane. He hadn’t even shown up at the shop on Monday, which was highly unlike him. He couldn’t even get to Chad’s house because of his damn publicity tour. Chandra took her husband’s hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he slouched back, worry clear in his eyes.

*          *          *

When the alarm started buzzing at 7AM Tuesday morning, Chad shot up out of bed. He slammed the off button and bolted for the bathroom, shaving and showering quickly. He ran back to his bedroom and started dressing, cursing loudly when his foot got caught in a bra. In the bed, Laurie stirred and slowly opened her eyes. She laughed softly as she watched Chad scurrying about, in a rush to get to the shop for his “day of reckoning” as he put it.

“Chad you need to relax. You can’t go flying into the office like you’re missing your wife give birth!” Laurie sat up, holding the sheet around her chest, “You want a hit before you go?”

“No, no time for that. Besides, I’d like to be straight when they tell me my sentence,” He pulled his shoes on and grabbed his wallet and cell phone, which he’d conveniently “forgotten” to turn on since Sunday night. Kissing Laurie’s cheek, he muttered, “Wish me luck.”

Laurie smirked, “I thought after that time in Phoenix I wasn’t allowed to wish you luck anymore.”

He stopped at the door, “Oh…right. On second thought, don’t wish me luck.” He continued out the door with a goodbye and Laurie grinned, laying back down. She waited until she heard him hit the stairs before shouting, “Good luck!”

Chad’s voice drifted back up to the bedroom with a hint of laughter, “Fuck you, too!”

*          *          *

“Four races! Four FUCKING races! Can you believe this shit?! Christ, one extra bolt and they act like I put nitrous in the fucking car! This is such bullshit!”

Jimmie put the phone back to his ear when he was sure Chad’s tirade was through, “Chad you need to calm down. It could be worse, they could have kicked you out for the rest of the season. We can handle this. Everyone stepped up last weekend, Darian kept things under control. It’ll be all right. And hey, at least you can still come to work at the shop during the week. They didn’t cut you off completely.”

“Jimmie you don’t get it, do you? I can’t handle not being at the track. Racing is my life. Cutting me off like they are is a death sentence. Letting me in the shop is like dangling a sandwich in front of Tony just out of reach. It’s cruel and unusual punishment!”

The driver blinked, giving his phone a funny look, “Chad are you feeling okay? Been getting enough sleep?”

There was a short pause and Jimmie could swear he heard a girl giggling before Chad responded, “I’ll be fine Jimmie. I don’t know how, but I’ll man - OW!”

“What happened?!”

“Nothing! I, uh, stubbed my toe. I’m fine!”

“No, really. What happened? Is someone there with you?”

Another pause and then, “An old friend from Rockford stopped by to spend some time with me. I gotta go, I’ll see you at the shop whenever.”

Before Jimmie could respond, the call disconnected and Chad was gone. Chandra looked at Jimmie expectantly as he closed his phone, but he merely shook his head in disbelief, “That man either has a serious screw loose or he got a bad stash. He’s talking like he’s completely insane, Chani. Ron said he looked like hell when he came into the shop. Bags under his eyes, kinda pale. Insisted he felt fine but he sounded like crap. He’s really starting to scare me. This isn’t like him at all. There was a girl in the background and he told me it was an old friend from Illinois. The only friends he had back then were dealers or addicts.”

The tiny blonde frowned, “You don’t think he’s doing drugs, do you? Jimmie that’s nuts! This is CHAD we’re talking about here, not some thirteen-year-old hood rat!”

*          *          *

It’d been a week since Daytona and Chad had been in the shop two times. The first had been for his sentencing and the second had been to make sure the California car was ready. Everyone knew something was up, but no one said a word. Their crew chief was wandering around like a zombie, complete with bags under his eyes and an awful rash of acne across his once unmarred skin. Nobody knew what to think or do, except watch on in confusion as he went about his work at a pace he’d normally balk at.

The conversation after he left that day was grim. He’d stayed for barely three hours, doing a bare-minimum amount of work, which was the strangest part of all. After all, this was the man that was normally the first one in and the last to leave. Everyone was worried, so they called upon Ron Malec to investigate since Jimmie was off on his media tour.

Next to Jimmie, Ron was Chad’s closest friend at the shop. They tended to work side by side and it was a well known fact that Chad was grooming him to be his successor. Ron was more worried than anyone and tried to come up with several confrontation tactics on his way to Chad’s house.

