AN: The idea for this story started probably around 11 years ago...wow...I researched NASCAR, Doc's real name changed at least once until I had posted the short 'excerpt' that now is the first chapter of Life's Highway about two years ago. The whole thing took a drastic shift in time line and plot just within the last few weeks and I've never even put pen to paper aside from note taking!

Late Summer 1950

Ruth turned up the radio as she passed through the kitchen and glanced out the window over the kitchen sink. Thankfully the humidity had broken over night and she'd spent the morning airing out the house, every window was open and the breeze that swept through the homestead was Heaven sent. Humming to herself, she eyed the garden against the treeline at the back of the property. It needed some attention, later that evening she'd be able to get out there. She was feeling up to it. Jesse took good care of it, when he could, but it was too big for one person and he couldn't do it all, as much as she knew he refused to admit.

She turned from the sink and tested the edges of the cake pan she'd set on the cooling rack before reaching for the bowl of icing she'd just finished whisking together. Pausing, she let the bowl clatter onto the counter and shouted across the house even while still staring at the cake.

"Jesse Hudson!"

Her twin had been passing by the doorway on the back porch and peeked into the kitchen before leaning his shoulder against the door frame, hands behind his back.

"Yes, Ruth Hudson."

"This was supposed to be a surprise for Henry!"

"It won't be?"

"I don't get to make things like this often-"

"How did you, anyway?" He didn't know they had that much flour and sugar, or cocoa lying around.

"I saved it all. Why do you think we've been eating bland meats and vegetables for three weeks?"

"Oh..." He raised both brows, drawing out the word.

"You ruined it!"

"You wanted it to be a surprise, right?"

"Yes."

"Well." He shrugged a shoulder with a lopsided grin. "He'll be surprised."

"Ugh, get out of here."

He'd started laughing before she had even replied and turned away from the door to hustle down the steps, bringing his hand around to his front to break a piece off the square slice of cake and pop it in his mouth. He laughed agian, getting into their barely legal pickup when he heard her shout in the house again.

"You could have at least taken an edge piece! Why did you take it from the middle!"

"Where's the fun in that?" He muttered, starting the truck.

His expression sobered as he left the driveway and drove through Thomasville. He hadn't mentioned it to Ruth yet, but the final paperwork on their mother's estate had finally cleared. Between the three siblings they'd get a fairly decent amount but it wasn't going to last long with the medical bills that had piled up on the counter. He hadn't opened any yet, he'd been afraid to. Jesse needed something better than some little part-time job that wouldn't even pay him enough to get back and forth to work.

He pulled into the lot and jumped out of the truck, drumming his hands on the lintel of the open door as he approached his brother's small office space, it was more like a closet attached to the garage.

"Best darn garage in town?" He raised a brow.

"Hey. Too many families with small kids and young mother's bring their business here for my sign to say something else."

Henry Hudson had somehow been labeled Smokey through the years, hence Smokey's Best Darn Garage In Town. Jesse was one of the very few people who still addressed him by his real name.

"Aha." He looked around the corner to the car that was currently being worked on while getting straight to the point. "Do you think I could take the Ford on Saturday?"

"What's happening Saturday?" Smokey asked hesitantly.

"I might have signed up for the night race."

"Might have."

"Might have as in did. I did sign up."

"You know, maybe you could have mentioned this to the rest of us a little sooner-"

"I only signed up this morning! C'moooon Henry, what's the worst thing that could happen."

His older brother stared at him, and it looked eerily reminiscent of the faint memories Jesse had of their father when he was displeased.

"Well loss of the registration fee, for one."

"But the purse is five hundred! Five dollars is worth that."

"Unless you're taken out on a stretcher."

"It's going to be fine."

Their staring match ended with Smokey taking the keys off the wall above his desk. "Fine. You've lost that five dollars anyway."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet."

He took a deep breath and sighed as he watched his brother switch out of the beaten pickup for his car. He knew Jesse's heart was in the right place, but did they need to really use the more dangerous routes to obtain money? His car left the lot before he turned back to the car he'd just started working on.

"You better do well."

Jesse spent the rest of the afternoon at Thomasville Speedway. Gritting his teeth, he handed over his last few bucks just to be able to sit in the grandstand seating. The regular bleachers were free, but you couldn't see anything from there. He wasn't interested in listening to a bunch of men complain about how they'd lost money on the last race, or where they were placing their next bets anyway. He was there to see the cars.

He shifted and moved down a row, having originally found a spot that caught a glare off the spotlights in the infield. Dust hung in the air and he cleared his throat before resting his elbows on his knees, watching the cars come around the nearest turn.

"Surprised these drivers don't end up with some form of black lung." He heard someone behind him say.

Jesse tuned the rest of the world out, focusing solely on the atmosphere of the track below him, from the way the sun reflected off the windshields, to the lost paint colors of the cars as they were covered in dirt, to the tracks they left behind them as they passed over the ground, the heat that rose off the track, aside from the fact that it was summer in Georgia, the sound of the engines as each car dug in and found purchase in the soft earth, the occasional stone that was thrown and even the sound of metal on metal as a few drivers played a little dirty.

He got up from his spot in the middle of the stands and picked his way through groups of people until he was standing down at the fence. He rested his arms on the half wall and ducked his head, closing his eyes against the wind and dirt kicked up by the cars as they flashed by at dizzying speeds. Looking up again he caught the tail end of the pack rounding the first turn.

He wanted to be out there, snaking his way through the pack, dodging and weaving, hell even getting pushed around by other drivers meant something right? He wanted a car of his own, something he wouldn't be afraid to get the paint scuffed on and wouldn't have to return to someone else once he was across the finish line. He wanted something that could be recognized, something that you'd take a single glance at and think "That's Jesse Hudson's car".

He didn't necessarily want fame, just to be recognized for being good at something.

Jesse grinned faintly as the cars came around the turn toward him again, the engines much louder up close than when you're sitting in the stands.

This was what he wanted to be good at.

He wanted to be able to help his family.

He knew he'd make it out there.

He only needed the chance.

Saturday couldn't come fast enough.

AN2: I'm actually really glad I didn't start writing this when I was in high school. It would have been so bad.