Hidden Pain

Home : Stories by Catw00man : Hidden Pain

Summary: Martin and Kyle have never really gotten along, but could a secret revealed change all that?

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: R
CHARACTER: Kyle Busch, Martin Truex Jr., Martin POV
CATEGORY: Dark Themes
COMPLETED: September 7, 2004
WORD COUNT: 6,451
DISCLAIMER: 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: First of all this was written for the Black Flag Challenge site run off the Fanfic Speedway board. This was the first time I participated and I just loved it, I highly recommend it. I’ll post at the end of the fic exactly what the challenge was, as I hate giving anything away! *grins*
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Ok I don’t want to give away the plot here, but there is mention of some dark issues in this fic concerning suicide. So, if that squicks you please don’t read it. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy.
AUTHOR'S NOTE 3: This takes place after Junior was burned while practicing the Corvette and Martin was stepping in to qualify and race for him.
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Busch Qualifying - New Hampshire International Speedway : July 23, 2004

I walk quickly from the post qualifying interviews in a hurry to get back to my coach to change into my brand new red firesuit. I can’t believe I’m going to be qualifying his car, that he trusts me to do that. I just wish it wasn’t necessary.

I glance up at the scoring pylon to see that I have slipped from eighth to tenth. I shake my head as my number drops down the board. I end up so lost in my thoughts I don’t even notice where I’m going until I crash into someone else. Once I catch my balance I hear an angry voice all but shout at me, “What the hell is your problem, Truex?”

That’s when I look up and see “the Shrub,” Kyle Busch himself, glaring at me. Why did I have to run into him of all people? Why couldn’t it be anyone else? For some reason we’ve just never gotten along, and the tension has been worse the last few weeks since I’ve been building a little bit of a points lead. I sigh and try to smooth things over just so I can get away.

“Look, sorry Sh…Kyle,” I quickly correct myself hoping he doesn’t notice my slip. I swear I’m going to kill Junior for always calling him that. He’s going to make me slip at some point. “I just wasn’t looking where I was going,” I reply hoping he will just let it go.

But apparently I’m not that lucky as he angrily replies, “Well, that was obvious. I hope you don’t end up in the way on Sunday.”

That’s when I realize he’s changed out of his regular firesuit and into one with Carquest emblazoned across the front. That’s right, he’s going to try and qualify for the Cup race too. Joy. “Look, Kyle, I don’t think I’m going to be the one you need to worry about.”

“No, you’re probably right, not like it’s even your car.”

I’m actually stunned by his words. Why is he being so hostile? What is his problem? He knows why I’m driving Junior’s car. Why is he acting like such a jerk? I just need to get away from here before I say something I shouldn’t. Somehow he always seems to be the only person who can really get under my skin.

“No, it’s not,” I reply carefully. “But, I’m going to do what I can, just like I’m sure you will.” I try to keep my voice level as I move to step around him and get out of here. Maybe I can get back and qualify the car without running into him again.

As I start to step around him he steps forward deliberately knocking me in the shoulder with his own as he moves past. I turn, finally having had enough, but before I can say anything he coldly says, “Sorry, I need to get to my car to qualify.”

At this point I’ve had enough of his smart ass attitude. I call after him as he starts to walk away, “Make sure you don’t wreck it this time.”

He stops cold and turns to look back at me. For a second I think I see something in his eyes, but then it’s gone, replaced only by dark anger. As he turns and walks off I hear him all but curse, “Crash and burn, Truex.”

I stand there in shock watching him walk off for a good minute or two before what he said finally registers. How dare he say that to me? After everything that’s happened….

I turn and storm off to my own trailer to change firesuits and get on with my day. The last thing I need to do is worry about the damn Shrub. He’s just an annoying kid with a hot head. I take in a deep breath as I walk on feeling familiar calm wash over me as I focus on the tasks at hand.

