I move to the door, turning my back on the love of my life. Before I push through it completely, she calls my name. I stop, but I don’t turn around. I can’t bear to see the pain on her face anymore. It hurts too fucking much.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as she moves to the wall, to her Wall of Fame, as she calls it. She takes the photograph from its prominent spot in the center and walks toward me. “Take this, and always remember the boy with big dreams and determination.” I gaze down at the photograph in my hand. The one of me standing at the fence line, watching my first dirt race at sixteen years old. I still don’t know when she took the picture, considering every time I watched her, she was in the concession stand. But she did. She snapped this image, this moment in time where I realized what my destiny was.
To be a race car driver.
“Also, don’t forget where you came from, Mack Cruz. Don’t forget the dirt and the grit, the hard work, and the Saturday night races. They may be in your rearview mirror, but they’re part of who you are.” She taps the glass. “He’s part of who you’ve become.”
I clench the frame in my hand and push open the door, needing to run away from the pain and the hurt, from the tears on her face, but before I can go, she needs to know one thing. “I love you, Lena. I’ll always love you.”
Before she can answer, I’m through the doorway and headed for my bike. The ol’ Harley is beside the main shop, ready to take me home. To the trailer I’ve somehow managed to not lose after my old man died.
No, not home.
To my next stop.
I have no home. I may be headed to Los Angeles, but home will always be at Brenton Speedway.
Where I left Lena.
Chapter One
Lena
Present Day
I need your help.
That’s the text message I received late last night. It’s the reason I’m sitting in an airport terminal, waiting for my flight to take me to Los Angeles. To Mack. The one man I’ve tried to push from my head and my heart for the last three years.
Unsuccessfully, mind you.
After receiving the text message, my phone rang. My hand shook as I debated on whether or not to answer, but since he probably saw the read receipt on the message, I figured he’d probably just keep calling. And truth be told, I was curious. It has been three long years since I’ve spoken to Mack, and he suddenly needs my help. It was that tingling need to hear his voice over the phone line that had me swiping my finger and answering the call.
He never told me what was wrong, only that he needed me. He begged, and eventually, I agreed. Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment, because something hit me hard, besides the desperation in his voice. The fact he’s never once called me since he left. Not to shoot the shit or talk about the weather. Not to curse me out for not going with him. Not to tell me about his first win. And to me, that fact spoke louder than any other reason.
So here I am, waiting to board a flight to whisk me away to sunny California. I people watch, as I always do, to help pass the time. Anything to keep my mind off the fact I’m mere hours away from seeing Mack again. Instead, I focus on the couple in love sitting across from me, most likely heading on their honeymoon, or the young mom and dad chasing a toddler around the terminal while an infant sleeps in a stroller. I wish I had my camera out to capture these moments. They’re real and often raw, and that’s what I love about taking photographs.
Finally, we start the pre-board process. Mack reserved my seat, sent over my travel confirmation by email. It’s in first class, which still makes me roll my eyes. Leave it to Mack to pay way too much for a first class seat, when one in coach would have worked just fine.
I send off a quick text to my dad.
Me: Getting ready to board.
Dad: OK. Let me know when you land.
Me: I will. Love you, Dad.
Dad: Love you more. Let me know if you need anything.