He looks my way and gives me a small, sad smile. “I know what you mean. I asked Jim about you a few times, but I could tell it put him in an awkward position.”
I clear my throat of the emotions suddenly choking me. “Yeah, I knew he talked to you occasionally and went to see a few races, but he pretty much kept it all to himself.”
“I hope I didn’t cause problems between you two,” he whispers, as a few people wave as we go by.
“No, not at all. He enjoyed seeing you, and I could always tell when he’d talk to you on the phone. He was…happy.”
We reach the car and both stop. He turns those hypnotic eyes on me and says, “I’m glad you’re here, Lean.”
Automatically, I smile. “I’m glad I’m here too, Mack.”
The moment is broken as more spectators gather around. A few shake Mack’s hand and offer him good luck. A couple snap pictures from a distance, while others are more up-front with their quest to get a photo with their cell phone camera.
“You’re going to head to the motorhome, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, we’ll stay for your first few laps, and then we’ll head to watch the race over by the hauler,” I confirm.
We discussed today’s game plan last night before bed. Mack wanted us there for support, but was worried about the length of the race. We decided I’d stay to see him off, and then I’d head out so Oliver could get some decent rest. The late morning sun is high in the sky and getting hotter by the second. It’ll be good to get him in the cooler motorhome and stretched out a bit. I’m sure it’s not fun being balled up in the Moby Wrap. Plus, my back could use a little break.
“Okay, good. Tyson will be there waiting,” Mack reminds me. Tyson is the driver of the hauler, and another part of their away crew, as I’ve learned this weekend.
I offer him a reassuring smile. “I know, Mack.”
He exhales and stops. We’ve made it to the edge of the track, people standing everywhere and walking past. I pay them no attention, though. I’m too lost in the sea of warm chocolate eyes, his worry and concern written clearly on his face.
I step forward, into his personal space. I can smell his soap mixed with a little sweat, and I would never admit this aloud, but it turns me on something fierce. It reminds me of way back when, when we would get naked just about anywhere, anytime we could steal away a quick fifteen or twenty minutes.
But now isn’t the time to relive quickies from our past. Now is the time to reassure him we’ll be fine. He has a race in less than a half hour, and the last thing he needs to worry about is Oliver. Or me.
My hand touches his face before I can even think about what I’m doing. “Hey, we’re going to be okay. We’ll be safe at the hauler, inside the motorhome. Tyson won’t let anyone near us.”
He swallows. “I know, it’s just… I don’t want to worry, yet I am.”
“Please don’t. You’re about to race, and you need to focus. This is what you do, who you are. You need to channel everything into your race car, into your driving.”
“I will, I promise,” he insists, slightly turning his cheek into my hand. “I trust you.”
The corner of my mouth turns upward. “Good. Now, let’s get you in your race car so Oliver can witness his first big Indy race.” I glance down and find the baby sound asleep.
Mack snorts. “He’s thrilled, I can tell.”
We start to walk again, Mack waving a friendly hello to those around us. “You know, it won’t be long and he’s going to be right beside you in the thick of this. He’ll have racing dreams of his own and probably drive you crazy with questions.”
Mack snorts. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” he says with a boyish grin, glancing around at the growing crowd. I’ve noticed we’re being followed by photographers and cameras, but if he’s noticed, he hasn’t let on.
When we reach his pit, we stop. “He’ll have the best teacher,” I tell him, believing that with my whole heart.
He turns, ignoring someone who hollers his name, his eyes focused solely on me. “Well, I did learn from the best.”
My chest tightens as I think back to that time, when my dad took a young boy under his wing and taught him everything he could about racing. Mack had been a sponge, soaking up every detail, every word my dad ever spoke. My dad always said Mack had more talent than half the professional racers out there and was sure his time was coming.
And it did come.
Our time ended, and his new life began.
Mack does a quick prerace interview with the network. I stand as far away from the camera line of sight as possible. The guys move around in determination. They make sure everything is ready: their tools, the tires, and the full gas can. I can see the focus on their faces, in their eyes. This is what they do, and they’re ready.
Once the camera crew moves on, Coop steps in. Fish comes by and shakes his best friend’s hand, whispering in his ear and making him laugh. With a slap on the back, Fish turns to make his way to the grandstands, to where the spotters congregate high above the track. Before he gets too far away, he jogs toward me, that big dopey grin on his face. “Thought I’d come over and get a quick good luck kiss,” he announces a little too loudly, drawing attention. I’m pretty sure I even hear a growl.
But when he steps forward, his lips aren’t angled at me. No, they’re turned
