We walk hand in hand across the lawn and toward the racetrack in back. Several familiar faces wave in greeting, a few come over to shake Mack’s hand. We spy my dad near the garage, his head bent over the engine bay. “Everything okay?” Mack asks as we approach.
Dad turns, his eyes instantly zooming in on Oliver. “Hey, if it isn’t my favorite little driver.” Oliver starts kicking instantly, trying to break free from the restraints of the stroller.
“Just a second,” I say to the little guy, bending down to remove him. “Here’s Pop Pop.”
Oliver goes willingly to my dad, who hands him a wrench. “Let’s not put this in our mouth, boy,” Dad says as he turns to show the baby the engine, telling him exactly what he’s doing. Mack joins them under the hood, and I can’t help but grab my camera and snap a few photos.
When they’re all done and the car is ready, we head to the track. Dad carries Oliver, proudly showing off his grandson. No, we haven’t made anything official, but that doesn’t matter to Dad. Or me. The first time I heard Oliver say Mama, I cried tears of happiness for ten minutes straight.
Since Dad is serving as Mack’s crew chief tonight, he hands the baby over to me. Oliver isn’t too pleased about it, but the moment I hand him snacks, he settles down in his stroller. When they get the cue to race, Mack kisses me on the lips, tussles his son’s fuzzy little head, and climbs behind the wheel.
I stay out of the way, off to the side of the track and up the slight hill so we have a great view of the race. This way, we’re not getting a mouth full of dirt all night. Oliver and I cheer as Mack battles for the lead, expertly whipping around the track just the way he did all those years ago. Everyone knows he’s here to win, though any winnings from tonight’s race go to a local charity.
When there’s five to go, I get up from my chair and watch. Mack’s car is in the lead, but there are two more hot on his heels. It’s close and anyone’s race to win. I check on Oliver, who’s been snoozing in the stroller for an hour under a thin blanket and cross my fingers. It’s not every day the defending IndyCar series champion is racing on a dirt track mid-season. If Coop saw this, I’m sure he’d have a thing or two to say.
The white flag waves, and the two cars behind Mack really dig in. The dirt is flying as all three drivers fight for the win. Ultimately, it’s Mack who crosses the line first. I’m jumping up and down, clapping and cheering the entire time, right along with the crowd.
He drives the car to his pit area and gets out of the car. Mack throws his arms in the air, celebrating with the large holiday weekend crowd who came to see a good race. Oliver wakes up, so I scoop him up and we head down to the track. I worm my way through the group congregating in front of the car, and the moment Mack sees me coming, he hops down and helps make room. The second I’m in front of him, he throws his helmet in the seat, the dirty outline from his goggles on his gorgeous face, and pulls me into his arms.
Oliver starts to cheer with everyone else, making us both laugh. “Congratulations, Mr. Bigshot race car driver.”
“I haven’t won yet,” he replies, a big dirty smile on his face.
I just stare at him, not really sure what he’s meaning. He literally just won…
He drops to one knee in the middle of the dirty track and pulls a small velvet pouch out of his pocket. Inside, a small diamond ring falls into his palm, and when his eyes meet mine, everything else fades away. The crowd, the noise, the heavy dirt still lingering in the air.
“Lena, the moment I saw you at this very track, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You are the best part of me, way better than I deserve.” He stops and looks at Oliver, smiling at our son. “Oliver and I were talking the other night, and he told me without a shadow of a doubt, you are the mother he was destined to have. You are kind and gentle, and he’s kinda hoping to have some little brothers and sisters soon,” he says, making me chuckle. “So, will you do me the honor of being my wife and Oliver’s mom? Lena Christine Stanley, will you marry us?”
I’m already nodding before he even has the words out. “Yes!” I holler, as he slides the ring on my finger. I’m wrapped in his arms, his son—our son—sandwiched between us and reaching for his dad’s nose.
“I love you,” he whispers. I can taste the dirt and sweat on his lips.
“I love you, Mack Cruz.”
“Thank you for making me the happiest son of a bitch in the world.”
I laugh and bat my eyelashes at him. “You don’t think I can top this?” I ask sweetly, but I can already tell his mind is headed straight for the gutter.
“Oh, you can be on top later,” he teases.
I shake my head and hand him his son. As he holds him in his arms, I help adjust the onesie he’s wearing, the big blue letters now visible to read.
Mack stops, reading the shirt, before his wide eyes fly back to meet mine. “Holy shit!” he hollers. “You’re…we’re…having a baby?”
I nod, ignoring the tears sliding down my cheeks.
He throws his arms around me again and kisses me soundly. “We’re having a baby!” he yells, receiving loud cheers of congratulations from our racing family and friends. He smiles down at me, his arm wrapping firmly around my shoulder. “Okay, you win.
