“Size of the Flames”
By Kellyanne Lynch
23 March 2002, 1:50 AM – 8:43 AM

Beta Reader: Christy Gordon

Disclaimer: This is VERY loosely based on an article I read in People magazine yesterday called “Hitting The Skids” (April 1, 2002 issue, page 72) about Brooke and Jeff Gordon’s separation. Frankly, I got pissed. So this is pretty much my reaction. But, obviously, I don’t know either one of them in real life, so this is all fiction. Personality-wise, I may be WAY off the mark too. The general frame of this story is speculation, and the details and events are all products of my imagination. I’m not all too nice to Tony Stewart in this fic either. Again, I don’t know him, but I don’t really think I wrote him too out of character. ; ) This is for entertainment purposes only, not to condemn anybody. All characters in this fic are based on real people, all NASCAR drivers, their families, or pit crew, all of whom I do not know and have never met. There’s my disclaimer.

Summary: A NASCAR fic about Brooke and Jeff Gordon’s filing for divorce, and some stuff I made up surrounding it, including spites and fights.

Author’s Note: Guys! I wrote this all in one sitting! And it’s five chapters, so I am really shocked that I pulled this off. I will make sure to edit it like crazy, and have Christy Gordon beta-read it for me, cause it’s bound to be loaded with grammatical boo-boos and the like.

Author’s Note #2: Christy was questioning the time-frame of this fic. Quite honestly, so was I. Darrell doesn’t know about the divorce yet, but at least one other person does. And then I have them racing in North Carolina, (so that it works with a later plot development), so you’d think that, since that race is in the future right now, DW would know by then. I’m still puzzling over when to place this fic time-wise. For now though, I’m going to have to stick with the inconsistency. Might just stay inconsistent. I knew at the time I was screwed up a bit with time, but now I’ve tied myself in such a knot, that I don’t know how to get it out. So… just enjoy, okay? ; )

Dedication: Again, to fanfiction.net’s NASCAR pit crew. Okay, I don’t know if that designation makes sense, but y’all know who I mean by now, right? RIGHT?!?

Rating: PG-13

* Please e-mail matchbox20orbusted@yahoo.com with questions, comments, theories, complaints, or words of wisdom.

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1: The Golden Woman

Clunking across the banquet hall in gold platforms, she drew all eyes to her. She lit up the room with her golden evening gown, that shimmered as she moved. She stepped up to the bar, leaned over it as she spoke with the bartender. Her dress swayed below the hips as she rubbed one foot against the other. She propped her elbows up on the bar, and rested her delicate chin in her hands. Then straightened as the bartender returned. Accepted two crystal wine glasses from the man, then turned away. Long, wavy locks of rich chocolate swaggered with her walk. Her brilliant brown eyes smiled with her rose lips. The beautiful Brooke Gordon locked her sights on something, or someone, straight ahead…

No, not Gordon. Jeff had forgotten, or chosen not to remember that she was no longer his wife. He didn’t know which. He heaved a sigh, and looked into the hands lying palms-up in his lap. Wagged his head. Opened and closed his fists. His dark tresses rippled over his scalp. His russet eyes clenched shut, but only for a moment. They opened again, and returned to the golden woman. They were lured to her form.

She was laughing. Jeff grimaced. At least one of them was happy. She pressed her wine glass against her lower lip and giggled into it. Took a sip, and lowered the glass. With her free hand, she fingered the diamond necklace just below her throat. The one, Jeff recalled with a bitter snort, that he’d given her for their fourth wedding anniversary.

Those lips of hers formed words and smiles. She giggled again. Her hand left the necklace and fell upon another’s shoulder. It swept across the collar of the other’s black tuxedo jacket and clamped down. She leaned forward, and whispered into the stocky brunette’s ear.

Tony Stewart’s large brown eyes brightened. The golden lady drew closer, broadening the young man’s smile. Her hand slipped off his shoulder, and raked through his hair.

Jeff drew his left hand to his forehead, slid it over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His free hand reached for his glass of Chardonnay. He took it up, and knocked back several gulps. When he looked up, he saw Darrell Waltrip approaching. Jeff drew up a crooked smile.

“Hey, champ!” Darrell greeted him, and slid into a seat across the table. “I’m surprised to find you over here! Figured you’d be devouring some appetizers by now!” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Mighty fine franks they’ve got over by the bar!”

Holding out an open hand, Jeff shook his head. “No thanks, DW! I’m not feeling very hungry at the moment.”

“It’s good eats,” DW stated. He slapped his hands into the white table cloth and shrugged. “Take home a doggie bag if ya gotta.”

Brooke was now running a hand across Tony’s cheek, drawing it down his face and tickling his chin. Jeff turned back to DW, pale as a ghost, and threw on another forced smile. “Yeah,” he replied, hoping it was the appropriate response.

“You feelin’ all right, boy?” DW questioned, furrowing his brow. He widened his eyes. “You ain’t coming down with a stomach bug, are ya?”

Jeff shook his head. “My stomach’s doing just great,” he informed the former Winston Cup driver.

“Well good, cause there’s SOMETHING nasty going around that it seems just about everybody is catching…” DW trailed off as his sights drifted to the floor area. “You know, I feel like dancing! Wanna dance?”

Jeff stared wide-eyed at DW.

“Of COURSE I don’t mean together!” DW laughed. “I mean take that wife of yours onto the dance floor!”

Jeff took in a sharp breath. He glanced at Brooke, and released a puff of air when he saw her cuddling up against Tony. “Nah, it’s too late for that,” he mumbled.

“Well it ain’t for me!” DW exclaimed. He pressed his palms into the table top and got to his feet. “Why, it ain’t even nine yet! Now where’s my girl?” He scanned the room. In seconds, his eyes lit up. “There she is! Catch ya later, Jeff! Take care of yourself!”

Jeff watched as DW sauntered off, across the room toward his wife, Stevie. Jeff’s sights shifted to his former bride, who had her head on Tony’s shoulder. She nudged her crown into the side of Tony’s neck, and he turned. She sat up straight. Their eyes locked. Their faces moved closer and closer.

Maybe their lips met. Jeff didn’t know. He had turned away, bound to his feet, and marched across the room. He pushed his way through hordes of people, some who said, “Hey, Jeff!” with no response. He stormed up to a table full of people who were talking and laughing, and obviously having a great time.

Jeff looked to Michael Waltrip, who was chuckling as he bounced his younger daughter Macy on his lap. Jeff stepped up to him and stopped. He tapped the veteran Winston Cup driver on the shoulder. “Hey, Michael?”

Midchuckle, Michael looked over his shoulder. Jeff leaned toward him.

“Is it, um…” He closed his eyes, and scratched his nose. Then he mumbled, “Would you mind if I go sit in your car?”

The older man’s face fell. He furrowed his brow. “You feeling all right, Jeff?”

“Just an upset stomach,” Jeff replied, and felt it not a lie. After all, the ancient Greeks used to say that emotions came from there.

Michael studied the other’s downtrodden features. He pursed his lips, and reached into his pocket. The keys jingled as they dropped into Jeff’s open hand. “Just don’t go trading paint in the parking lot,” Michael grimaced.

Jeff knew that Michael was trying to get a smile out of him, so he fought with his lips to give one. He could only manage turning up one side. “Thanks, Mikey,” he said.

“No problem.”

Jeff took one last look at the golden woman. Brooke and Tony had an arm around each other. She made eye contact with Jeff, but her sights remained for mere seconds. Then moved on. Jeff shook his head and rushed out the banquet hall.