*****

I shouldn’t feel bad. I really, really shouldn’t. But sitting here as night falls over the track with Junior and some of the guys from the crew, I can’t help but feel bad. He wrecked the car. He wrecked his car coming to the green…again. I shouldn’t feel so rotten. It’s not like I made him wreck his car qualifying again. So why do I feel like a jerk?

Sometimes it really sucks having a conscious. I need to get all this out of my mind. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. Didn’t he tell me to “crash and burn?” But I didn’t, and he did wreck. He won’t even be in the race on Sunday, and…why do I care again?

I shake my head and see Junior giving me a strange look. I really don’t want to get into this with him. He’ll just end up giving me a hard time along with the rest of the guys. So before he can ask what’s on my mind I tell everyone I’m going to go crash early. As expected I get called a wuss and some other not so complimentary things. But it’s nothing I haven’t heard before, so I just wave them off and head back to my coach.

But unfortunately his comes into view before I reach mine. I don’t even realize I stop in front of it at first. Why do I feel so bad? I stand here staring at his coach for I don’t know how long before I realize what I’m going to have to do before I can get any sleep tonight. I’m going to have to go apologize to him, and there’s nothing I want to do less.

I shake my head and turn to walk away, but instead just stop again. It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll just tell him I’m sorry for what I said. Maybe he’s realized what a jerk he was being too. Maybe we can just get past this and go back to racing.

I walk up to the door and stand there for another moment before I finally knock. No answer. I can see lights on inside and I really just want to be done with this so I knock again a little harder. No answer. I start to turn to go when I realize the door opens under my hand. I look at the open door and shrug my shoulders as I climb inside.

I look around at the empty room and call out his name. Where is he? I really shouldn’t be in here. I call out his name again as I step further into the room still getting no answer. That’s it, I think, I need to just go, but for some reason my feet seem to have a mind of their own as I walk down the hallway.

As I step into the room at the end of the hall I can’t help but think again how wrong it is for me to be here. It’s not like we’re even friends, I mean we were all but ready to throw down earlier. I look around the room and don’t see him in here either so I turn to go, but as I do, I finally see him.

He’s on the floor on the other side of the bed against the wall. His knees are pulled up to his chest and his arms are wrapped around them. His forehead is resting on his knees, and I don’t think he’s even realized I’m here. What happened, is all I can think as I take a step towards him and call his name. He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even move.

I walk around the end of the bed until I’m just a few feet from him. I’ve never seen him like this--never wanted to see him like this--never imagined I’d see him like this. He wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans, he’s barefoot, and as I look closer I realize he’s rocking back and forth. What happened to him?

I stand there for a moment watching him, trying to decide what to do. I wasn’t expecting this. I squat down in front of him and say his name again. He still gives no response at all. I try again, “Kyle, man, what happened? Are you ok?” That sounds lame even to my own ears. But what else can I do?

He’s still acting as if I’m not even here. Is it possible he hasn’t even noticed me? I reach out and touch his knee, trying to let him know he’s not alone. But I jerk my hand away when his head snaps up and terrified pain-filled eyes meet mine. His eyes go wide as he sees me, then he closes them shaking his head, resting it back on his knees.

He’s rocking again and muttering something to himself I can’t make out. I don’t have a clue what to do. Who did this to him? This is so much more than I bargained for. Maybe I should just go. I look around the room wanting to be anywhere but here, wanting to pretend I didn’t see the pain in his eyes. I start to get up, but stop as something glints on the floor in the fading light of the sun through the window. I lean forward to see what caught my eye and freeze. It looks like a razor blade, and it looks like there’s blood on it.

My heart is in my throat and I have to force myself to breathe. What has he done? I reach forward grabbing both of his hands, pulling his arms forward and turning them over to see… nothing. Have I lost my mind? Am I seeing things? He’s still not looking at me as I ask, “Kyle, what did you do? What happened?”

He’s still ignoring me, and I’m so confused. I start to release his hands when I notice one of the sleeves of his shirt has ridden up when I pulled his arms forward, and I see red. I drop one of his arms and grab the other by the wrist with one hand and push up his sleeve with the other. I freeze again at what I find.

