by K. Bromberg
They leave a note on the counter.
They text from the airport.
They don’t kiss you good-bye.
Chapter 33
ZANDER
The infield is abuzz. The vibration of a car testing on the track rumbles in my chest. The rev of a motor elsewhere adds to the sound. The sensations are like a second skin.
I feel at home. And strangely I feel out of place.
My hat lies low over my eyes, my bag slung on my shoulder, as I search for the coach and hope that the man I flashed my credentials to minutes ago doesn’t put two and two together. It didn’t seem like he knew who I was, so hopefully my appearance will stay under the radar—this is something I need to do on my own time frame.
Because fuck if I’m not going to need time and courage to go with it when I face Colton.
I hit the row where all of the racers’ coaches sit, massive motor homes that serve as a refuge for the racers while we’re at the track, and instantly spot the one I’ve sat in for countless hours over the years. The trepidation I’d felt increasing with each footstep into the raceway dissipates instantly at the knowledge Rylee’s in there.
Crossing the distance, I climb up the steps, peek my head inside the unlocked door, and knock, calling out her name. “Ry?”
The look on her face . . . her yelp in surprise . . . Then she rushes the few feet to me and almost knocks me over with the force of her hug. And I just hold on tight, emotion taking over as so many things hit me.
How strong her love is for me. How she picked up the broken pieces of a seven-year-old me and helped put me back together. How she didn’t give up on me when so many others would have discarded me as damaged goods.
The things you forget when you’re in your day-to-day life. The things you appreciate when you step back into it with an all-new perspective.
What kind of person gets the chance to have two mothers love him as fiercely as I have?
A damn lucky one.
And it’s the expression in her tear-filled eyes and the smile wide on her lips when she pulls back that reinforces this fact and guts me all at the same time, knowing what I put her through.
“You’re here!” she finally sputters out before pulling me against her once more like I’m going to disappear again. And I do the only thing I can, laugh out loud and hug her tighter. The subtle scent of vanilla she’s worn for as long as I can remember fills my nose and makes me really feel at home.
Once her surprise is out of the way and she’s calmed down, then asked a million trivial questions, made a hundred observations—I look tan; I look good; where was I?—we sit down together on the couch. Silence descends as she gives me the time I need to say what I want to say.
Just like Getty does.
The thought flickers and makes me smile as I take a deep breath and lean forward with my elbows on my knees.
“I’m sorry,” I finally tell her with a nod of my head. Her violet eyes search mine when I look up and meet them. Voicing my feelings has never been an easy thing for me, even with her. Add to it the situation I’ve put myself in, and I don’t know where to begin. So I start with the truth. “A few months ago something was delivered to my house. . . .”
I proceed to tell her everything. The uncertainty I felt about the box. The shock over the autopsy report. The hurt that I hadn’t known. The betrayal I felt because they had to have known. The rash of emotions I went through. My fight with Colton. The hurtful things I said to him. My trip to the island. Helping to repair Smitty’s house. How it felt good to use my hands. And my unexpected roommate. Fighting with her. How by watching her go through her battles, I realized I held on to my anger like a shield. Wore it like a grudge. Used it to punish myself.
And then I tell her about finally opening the box. The unexpected letter. My mom’s wishes for me. Her wedding ring sewn in the dog.
Tears fill her eyes. Her hand covers her mouth. She nods while tears slide down her cheeks. Her expression tells me she hurts for me. That she’s proud of me. That she loves me.
But she doesn’t utter a single word before I blow out a breath and say the words that began the conversation. “I’m so sorry. All I can tell you is that Colton was right. I needed to step away from everything, to take a long look at myself and deal with my own shit. I’m sorry I didn’t let you in, Ry. But I was hurt. Thought you’d lied to me. Kept something so important from me, when now I know it doesn’t matter. Whether you knew or didn’t know, you were being a parent. You were protecting me from the bad things, just like my mom tried to protect me from the stuff in my house. That’s your job.” While I’m talking, Rylee reaches out and covers my hands with hers. A mother’s touch. A way to tell me she understands. “I told myself I couldn’t come back until I faced whatever the box held and finished the repairs for Smitty. I wanted to prove I’m a man of my word again. That I’m different from the man who hurt his family, his team, himself . . . and I did face it. It gave me the closure I never really knew I needed but now understand it was what I was always seeking. I still have to finish a few minor things on Smitty’s house, but I had to come back and face Colton. There’s nothing I can say to you other than thank you for giving me time, for letting me figure it out on my own, and . . . I’m sorry.”
Her lips spread in that soft smile that has been there encouraging me, comforting me, laughing with me for most of my life, and I immediately know it’s going to be okay. “You don’t need to apologize to me, Zander. A parent loves their child no matter what they do. That’s just how it is. While I wished you would have talked to me so that maybe I could have explained to you and forgone all of this, I’m glad now that you didn’t.” My heard jerks over to her, surprised by her words. “I think figuring the answers for yourself was ten times more powerful. It will mean more to you. You’ll trust yourself now.”
I nod my head. Clear the emotion clogging in my throat by taking in a deep breath.