A car he didn’t recognize was in the driveway next to Chad’s Porsche, making Ron furrow his brow. Chad hadn’t mentioned any company. He parked behind the Porsche and headed to the front door, ringing the bell hesitantly. He could hear muffled talking and movement from within the house, but couldn’t make out the voices through the door.

Several moments later the door opened and Ron blinked at the sight of a pretty blonde girl standing before him. She was tiny, barely 5’3”, and skinny as a rail. Her platinum blonde hair curled around her face, coming just below her shoulders, and pale green eyes stared up at him from beneath thick lashes.

“Um…is Chad here? I mean, his car’s here, I just meant-” Ron cut himself off before he could make a bigger fool of himself. He took a breath and started over, “I’m Ron. I work with Chad. I need to talk to him, it’s important.”

The blonde studied him for a moment, “I’m Laurie, Chad’s a friend of mine from way back. He’s taking a shower, c’mon in and I’ll tell him you’re here,” she stood to the side to let him in, closed the door, and made her way upstairs.

Ron couldn’t help but notice she had the same strange rash on her face that Chad did.

*          *          *

Jimmie stared at his car chief in disbelief, “Ron, DRUGS? C’mon man, this is CHAD we’re talking about here!”

“Dammit, Jimmie! I don’t want to believe it either but it’s true! I did some research after I talked to him on Thursday. Bags under his eyes, acting like a zombie, that rash I was telling you about; they’re all side effects of Morphine use. Even when it’s used on hospital patients they get that way on low doses!”

“I…no, Ron. You’re wrong. He’s just stressed out, is all. I’ll go see him first thing tomorrow morning when I get home. He’ll probably already be getting ready to go to the shop.”

“I doubt it,” Ron muttered as Jimmie climbed into his car for the race, “I highly doubt it.”

*          *          *

Chad let loose a string of curses as his doorbell rang for the second time in as many seconds. He kicked a pair of Laurie’s jeans to the side as he rounded the bed, then made his way downstairs, shouting at the front door, “I’m coming! Jesus fuck, wait a fucking minute!” He yanked the door open, shivering as the frigid winter air hit his skin. Standing before him was Jimmie, wearing the same concerned look Ron had had on several days earlier, “Oh. You. Long time no see, driver. Come in, it’s fucking freezing out.”

Jimmie walked in as Chad stepped aside, shrugging out of his coat. A quick glance around the living room sent Jimmie’s wheels in motion. The house was a mess; empty glasses and alcohol bottles littered the room, random bags which had once held pot were scattered everywhere, the floor had turned into a laundry pile. He turned his gaze on Chad, who stood before him in a pair of jeans that had obviously seen better days. He took note of the rash Ron had mentioned, of the way his hands seemed to tremble, the zombie-like bags under his bloodshot eyes. His skin was paler than he’d ever seen it. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe Chad DID have a problem.

“So, what? You came all the way here to stare at me half naked?”

Jimmie blinked, shaking his head slightly, “Wha…no. No, of course not. I came to talk to you. I haven’t seen you since Daytona, and I figured I’d talk to you at the shop but then it was noon and you weren’t there so I figured I’d swing by and make sure you were ok. You are ok, right? I mean, you kinda look like hell. No offense or anything, but damn. Have you been sleeping okay, because you look kind of tired. Maybe you-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy killer, you sound like a speed freak. Calm down, one thing at a time man.”

Jimmie nodded, not having meant to ramble like he had. He tried to recompose himself, but the sight of his crew chief in such disarray rattled him badly. His thought process thrown out the window, Jimmie blurted out the one thing he hadn’t meant to ask, “Chad are you on drugs?”

*          *          *

“You what?! Jimmie you can’t possibly be that dense! You just blurted it out like that? What were you thinking?!”

“Ron, I’m sorry. I panicked. I saw him all strung out and just…we have to do something. He’s going to kill himself. That Laurie chick is leaving tonight, maybe we should go over there together-”

“No. No, you screwed this up enough. I’ll go over-”

“Dammit Ron! I’m coming too! Chad’s like a brother to me, I won’t just sit by and watch!”

