Smokey hadn't thought the first phone call was that important. What was important was getting the truck finished for Mr. Brown so the man could get back to his farm work.

The cash it provided wasn't too bad either.

Times had gotten tight right after Jesse was forced to sit out of the Piston Cup series. Luckily enough for him, his garage had earned quite the reputation through Hud's success on the track and he was provided with a constant stream of business in and out of the garage doors. He wouldn't touch Piston Cup vehicles, though, not even for his friends. He'd been on the receiving end of a lot of hostility from other drivers for that.

Doesn't hurt me any. He thought to himself, letting the hood of the Chevy truck fall shut as he turned to see the line up of vehicles waiting to be worked on.

Maybe he'd have to get Hud's help on some of them.

Jesse had concentrated solely on the Hornet though, and truthfully, Smokey was amazed at what he'd been able to accomplish with it. He hadn't seen his brother smile that widely since the last Piston Cup he'd won. They'd stood in front of the finished Hornet two days ago, in the very spot the truck was currently occupying.

"I dunno how you did it..."

It looked as new as the day he'd driven it all the way back from Michigan, having been granted the vehicle from The Hudson Motor Car Company. All it needed was the white lettering and decals and it'd be track worthy.

"Blood, sweat, and tears."

Jesse had stopped by earlier that afternoon to let him know he was on his way to see Joe Moore, one of the administrative guys at Thomasville to discuss the upcoming season. He'd been antsy, drumming his fingers on the car door as he'd leaned against it during their conversation.

"You sure you're ready?" Smokey had asked, catching his nervous energy. "You've still-"

"Course I'm ready." Jesse answered incredulously.

Smokey leveled him with a look. "Your head?"

"Is fine."

The first time Jesse had asked him the same question, three times in half an hour, he'd been terrified, ready to take him back to the hospital. It had been explained to him that his brother would most likely suffer some memory issues for a while until he was fully healed. After nearly a year, he hadn't noticed it as often, so either Hud was fully mended or had just gotten better at not repeating himself as much.

"What about that pain you were talking about-"

Jesse rolled his eyes melodramatically. "I'll probably have that the rest of my life."

"Alright." He'd raised his hands in defeat and could only shake his head when Jesse had gotten back into the car, leaning out the window.

"Your Best 'darn' garage in town is gunna have to close up shop." He'd gestured to the sign and the building before peeling out of the lot, shouting as he did so.

"See you on the track!"

The second phone call was important, he'd started on another car, was stuck underneath checking a fitting when it rang shrilly through the otherwise quiet garage. Sliding the creeper out from underneath, he was surprised to see it was dark outside. Jesse must have had a lot of paperwork to go through.

He'd picked up the phone and held it to his ear with his shoulder, wiping grease from his hands. "Smokey's Garage-"

"Smokey, you seen Hud?"

He hesitated, straightening and taking the phone in his hand. "Not since earlier, why?"

"You may wanna check on him."

"What's going on, Scott?"

"I dunno, he was leaving when I got here, totally frosted. When I'd gotten inside I thought the guys at the track were gunna jump me."

"Al-...alright...I'll call you back later." He'd hung up the phone once Scott had said goodbye and jumped into his own truck, not even taking the time to close up his shop as he left to find Jesse.

He was relieved to see lights on and the Hornet around the side of the house, but getting out of the truck he was concerned to hear a door slam. He let himself in, walking through the main rooms and down the hallway toward the kitchen. He glanced around each corner, not even sure Hud was in the house. Movement to the left caught his attention and his brows lowered in confusion when he took in the figure of his younger brother stalking across the kitchen, ignoring him when he spoke and shoving the screen door to the back porch open with a bang as he exited the house.

"The hell is wrong with you?"

Jesse had hesitated just outside the doorway, rubbing a hand over the back of his sunburnt neck before continuing onto the porch.

Smokey followed doggedly. "Are you gunna explain what the problem is or just waltz around here like an angry red hen?"

"I'm done."

"What?"

"I'm done." He turned partially back toward Smokey, toying with the cigarette pack in his hand.

"Done with what, what are you talking about?"

"They won't let me race, Henry!" He exploded, looking up at his older brother finally, face flushed and eyes red.

Smokey fell silent, a chill running down his spine. "What?"

"I'm done. History. A name to be put in the record books just so it can be replaced in a few years."

"Who decided-?"

"All of 'em!" He rounded on his brother fully. "I'm a liability. This new and improving sport doesn't have room for risks." He spat.

"Jesse I'm sure-"

"Do you know what they've done?" He gestured violently as he pointed in the general direction of Thomasville Speedway, unlit cigarette held between two fingers. "Do you know what they've done?"

Smokey only shook his head.

His breath hitched. "They have a team of Hudsons with my paint job!" He pointed to himself, shaking with anger.

Smokey was silent, unable to come up with a response worth verbalizing. He took a deep breath and let it out in a low sigh, watching his brother as he dropped his arm against his leg.

"Hud-"

"Don't...Don't call me Hud."

"Fine, what do you want me to call you?" He asked, irritation beginning to lace his tone.

Jesse turned back toward the house, passing him.

"Call me history."

They sat on the steps of the back porch for hours, watching the first of the season's fireflies floating up from the grass that already needed mowing again. Once he'd calmed down, Jesse had given a better account of his visit to the track. He'd pause now and then to compose himself, twirling the glass in his hand so the ice would spin in what was left of his drink.

The guidelines that were now being put in place seemed too restrictive to Smokey. How could a sport they themselves dominated only a year ago change so much.

"They signed on some new kid." Jesse commented dully, exhaling and ashing his cigarette over the side of the steps.

"Driving a Hudson?"

I dunno. I didn't stick around to find out. Didn't even meet him."

"There's other circuits you could-"

"No. Piston or nothing."

"Are you willing to go with nothing?"

He only received silence as his answer.

"Look, Jesse-"

"What am I gunna do, Henry..."

He hesitated, looking over his brother's profile, amazed he was even alive to have this conversation with. "Racing isn't the be all end all."

"Yeah." Jesse tossed back what was left in his glass and stood abruptly, leaving Smokey on the porch. "But it's all I know."

AN: Frosted- slang term in the '50's for extremely angry.