To answer Katie's question: I was pissed off by that article in People magazine, because it said that Brooke wants two cars (I forget which ones), the house, use of the jet, alimony, AND for Jeff to pay for her cook and housekeepers. This is millions of dollars she wants, money that he earned racing. It also said that Jeff really is staying with friends right now, while Brooke is living in the seven million dollar house. How fair is that?!?

Which brings us to the next chapter... (yeah, smooth segue!)

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3: Fair

Jeff’s eyes fluttered open to darkness. As he fumbled for the reigns of his consciousness, he glanced about the room. His sights slid across the shadows of a bureau, door frame, and a couple lamps. A potted flower sat on the table beside him. It was a bedside table, he realised, when he became aware that he was lying in a bed.

Pushing back the comforter, Jeff found that he was in his undershirt and boxers. He didn’t remember taking off the tuxedo, nor did he remember climbing into bed, or entering the house, for that matter. He yawned, and rubbed at his eyes. He stretched. Beneath the blankets, his leg jutted into something. He reached under and pulled out the stuffed lamb. Couldn’t help but smile at it.

Light was seeping into through the window, colouring the once gray room. Must be morning, he though.

A knock came at the door.

“Jeff?” a soft voice called. “Are you awake? Can I come in?”

Jeff pulled the comforter back around himself. “Yeah, come on in.”

The door swung open. A middle-aged woman glided into the room, carrying a tray full of food. The knuckles in her toes cracked as she walked. She set down the tray on Jeff’s lap and stepped back. Tucking a wisp of light brown hair behind her ear, she said, “I figured your stomach would wake you up. Michael told me you didn’t eat anything last night.”

Jeff looked over the tray, at the fluffy stack of pancakes, sausage links, and fried eggs that graced the plate. Beside it was a glass of orange juice, a small pitcher of maple syrup, and a coffee mug with the NAPA racing logo, Michael’s signature, and the number 15. He reached for the coffee and took a sip. As he lowered it, he smiled at the breakfast, then at the woman. “Thanks, Buffy.”

Buffy Waltrip grinned back at him. Within seconds though, her lips drooped, and she furrowed her brow. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite honestly,” Jeff replied, looking her in the eye. “I’m just drained.” He turned away. His sights fell to the stuffed lamb, and he held it up. “What’s this doing here?”

Buffy laughed. “Last night in the car, Macy saw you cuddling it. So she gave it to you. Once Michael got you in here, she tucked you in with the lamb.”

Jeff smiled. “She’s a cute kid.”

“Hey!” a voice came from the door. Jeff and Buffy looked over, where Michael was tying his tie. Or at least trying to. He pointed to Jeff. “How come HE gets breakfast in bed, and I didn’t?”

Buffy put her hands to her hips. “Well you were up before I was, for one! Besides, you're not the guest.”

“That’s no excuse!” Michael retorted. He tucked his chin against his chest and watched his hands work at the tie.

Glancing at Jeff, Buffy raised her eyebrows. Then crossed the room and tied her husband’s tie.

“Thanks, honey!” Michael said when she was done. He planted a kiss on her nose. He looked like he was in deep concentration as he straightened his dark and light gray plaid sports jacket, and smoothed his shirt and tie. Tugging on the lapel of his jacket, he announced, “I look marvelous! Simply marvelous!”

“Not with syrup on your shirt,” Buffy pointed to the stain on the pocket.

Michael scowled at it. “Aw! Now I gotta go change! Do I have another clean shirt?”

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded. “It’s hanging up on the back of the bathroom door.”

Michael stepped out of the room, but popped his head back in a few seconds later. “You better get eating, Jeff, or else you won’t be ready in time for church.”

Jeff smirked at his friend. “Yes, Daddy!”

“Brat!” Michael retorted, before disappearing again.