“Fine. Fine, we’ll go over first thing in the morning. We’ll confront him together, let him know we mean business. We’re not leaving unless he’s with us and he’s going straight into rehab-”

“REHAB?! You’re out of your mind! We can’t bring him to a clinic, everyone here knows who he is. We have to do this cold turkey at his place.”

“Jimmie I know you want to protect him, I do too. But we can’t watch him every second of the day and he’s going to need constant supervision. One weekend won’t be nearly enough time.”

“Ron, please. I’m begging you. We can’t take him to a hospital. If anyone finds out about this he’ll lose his career. We’d be murdering him.”

“I know, but…Alright. I’ll think about it. No promises. I have to get back to work. We’ll talk more later, figure out a plan, okay?”

*          *          *

Chad curled up on his couch, a blanket pulled tight around his body. Laurie had left that morning and he already missed her. She’d left him with a vial of morphine and a few clean needles, along with the number of a person who could get him more if he wanted it. He’d been fighting the urge to shoot all day, but the pain from the withdrawal was unbearable. Over the past three weeks they’d slowly upped his “dosage” and the amount of times a day he took a hit. The previous day he’d reached an all-time high of six hits, each one with enough of the drug to keep him high all day. He knew he needed to stop, but he couldn’t. It hurt too much. He was weak, and freezing, and he had the shakes. His stomach was tied in knots and his breathing shallow. He needed a hit.

Just as he finally managed to push himself off the couch, the doorbell rang. His head spun; who could possibly be at his door? With slow, aching steps he made his way over, glancing through the peephole. Curses raced through his head when he saw Ron and Jimmie on his doorstep. This was the last thing he needed.

Knowing Jimmie had a key and would no doubt use it if he didn’t answer, Chad pulled the door open enough to stick his head out, “Hey guys…now’s not a good time…”

Ron frowned, the raspyness of Chad’s voice unnerving him, “We don’t care if God himself is sitting on your couch, we’re coming in.”

Chad was taken back, surprise clear on his face, “Excuse me?”

Jimmie pushed the door open and walked inside with Ron, “He said we’re coming in.”

Now the crew chief was getting irritated. He needed a hit badly and the tweedles showing up wasn’t helping, “Now wait just one god damn minute! You can’t-”

“We can and we are,” Ron grabbed Chad’s arm and yanked him into the living room, easily pushing him down onto the couch. Jimmie stood at his side, an almost identical look of determination on their faces. Chad went to push himself up, to protest, but Ron cut him off, “Chad I’ll only say this once, and then you have two options. We know you’re on drugs. Morphine, heroine, something. You’re addicted and we know it. Ever since Daytona you’ve been like a zombie. Your face is a mess, bags under yours eyes, marks all over your arms. You show up late for work and do nothing for barely an hour; that’s if you show up at all. Now either you let us help you get clean here, cold turkey, or we drag you kicking and screaming to rehab.”

Ron and Jimmie waited for some sort of reaction but Chad seemed to be in a daze. He stared up at them with lifeless eyes, his hands shaking badly. After several painfully long moments, he began to laugh.

“You’re both insane. I’m not an addict. There’s nothing wrong with me and I’m certainly not injecting myself with heroine. Now, please. Get out of my house and leave me alone.”

*          *          *

Chad woke up in a daze, his head buzzing. He was shivering badly and could feel beads of sweat on his skin. He was confused, scared, unsure of his surroundings. He went to push himself up to a sitting position, but felt too weak to do more than lift his head. He dropped it back onto the pillow with a groan. From somewhere in the room he heard a hushed conversation.

“I think he’s waking up!”

“Careful, don’t startle him. We don’t need him freaking out again.”

“Is he even awake? He just kind of groaned…”

“Wha…” Chad tried to talk but his mouth was too dry, his throat scratchy.

“He’s awake, all right.”

Something pressed against his lips and one of the voices whispered reassuringly into his ear, “Just water, chief. Take a sip…”

He did as told, somehow managing to lift his head enough to drink from the straw offered to him. As his vision slowly cleared, he found Jimmie and Ron sitting on either side of his bed. Again, he tried to speak. His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, “Wha…what happened?”

Ron gave him a sympathetic smile, “You gave us one hell of a fight, chief. Nearly broke my arm when we dragged you up here.”

“Where am I?” He blinked, confused.