His arm is a crisscross of shallow cuts, but that’s not the worst part. Underneath the fresh marks are old, thin white scars. He’s done this before. But why? Why would he do this to himself? Why would anyone? I realize my hands are shaking as I pull them back. What do I do now?

I slowly stand and debate my options. He obviously needs help, but what kind? I’ve never been in a situation like this. What am I supposed to do? He fucking cut himself with a razor blade! I need to go somewhere. I need to tell someone.

“NO!!”

I look down to see terror filled eyes meeting mine. I didn’t even realize I said that last part aloud. He reaches forward grabbing my leg above my ankle. “Please, please Martin, don’t tell anyone. I’ll lose my ride, I’ll lose everything. Please don’t tell. Please don’t tell.”

I stand there with him clinging to my leg and look at him. He’s shaking with fear and he looks so damned young. “Please, you don’t understand. Please, no one knows. No one ever knew. Please don’t tell, please,” he begs me and it’s more than I can stand. Who am I to butt into his life? How did I get myself into this?

“Kyle, I…,” I start, but he interrupts me again.

“Martin, you can’t tell. Please, please don’t tell….”

I have a feeling everything rests on what I say next, and I really don’t want this responsibility. “It’s ok,” I tell him softly, kneeling down again and pulling his hands from my leg. “I promise, I won’t tell. Calm down. It’s going to be ok,” I say, but is it really? Should I be making these promises to him? Do I have a choice?

It seems my words had an effect as he stops begging and pulls away from me. Then I watch as he all but folds in on himself again pulling his knees back to his chest and wrapping his arms around them again. Finally it’s all more than I can take and I back away, out of the room and down the hall. I don’t stop until I find myself in the kitchen. I look around disoriented for a moment with too many thoughts running through my head.

I walk over to the sink, find a glass and fill it with water. I drink it down in one gulp and then rest my hands on the edge of the sink. I take a deep breath, trying to decide what to do next. Like it or not I’m now involved with whatever this is, and I’m not sure what that means. As I stand here I can still see his scared eyes looking at me, pleading with me. He’s done this before, that much is obvious. How can I be the first person to notice?

I sigh and fill the glass with water again. Then I turn and head back down the hall. I stop before I enter the room again as I suddenly realize, this is it. I can either try to do something, try to help or leave right now and pretend none of this ever happened. I know immediately what I have to do. There’s no way I could ever live with myself if I walk away now, so I reenter the room.

He’s still in the same position as when I left, but he’s rocking again and muttering to himself. This time though, I can actually make out words. “…bad…punished. …wrong…bad…” Is he talking about himself?

I walk over to him and lightly put my hand on his shoulder trying not to startle him. He instantly goes silent and still then slowly looks up at me. I can’t help but think again how young and lost he looks. I hand him the glass of water and tell him to drink. Surprisingly he does exactly as I ask. Then I realize those cuts need to be taken care of.

Once he finishes the glass I take it from him and sit it on a nearby table. Then I reach my hand down and tell him to get up. Again he does as I ask, but his eyes never leave the floor. After helping him up I take his arm and lead him into the bathroom sitting him down on the closed toilet. He just sits there with a vacant expression in his eyes as he stares at the wall.

I shake my head and try to focus on the task at hand. I rummage through his medicine cabinet and find peroxide, cotton balls and neosporin, not too surprising since I know he must have done this all before. Then I pour some of the peroxide on a few cotton balls and move over to him again.

“Take off your shirt,” I tell him and watch as he complies almost automatically dropping the shirt to the floor. I inhale an involuntary breath as I realize his other arm looks just the same as the one I saw before. I also see a few long healing scratches on his chest and stomach. Why on earth would he do this to himself?