***

Jeff scrunched up his nose at his reflection in the mirror. He squeezed out some Aquafresh on his toothbrush and went to work scrubbing his teeth. His eyes darted back to the mirror again, then darted away. His sights came across a smudged white toothbrush holder, with four brushes sticking out of it. Three of them were just average brushes, in blue, pink, and purple. The fourth had a Rugrats face on it. At least Jeff THOUGHT it was Rugrats. He didn’t know; he didn’t keep up with the kiddy culture anymore. But he was sure Michael knew the name of the character on that child-sized toothbrush.

Jeff spit into the sink. He turned on the water, and watched as the stream of toothpaste and saliva circled the drain before swishing down it. He ran his toothbrush under the water. Steam rose from the sink. Fogged up the mirror, so that only a cloudy image of himself stared back when he looked into the mirror.

The steam was irritating his eyes. It was making them water… or maybe that wasn’t the steam. Jeff wiped at his eyes; it wasn’t the time to break down. He turned off the water. He was about to put his toothbrush in the holder when he realised there were only four slots. He tossed the toothbrush onto the counter and left the bathroom.

A high pitched shrill echoed through the hallway. Jeff paced toward the scream, and wandered into the kitchen. Macy screamed again, and held on tight to her father’s leg. She sat on Michael’s foot as he hopped around the kitchen, holding a closed fist over his head.

“I get the prize!” Macy whined.

“But it’s MY cereal!” Michael came back with. Macy sprung to her feet, jumped up in the air and reached for Michael’s hand. Her fingers came as high as his shoulder on her best attempts.

“Daddy!”

“Michael!” Buffy passed Jeff in the hallway and whisked into the kitchen. “What are you going to do with a little pink bracelet anyway?”

Widening his eyes and lowering his arm, Michael cried, “What? I LIKE little pink bracelets!”

Macy grabbed her father’s wrist, and worked at opening his fingers. But he held them firmly shut. “Rrrr!” she hissed through her bared teeth.

Just then, a streak of purple flashed by Jeff, as Caitlyn, the Waltrips' older girl, sacked Michael in the midsection.

“Ooh!” he groaned, clutching his gut with his free hand. His fingers loosened, but tightened before Macy’s pudgy little fingers could slip in.

Caitlyn switched tactics. She went for Michael’s sides with a tickle attack.

“Hey!” Michael laughed. “No, no fair! It’s two against one!”

“You’re bigger!” Caitlyn retorted with a giggle. Michael planted his free hand into her forehead and kept her out of arms-reach of his stomach.

Jeff shook his head as he smiled upon the fray. He walked around them to the refrigerator, and pulled out the carton of orange juice. Midway through pouring himself a glass, he set it down. And lunged at Michael.

“Uhh!” the older Winston Cup driver grunted as Jeff latched himself onto Michael’s back. Jeff wrapped his arms around the other’s throat and squeezed. “No fair!” Michael choked out the words. He let go of Caitlyn’s forehead and drew both hands to Jeff’s arms. Tried with all his might to pry them off his neck. He coughed. “Buffy!” he wheezed.

Throwing up her arms, Buffy exclaimed, “What! I’m not getting involved!”

Michael gagged and dropped to his knees, to Macy’s height. She grabbed at his fists. Michael’s hand slid off Jeff’s arm. Macy slipped in and snatched the bracelet. As the little girl scampered to the kitchen table, Michael pointed at her. Jeff nodded. And promptly relented. Michael collapsed on the floor, gasping for air.

“You’re not,” he coughed. “You’re not supposed to, supposed to get involved. You, you can’t gang up.”

Buffy walked over to him and tapped her foot into his side. “Serves you right, for teasing a little girl!” She stepped over her husband and paced out of the room. “We’re going to be late for church.”

Jeff extended a hand to Michael, who accepted it and got to his feet.

Michael held a hand to his throat. “That, that wasn’t fair!”

Grimacing, Jeff nodded. He knew it wasn’t fair. But was life SUPPOSED to be fair?