“I knew, Zander,” she confesses softly. “But you are right. It was my job as your guardian and then your parent to protect you. Did it really matter for me to tell you about the autopsy findings? Your mother wasn’t going to survive whether you touched the scissors or not. So why add that burden to your already aching soul? I made the choice. I’m sorry it caused you pain, because that’s exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but I did what I thought and still think was the best for you.” She wipes a tear away and I hate the sight of it, that I’ve made her cry, but can’t do anything about it.
“I’ve missed you. I’ve worried about you. You were out of control when you left and I feared the worst, because I know pain like that can cause you not to care about yourself. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you whole and healthy . . . and changed.”
“I didn’t bring it with me, but I’ll show you the letter—”
“No.” Her smile is kind, eyes compassionate.
“No?”
“That letter is something you’ve waited over twenty years to find, Zander. It’s her gift to you. I don’t need to see it. The man before me who’s all grown up is all I need to see to know how powerful her words were. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She stares at me, eyes narrowing, and a knowing smile plays at the corner of her mouth. “I’m glad you met whoever this Getty woman is, because it means you didn’t go through it all by yourself, and as your mother, I’m so glad you weren’t alone.”
“I’m glad I met her too.” My mind drifts back to that first night we met and I can’t help but smile.
We talk a bit more about the island, about my brothers, catching up, and I promise her I’m here for a few days before I leave, but we completely avoid talking about the one person that I still need to speak to.
“Is he in the pits?”
Her smile is automatic. The love in her eyes genuine. “Yes. He already tested. He’s with Becks making adjustments or
bullshitting. One or the other.”
My mood doesn’t lighten at her teasing comment, because this is the tough part. “I need to go talk to him. Make things right.” I rise from the couch and kiss the top of her head.
“Zander.”
I turn back at the sound of her voice just as I’m about to step out the door. “Just so you know, Smitty never told us where you were. And Colton never told me what happened in that hotel room. He’s kept that between the two of you, even though whatever happened has been eating at him. He’s spent a lot of time sitting in your trailer with your car. Not sure what he’s thinking about when he’s there . . . but I just thought you should know that.”
Fuck.
I nod my head in acknowledgment. My chest hurts.
Time to make amends.
To just jump.
Chapter 34
ZANDER
“Look what the cat dragged in!” Garret shouts across pit alley.
“Motherfucker. He’s alive! Alive!” Brad mocks me as he rolls out from his creeper at the nose of the car.
“The love. I feel it!” I shout back to them, grinning as I walk into the garage—my second home. Some crew members pat my back in greeting as I walk by. Loud welcomes surround me.
There are a few of the guys who peer at me from beneath the bills of baseball hats. Leery of my return. The ones I pissed off or let down. Or they know Colton’s bite and aren’t sure how he’ll react to my being here.
I meet Smitty’s surprised eyes over the lid of a Snap-on tool chest, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead the questions are written all over his face. I lift my chin toward the stairs, asking him for a single answer, and when he nods again, I know where I’ll find Colton.
Heart in my throat, I take a deep breath as I start the short climb. Uncertainty about how he’ll react makes my gut churn.
I hear their voices before I reach the top—Colton and his best friend and crew chief and my pseudo-uncle, Beckett Daniels. They’re talking about a competitor, trying to figure the adjustments his team made that resulted in his trimming two-tenths off his lap time.
When I clear the landing, Becks is facing me, leaning against the counter behind him, and Colton is sitting with his back to me, feet propped up on the counter. Becks sees me first, his head startling, his conversation momentarily stopping midstream as his eyes lock with mine—a warning fired off to tread carefully—before he finishes his comment.
“You’ve got company,” Becks says casually as he stands and cuffs him on the shoulder. “We’ll finish this later.”
“Get it ready, Becks.” Becks’s feet falter at Colton’s words as he walks toward me. He stops, looks toward my dad, who simply nods in response, before he continues to the stairs where I stand, and gives me a quick hug, then heads down the stairs without another word.
The hum of a far-off engine is the only sound in the booth as I stand there and stare at Colton sitting just as he was, back to me, head faced toward the track. “You just gonna stand there all day, Zander?” His voice is quiet, devoid of emotion, and I shouldn’t be surprised he knows it’s me. He points to the chair a few feet away from him without looking back. “Take a seat.”
But I hesitate, don’t move. A part of me feels like I’m a completely different man from the last time we talked, almost four months ago, and if I do as he says, then I’m not projecting that. I wipe my hands on my jeans and set my shoulders as I prepare to say the things I need to say.
“Now’s not the time to fuck with me. I’m not telling you to sit down as some sort of power play. I’m telling you to sit down because we’re going to talk man-to-man. If you choose not to sit, you can turn your ass around and walk back out. Your choice.”
I clear my throat. And I move my feet until I’m seated in the chair beside him. When I finally risk a glance over to him, his eyes are still focused on the track below, but he nods his head ever so slowly to acknowledge my presence.
We have a battle of wills against each other through the silence. He had the final word last time we spoke, his reprimand still sharp in my mind, and so I struggle with how to begin this when I know a simple “I’m sorry” isn’t nearly enough.