I take a deep breath, steeling myself against bolting from the room and away from all of this. “This might hurt a bit,” I tell him as I start to clean the cuts with the cotton balls. I watch as the peroxide turns white and foams and he doesn’t even flinch. Does he even feel anything right now? Once I finish both arms and the peroxide has done it’s work I blot it away with a towel I find by the sink. Then I carefully spread the neosporin over each cut.

Once I’m finished taking care of him I stand there for a minute trying to decide what to do next. I can’t just leave him here. Who knows what else he might do? I can’t tell anyone because I promised him I wouldn’t. I guess that only leaves one thing.

I pick up his shirt and hand it to him. “Put this on,” I tell him as I walk out of the bathroom and look around his room. I find some shoes tossed in the corner and pick them up and go back to the bathroom. He’s put his shirt back on and is studying his feet. “Here, put these on,” I tell him. He looks up at me for a moment and I can read confusion on his face, but instead of asking me why he takes the shoes and slips them on. I guess he’s not in the mood to argue.

I reach out for his hand and tell him, “Come on, Kyle.” He looks up again then lets me pull him to his feet and follows me out of the bedroom and down the hall. As we finally reach the door he stops. I turn to look at him and he finally speaks.

“Where are we going? You promised…,” he says in a small voice.

“I’m not leaving you here alone tonight, and I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re staying with me,” I reply in as level a tone as I can manage. I really hope he doesn’t try to fight me on this. I wait for him to do something, to say something. Finally he just gives me a small nod and casts his eyes to the floor again.

We walk out of his coach and the short distance to mine. I open the door and usher him inside. I can’t help but think how creepy his silence is. Once inside I’m faced with yet another decision to make. What now? I look over at him and see that he looks completely exhausted like he’s really been through the ringer. He probably has.

I lead him down the hall to my bedroom and turn to him. “Go on and get some rest. You look like you need it,” I tell him. But instead of taking me up on my offer he just stands there looking at me like I’m crazy. “Come on, Kyle. I’ll keep my promise, but you have to lay down and get some rest.”

His eyes widen at my veiled threat, and then he sits down on the bed. I turn and start to walk out of the room when his quiet shaky voice stops me in my tracks. “Thank you,” he says almost to himself. I’m not even sure if I was supposed to hear him so I just leave the room and go back to the living room.

I walk over to the couch and drop down on it. I feel like I’m never going to be able to sleep. There is so much running through my head. I pull off my shoes and stretch out on the couch. I can’t believe I’m relegated to my couch while shrub is sleeping in my bed is the last thing that goes through my head as I immediately fall into an emotionally exhausted sleep.

~*~

I wake slowly, instantly knowing something isn’t right. I’m not in my bed, and my back hurts. I’m on the couch. Then means last night wasn’t a bad dream. Why couldn’t it have all been a dream? I stretch my arms over my head then open my eyes.

“Wha…,” I cry out as I push myself up to a sitting position. He’s standing there by the couch staring down at me. The fear in his eyes and vacant look is gone replaced by what I’m not sure. Why is he looking at me that way? “What?” I ask just wanting him to stop staring at me.

He stands there for another moment before finally asking, “Why?”

Good question, and I’m still not sure I have an answer. How did I get involved in this again? “Because you didn’t look like you needed to be alone last night,” I reply hoping that will satisfy him.

He shakes his head and moves over to sit on the end of the couch. He stares off into space for a moment then turns to look at me again, but this time I read confusion and maybe a little anger in his eyes. “Why were you even there?” he asks me accusingly. I was so hoping he wouldn’t bring this up.

I sigh and wipe my still sleepy eyes with the backs of my hands then look back at him. “To be honest, I felt bad about what I said yesterday. I was coming to apologize. That’s it.” I watch as he studies me for another moment taking in what I said. Then he looks down at his hands seeming to be looking for what to say.

“Thanks for that,” he says as he stands. “I was being a jerk too. Don’t worry about it, don’t worry about anything,” he mumbles as he moves toward the door. Is he just planning on leaving? Should I let him leave?