Jimmie bit his lip softly, “Your guest room. Been asleep for an entire day…”

Chad groaned, a wave of nausea passing over him. Ron grabbed a bucket off the floor and shoved it into Chad’s face a he rolled over and heaved. He’d been getting sick like this since they’d managed to move him from the couch the night before. He rubbed Chad’s back as he dry heaved some more, wishing he could end the agony.

Jimmie helped Chad sit up, tucking some pillows behind him and wrapped a blanket around his shaking body, “It’s going to be okay, Chad.”

Chad shuddered, a mixture of chills and sweat running down his spine. He looked over at his driver, and friend, with pleading eyes, “Jimmie, p-please. It-it hurts. Everything…hurts. Just one hit. Please, just one.”

Ron shook his head, “No. We got rid of it, Chad. Threw out the drugs and the needles. We’re getting you clean.”

Rage suddenly overtook the weakened man and he dove at Ron. They’d been expecting this and Jimmie was quick to act. He grabbed Chad and struggled to hold him down as he screamed and struggled to get at Ron, “You bastard! I fucking hate you!”

Knowing it was the drugs, or lack of them, Ron let the comments roll off his back. He helped Jimmie hold Chad down, silently praying for him to pass out again.

*          *          *

It felt like weeks before Chad finally woke up again. Ron and Jimmie had taken turns sitting watch over him while he slept, searching the house for any trace of the drugs or needles that might be left behind. Ron had found an emergency stash in a box of cereal. Jimmie had found some spare needles in his toolbox in the garage. They could only hope they’d managed to rid the house of it all.

While Chad slept, he would occasionally get the shakes or break out into cold sweats. When he woke up he’d be disoriented and violent. They knew it was the lack of drugs in his system and took it all in stride but that didn’t stop his often vile tone from sometimes stinging them. Telling them to go to hell, to die, that they were shitty friends for putting him through all of this. They knew it wasn’t true and he didn’t mean it, but somewhere inside themselves they couldn’t help but take it slightly personal.

Once the shakes and screaming went away, he’d get sick and dry heave until he passed out again. They tried to get some food in him but it was beyond difficult. Jimmie had read that bananas and other fruits were good for getting some of the vitamins and minerals back into him and decided maybe their best shot was to make some smoothies for him to choke down. It’d been working for nearly an entire day and it was slowly giving them hope that maybe he was coming out of it. The color was slowly coming back to his skin and his shakes were subsiding.

By the third day of detox, Chad was managing to stay awake without all the side effects. He still felt far too weak to leave the bed, and needed some help getting to the bathroom, but it was a vast improvement. Both Ron and Jimmie were thankful they had a week off to take care of him, because they knew they could never have left him alone like this. He was so quiet, though, and it scared them. He’d spend all day lying in bed staring at the walls, tapping his fingers on the pillow to keep them from trembling. His legs twitched from time to time as the last of the shakes left his body.

At the end of the fourth day, Chad surprised his friends by making his way down the stairs on his own, leaning heavily on the banister for support. When he reached the floor they both looked up at him in shock, jumping up to help him. He shrugged them off, insisted he could do it on his own, and joined them in the living room to watch TV. He was still silent, but they were happy to see him out of bed on his own accord. They had so many things they wanted to ask him, so many things they wanted to tell him, but they kept their mouths shut. It was a huge victory that he’d left the guest room and the last thing they wanted to do was overwhelm him.

It was almost a week before Chad finally started acting like himself again. He would sit in the living room with Jimmie and Ron, making comments about whatever happened to be on the television. They’d joke about movie previews and yell at sports games. He even managed to make them all breakfast one morning. They weren’t comfortable leaving him alone just yet, so they camped out in his spare bedroom and on the couch. He’d finally managed to go back into his bedroom once they’d cleaned it up a bit for him. In fact, they cleaned the entire house for him. The laundry was put away, the furniture was back in order, the floors were vacuumed and the bathrooms no longer looked like an explosion had gone off.

Midway through their break between California and Vegas, Chad was showing huge improvements. Ron and Jimmie would take turns going home to take care of their own houses and families. He’d started working again from home little by little as well. It felt good to be back in the grind somewhat. Since he was completely detoxed, he’d been able to work without the aid of pot for the first time in years as well. It was awkward at first, but it was making him feel better by the day knowing he no longer needed a crutch to get things done right. He was confident that by the time he made his return to the track in Bristol he’d be back to 100% and ready to go.