“Did you see your mother?” he asks after a moment, eyes still pointed straight ahead.
“Yes.”
“Good. She’s missed you.”
A part of me immediately starts wondering if he missed me too. My tongue is thick in my mouth. My heart pounds. And yet it feels so damn good to be here beside him. In that dominating presence of my teenage years where you’re scared of the tongue-lashing you’re about to get and yet revel in knowing he cares enough about you to give you one. His testosterone-laced version of love.
“I fucked up.” Those definitely weren’t the words I had planned to start this conversation with and yet they perfectly sum up the truth.
He nods slowly. Purses his lips. “Yes. Sure as shit you did.”
“You were right,” I begin.
“Remember that.” He lifts a lone eyebrow but says nothing more.
“Something had happened and I didn’t know how to cope. . . .” I carry on with my explanations for the second time in less than an hour. The difference is this time around it’s much harder to explain.
I could read Rylee’s body language, knew she understood, but he just sits face forward, expression stone cold, breathing completely even the entire time.
The silence stretches when I finish. My muscles are clenched so taut they ache. My knee jogs up and down.
“You came to me that morning . . . ,” I continue, knowing I need to address the things I said to him now that I’ve explained the background behind it. “and there’s no excuse for—”
“You’re goddamn right there’s no excuse,” he shouts, his sudden reaction shocking me after his total silence. He turns to face me for the first time since I’ve been here. His green eyes burn with emotion. Fury. Disappointment. Hurt. Sadness. The same damn things that ran through his expression the last time I saw him.
I shove up out of the chair, the anger I thought I’d gotten rid of now back front and center and fueled with the bitter taste of rejection. My intention to come back here, explain what happened, and fix things without any more fallout suddenly feels way off base.
When I move across the small space, I can feel his eyes boring holes in my back the whole time. Taunting me. Daring me. Questioning. The stairs call out to me. I told myself that I was done with anger. I was over the pain. Why did I think it would be this easy to come back and apologize and step back into my place in his life?
My hands are on my neck. My head hung forward. Tension smothering the open air of the booth.
“Colton.” My voice breaks, tone solemn. His name is the olive branch I extend. Whatever I need it to be to try to make this right, because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be at odds with him. And it hits me. Of all the words I need to say, I know the ones that will matter the most.
“Speak.”
“Thank you for coming to the hotel that day. For forcing me to hear truths I refused to listen to. For firing me.” I shake my head, drop my hands, and turn to face him. I need him to see my face when I say this. To see that I’ve become the man he showed me how to be. The one I want to be. Our eyes lock again, but there’s hope now as he waits for me to continue. “I can give you every bullshit excuse in the world as to why I did what I did, why I was hurting how I was, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. None of it does. They’d only be words. We all have bullshit we have to deal with. I left pissed, refusing to acknowledge you were right, and wanting to prove the point that I needed no one. That I could handle everything on my own. And I did. But I also learned that anger gets me nowhere. That the truth is harder to face on your own. And yeah, I can do it on my own, but I don’t want to. That’s what family is for. To lean on when life gets tough.”
“Are you fixed, then? Your shit all worked out?” His questions sound casual but have so much weight to them as we hold each other’s glare.
“Yes, sir.” I nod to reinforce my answer.
“Good, because it’s my turn.” A lift of his eyebrows in a nonverbal warning to see if I’m going to challenge him. “Number one: Family comes first. Always. We don’t have to share the same blood, Zander, for me to care about you. You ever insult me again by telling me you’re not my son, then there’s going to be a whole helluva lot bigger problem than this. And then I’m going to be even more pissed because the fallout will break Rylee’s heart, and that’s something neither of us wants, so I suggest you watch your tongue next time you want to be an asshole to me. You can figure out something more creative to say.” His voice is a quiet steel that’s barely audible and yet I hear every single word and the implication behind it.
He rises to his feet, shoulders square to me, eyes boring into mine. “Number two: You’ve got a problem? You need to talk? Fucking talk. You’re pissed at me? Think I’m lying to you because I say the goddamn sky is green? Confront me. Yell at me. Tell me it’s blue. I don’t give a flying fuck so long as you don’t turn your back from your family and you don’t disrespect me. But if for one second I think the sky being green is going to prevent you from being hurt, then I’ll fight you on it till the goddamn cows come home. Lie to you if I have to. And I’ll never apologize for it. Not once. Because you being okay is part of my job and the only thing that matters. And speaking of that, you need to blow off steam? Get on the track. Race the fucking wind and outrun your demons there. Nothing good’s ever come from throwing them onto someone else. Understood?”
To an outsider his words might seem harsh, but to someone who knows him, they sound like love. I nod my head.
“Third, you ever insinuate again that racing is more important to me than you, you’ll never touch the track again—I don’t care how good you are.” He stares at me, warning loud and clear, and waits till I nod in understanding before he continues. “A long time ago racing was all I had. It mattered more than anything to me. Then Rylee happened. And she changed everything. A man can love more than one thing, Zander. You need to remember that.”