“Kyle, wait,” I call out to him as I stand.

He turns back to me shaking his head saying, “I said don’t worry about it Martin. This doesn’t concern you. Hell, why do you care? It’s not like we’re even friends!”

“Kyle…,” I start, “you want some breakfast?” Ok, so that’s totally lame on my part, but I just feel like I can’t let him leave this way. For some reason I feel like I need to help him because if I don’t, who will?

He stops and looks at me for a minute then shrugs his shoulders. I get up and walk into the kitchen and I’m glad to see he follows me. I go to the refrigerator trying to find something to eat. “Eggs ok?” I ask him and he just replies with a “whatever,” as he sits down at my kitchen table. I busy myself with cooking eggs and throwing on some bacon as well. I cast a couple glances his direction and see that he seems totally lost in thought.

I just keep myself busy with fixing breakfast and dishing it out. Finally when everything is done, the pans are washed and plates are empty I realize I need to get him to talk to me. But why would he even want to? I’ve got to convince him I want to help…when did I really decide I wanted to help?

I look up as he finally starts to speak, “Look, thanks for everything, really, but I should….”

“There’s plenty of time before the driver’s meeting Kyle. You aren’t getting out of here that easy,” I tell him firmly. I watch as his expression changes from surprise, to anger, then to what seems to be sad acceptance.

“What is it you want Martin? You know my secret ok? What more do you want? What do I have to do?” He’s looking down at his hands and I realize he doesn’t understand. He thinks I’m trying to get something from him. Has anyone ever shown this kid kindness before?

“I don’t want anything from you Kyle. I just want to help if I can. What happened last night?” I ask trying to sound as convincing as I can, I mean why would he even want to trust me?

“Just tell me what you want, please. Please don’t mess with me,” he begs me. Then he looks up to meet my eyes and continues, “What is it you want? Do you want me to back off? Fine, you can have the championship. I don’t care, just please don’t tell anyone what you saw. I’ll do anything,” he stresses and I can’t believe he thinks I would do that to him. That I would use his problems against him like that.

“I told you, it’s not like that. Seriously, I just want to….”

“What?” he asks me sharply. “You’ve never even given me the time of day before now. I’m not going to be your charity case Truex. Just forget about everything,” he says as he pushes himself back from the table. “What, are you wanting to be my friend now?”

He shakes his head as he starts to stand and I reply to him, “Maybe I am.” He stops and looks back at me and I see what looks like a flash of hope in his eyes which he quickly hides.

He stands and backs a few steps away and I see the lost little boy in his eyes again. “Why are you messing with me?” he all but whispers.

I stand and walk over to him putting my hands on his shoulders forcing him to look at me. “I’m not messing with you. I swear. Please, talk to me. Let me be your friend. Let me get to know you. Don’t put that wall back up you always carry around you. I want to help.”

I watch as he bites his bottom lip and his eyes are a swirl of confusion and hope. “Ok,” he says softly. “But, please…,” he trails off looking down again and I think I know what he’s trying to say.

“Look at me,” I say softly. He slowly turns his eyes up to meet mine again and I stress my words, “I. won’t. ever. hurt you.”

He just looks into my eyes for a moment, obviously trying to see if I’m telling him the truth. Finally he gives me a small nod and I step back. I look up to check the clock and see that we still have about an hour before we need to get ready for the driver’s meeting. “Come on,” I tell him as I walk back into the living room and take a seat on the couch again. He follows me in and sits on the other end biting his lip again.

“Can you tell me what happened last night?” I ask him carefully.

I watch as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Has he ever talked about this before to anyone? He opens his eyes, but doesn’t look at me. Instead he just gets a far away look and I wonder if this is a good thing. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.

“I screwed up,” he says simply, and I’m at a loss.

“I know that, but why? Why did you hurt yourself,” I can’t help but ask, but he just shakes his head at my words.

“That’s not what I meant,” he tells me. “I screwed up. I wrecked the car, missed the race, almost got in a fight with you on pit road. I was bad, acted like a fool…I needed to be punished….”

