somebody to love

2 // dega - ryan pov

To Talladega, boys raised up,
Whiskey in your glass, here's to turning up,
Slowing down and cars that go real fast,
We were laughing and living, drinking and wishing,
And thinking as that checkered flag was waving,
Sure would like to stay in
Talladega

☆☆☆

"Can you just be normal for once and join Bubba and I on the Boulevard?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at the ever-so-infuriating object of my affection.

Said individual pauses his meal prep, or whatever the fuck he's doing, to throw me a dirty look.

Real cute, Chase. Real cute.

"You know I don't like to get all messed up on race weekends, Ry," he murmurs, not looking up from his cutting board.

Bull-fucking-shit!

"Uh huh, sure. I know you like to keep things straight until after the race, I generally do too, but this is Talladega. You're basically encouraged to get fucked up," I say as I make my way toward him in the kitchen of his motorhome.

He purses his lips as he continues to chop up chicken, only stopping when I snake my arms around his waist from behind and rest my chin on his shoulder.

I love doing this to him, as I'm usually the little spoon and don't get to have him in my arms like this very often. And judging from the way he instantly relaxes and slumps back against my chest, he needed this too.

He sighs as his fingers absentmindedly dance across my crossed forearms laid against his stomach. "I'm worried, okay. I'm scared of losing focus of anything race related."

I hum in agreement. I'm right there with ya, brother, I think to myself. You may be eleventh in the shit, but I'm twelfth and -22. We both have shots to win, but with how things are going lately? Who knows what'll happen.

I don't tell him any of this, though, because he knows there are things that will no doubt happen that are out of our control. And I know that pain better than anyone. Telling him to ignore that won't help in the fucking slightest.

Instead, I lean down and kiss his shoulder. "You and me both. And I know better than most how things that aren't in anyone's control can fuck up a good run, so that anxiety is...valid." He stiffens at that comment, probably remembering the fiasco at Dover.

I continue. "But you know what else is valid? Letting loose a little. I mean, shit, if you stay in your bus all day, only going out for practices and qualifying and the race, you're gonna be stiff as hell Sunday afternoon. Too in your head. And that's not good either." I feel his body soften against my chest. The tension seeps out of his body as he realizes I'm right.

I squeeze him tighter, smushing my face up against his shoulder, muffling out, "Just come out with Bubba and I. We'll drink a few beers, do the parade, and people watch."

Chase chuckles at that, "People watching doesn't get any better than here."

Got him.

"Damn straight."

☆☆☆

"Hey boys, look who finally made it out!" I bellow out at the usual subjects about to throw down on the Boulevard.

A drunken chorus of "Chaaaaaase" ensues, making the both of us cackle.

"Alright, alright, settle down," Chase says, rolling his eyes as he accepts a beer from Clint and says hello to everyone. I smile into my own drink at how relaxed he seems already. I knew this would do him some good.