*          *          *

“Chad, are you sure you’re going to be okay all alone for a couple of days? We could always sneak you to Vegas with us…” Jimmie chewed nervously on the corner of his lip. It was Thursday morning and he and Ron needed to leave for the west coast again. Chad was completely sober, but from time to time there were moments when they were sure he’d no sooner slip back into using. They had faith, but they weren’t sure faith would be enough.

“Jimmie, I’ll be fine. I promise. There’s no drugs in the house. I don’t have a way of getting anymore even if I wanted to,” He patted his friend’s shoulder reassuringly, giving him a weak smile, “And if something happens, you’ll be the first person I call. I promise. I can do this Jimmie, I know I can.”

There was a confidence in his voice that hadn’t been there in quite some time. Jimmie believed him. He knew that his crew chief was a strong person and that it’d take quite a bit for him to sink that low again. He nodded in agreement and pulled his friend into a tight hug, clapping him on the back, “You better be the first phone call I get when I pull into Victory Lane on Sunday.”

Chad laughed heartily, “Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”

With that the two parted and Jimmie turned to walk out the door of Chad’s house. He slipped into his car and pulled out, heading for yet another race weekend. He was nervous leaving Chad alone but he knew that if he could make it through this weekend, it was a huge step toward his recovery. If he back pedaled even the slightest bit, they’d just have to come up with a new way to get him clean and keep him there.

*          *          *

“Hi, my name is Chad…and I’m a morphine addict…”

“Hi Chad!”

Chad swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. It was Sunday morning and he’d spent the past two days pacing back and forth in his house fighting the urge to get high. He knew he couldn’t use again. He’d come too far just to let himself--and his friends--down. The first thing to pop into his head was an NA group. He’d grabbed his phone book, looked up some places, and picked one to go to. For the most part he just sat in the back of the little room of the community center he’d chosen, two towns over from his home in Charlotte. It was anonymous, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be people there who would recognize him. The people who went up to talk seemed pathetic to him. Using because they were depressed or felt insignificant. It dawned on him after the fourth person to share that he was no different. He’d started using because he was upset over missing the 500. It was with that realization that he chose to share.

“I, um..” He cleared his throat, looking around at the sea of faces before him. Really, he had no reason to feel awkward because some of them were worse than he could ever have imagined being. With a deep breath, he let it all pour out. How he’d gotten suspended from his job, reunited with an old friend who got him using, how his two best friends had saved him from plummeting any lower. He kept most of the details to himself but it was enough to get a huge weight off his chest. When he finished his story, there wasn’t a judgmental eye in the group. Instead, they all clapped and congratulated him on getting clean.

For the first time in weeks, Chad felt good about himself. He smiled and shook hands with the group leader, who gave him a newcomer chip. He looked down at the tiny coin in his hand, rolling it over in his fingers. The light glinted off of it and he smiled softly as he sat back down, realizing just how much it truly meant. He knew that when Jimmie and Ron came home and he told them what he’d done they’d be proud of him. They’d trust him again.

*          *          *

“We’re here with crew chief of the #48 Lowes Chevy Monte Carlo, Chad Knaus. Chad, how does it feel to be back to work here in Bristol?”

The reporter for ESPN held an expectant microphone out to Chad, but all he could do was smile. His suspension was up, he was completely clean, and everything was back to normal. He shrugged a little, adjusting the hat on his head, “It feels like any other week, really. The time off wasn’t really a vacation by any means. I was still working, still showing up to take care of my business. Just because I wasn’t at the track doesn’t mean I wasn’t as busy as I always am…”

As the interview continued on, Chad spotted Ron and Jimmie off to the side watching. When they’d returned home from Vegas they’d been met by an entirely new man. He’d showed them his coin and told them about how he’d made the decision to go to NA, how he found himself a sponsor and was in full control of things again. Jimmie had burst into tears of joy as Ron bear hugged him, telling him how proud he was. It’d been a trial for all of them, but they’d made it through and Chad felt stronger than he ever had. The season was off to an incredible start for the team and he was determined to take them all the way. If he could overcome such a trying obstacle, then surely he could bring them all the way to a championship.

These authors spend lots of time to write these stories. If you took the time to read this PLEASE take the time to give them some feedback. Happy writers write more ;-)

Mick - mick@cryptoffic.com