He says the last part so quietly I almost don’t hear it. Then I remember the words I heard him saying yesterday, bad, punished, wrong. He was talking about himself. Oh God, who did this to him? “Why, why would you think that?” I ask. “Who made you think that? Who is putting you under this pressure, your team? What?”

That’s when he finally turns to look at me and I see surprise written on his face. “This has nothing to do with anyone else. I screwed up. I was wrong,” he says matter of fact.

“Everyone messes up Kyle,” I tell him. “That’s no reason to hurt yourself. What were you trying to do? Were you going to kill yourself?” I look at him and I’m scared to hear his reply. Do I really want to know the answer.

I’m surprised when I hear him laugh softly. “Don’t worry Martin, I wasn’t suicidal. I haven’t gone that far since I was fourteen.” He looks up and obviously sees the shock written on my face because he quickly continues, “But that’s another story.” He sighs again and continues getting that far off look again, “Look you’re not going to understand, no one does. But sometimes when things are too much…when I mess up enough…it’s almost like, like a release. You don’t fear the pain, you barely even feel it and you crave it all at the same time.” Finally he looks back my direction and I see he looks lost and unsure again. “I don’t know how else to cope.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. I’m too busy trying to wrap my mind around everything he’s told me. He’s right, I don’t understand. I don’t see how pain could ever be a good thing. But I don’t guess I really have to understand the whys. Maybe I can just help him by being there for him. But the thought that he might just go do this again haunts me. How would I even know?

“Please,” I ask him, “promise me you won’t do this again,” I ask him and instantly realize it wasn’t the right thing to do.

He looks even more lost at my words. He looks back down at his hands and just quietly replies, “I don’t think I can do that.”

He doesn’t want to give up that option I realize at his words. But how can I help if I don’t even know? I mean, he’s hidden this from everyone? “Kyle, can you at least promise me this? If you feel that way again, call me, anytime anywhere.”

He looks up at me like I’m crazy. “You’re not always going to be around Martin. How can I promise that? Would want me to call you one day in the middle of the night when I’m half out of my head? Please, you really don’t want to get into this, trust me.”

I reach over to the end table next to me for a pen and paper in the drawer and scribble down the number to my cell I always have with me. Then I hold it out to him and say, “Take this and use it anytime anywhere. I mean it. Please, just give me a chance. If I can’t help, or whatever, we can just forget the whole thing. How’s that? Just give me a chance,” I ask still holding out the piece of paper to him.

At first he just stares at the slip of paper like it’s a snake ready to bite him. Then he slowly reaches forward and takes it from me and stares at it. Finally he looks up again at me and in that quiet voice of his asks, “You would really do this for me?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” I reply. He looks completely shocked that someone would go out of their way for him. What on earth has he been through? I see a small smile cross his face and he looks back at me and says, “Ok, I think I can do that. But I’ll totally understand if you’re too busy….”

I want to tell him I won’t be, but instead just decide to drop it. We should probably be getting ready anyway. “Hey, if you want to wait for me to get ready we can stop by your coach on the way to the meeting and head out together.” He looks surprised again and just nods as I get up to change for the race.

It doesn’t take long for me to get changed then we head over to his coach and he does the same. As we walk through the garage and into the meeting together I notice things I haven’t before. I see the looks some of the other drivers give him. I notice when we pass Johnson and Gordon in the garage how they seem to look at him, say something to each other then turn away. None of it probably means anything, but I see the way it affects him now that I know what to look for. I see Biffle give him an annoyed look as we enter the meeting and watch as Kyle just turns in on himself. That’s when I try to find something to say to distract him. He gives me the most grateful look and it kills me.

Unfortunately though, his day doesn’t go so well. He ended up getting black flagged at the end and had a bad finish. I was more than a little concerned after the race and after I had dealt with the team and Cup practice I went looking for him. I found him in his coach sitting on his couch just staring into space. Surprisingly he congratulated me on a good day. I didn’t even bring up the fears I had before I found him and we ended up hanging out watching movies the rest of the night getting to know each other.

That’s when I realized he’s actually a pretty cool guy. We talked about racing and hobbies and found out we had more in common than I ever thought. He told me about growing up in Vegas and being Kurt’s little brother. Honestly I think that could be part of his problem, always being in his brother’s shadow, but I didn’t say it. He told me that was the main reason he left Roush for Hendrick, he was tired of being “little brother.”

The next week ended up being not much better when he had that incident at Pikes Peak with Biffle followed by Greg’s harsh words toward him after the race. That really screwed him up a bit. He really took it hard and was all but shaking when I got to him after the race. But we talked and before long he was doing better again.

The next two weeks went pretty much ok as well. We hung out at the track and a few times off the track as well. I was really starting to hope maybe things would be ok. Then on the off weekend in August everything fell apart.

I was hanging out with Junior and the rest of the DMP that Saturday just drinking and having a good time when about midnight my cell rang. When I saw who it was I was a little worried, but I knew he had gone home to race at a little “bullring” track in Vegas. I thought maybe he just wanted to fill me in on how it all went. He had really been looking forward to going back home and running some laps with some old friends. But when I answered the phone I instantly knew it wasn’t good.

He was immediately babbling about some incident with a kid he was racing, that things got out of hand. I really wasn’t getting it all, but I knew he was in a bad way. I had to get out of there, but the guys were already looking at me funny. I told him to give me five minutes, just five minutes and I would call him back. I was scared to death he would lose it then, but he just quietly said ok and hung up the phone. I instantly thought I made a huge mistake.

I got up telling the guys I had to go and they all started giving me crap. They wanted to know who she was and why I was bailing on them. I shot Junior a desperate glance and with out a word he had my back. He’s never pushed me as to what was going on and for that I’m very grateful.

I ran out of there to my truck as fast as I could dialing his number on the way. It seemed to ring forever and I was afraid he wouldn’t answer. I didn’t even know where he was! This sounded so much worse than before, he kept going on and on about how huge this was and how big he messed up. “Please, please answer,” I said into the phone as I started up my truck and headed home.

Finally I heard him pick up and his voice just sounded flat as he said, “Hello.” I told him it was me and immediately asked him if he had done anything. He just answered crying out, “Martin?” as if he couldn’t believe it was me. He really thought I’d blown him off. I just wished I wasn’t across the damned country.

Once I assured him it was me and that I was there for him he told me he hadn’t done anything yet. I can’t even describe the relief that went through me. Somewhere along the line he’s become one of the closest friends I’ve ever had, and that night I was actually afraid I’d lose him. But instead we ended up talking all night. He told me all about the mess at the track, how he totally lost it with some arrogant kid and how the local media was swarming him. I told him not to worry about it. Let them have their fun because in the long run it wasn’t going to mean a thing.

I think that was the night when he finally realized that I really was going to be there for him. Everything seemed to go so much better after that. I know that’s the night when I finally realized that he really was my friend and all the rest had nothing to do with that. We both ended up talking about our lives growing up and I told him about how I met Junior and how I got into racing. It was like all the reservations we had about each other were gone and we could just be friends. I’m just glad he made it through that night.

But now here we are one week later and I’m standing here watching him celebrate in victory lane. I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face at seeing him so completely happy, at seeing none of that lost little boy look on his face. As he finally sees me in the shower of champagne and beckons me over I just smile all the more as I walk over. I just hope one of these days he finds enough strength in himself to finally make me that promise.

Original Challenge:

PAIRING: Kyle Busch/Martin Truex Jr.
RATING: Any
SPECIAL FACTORS: Must take place during 2004 season, must start with an argument between the two about a race and/or the points championship
REQUIRED LINE: “I’ve never seen him like this--never wanted to see him like this--never imagined I’d see him like this.”

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com