have my name, but they knew I was there, and they demanded to know more.
Mack stayed professional, telling the reporters I was a friend helping him during this surprise situation. He confirmed I was not the baby’s mother, but that didn’t appease them much. It was like waving a bone in their face, but not letting them actually have it. The press wanted that bone, and I’m certain they won’t stop until they get it.
I watch as Mack heads over to the fence, pastes on a bright smile, and signs some autographs. He’s photographed selfie-style dozens of times and doesn’t seem to notice when the women sidle up much closer than the men and kids. He takes it all in stride, spending more time with the kids than the adults. When he’s done, they still holler for his attention, but he’s already moving back to his garage bay.
Camera crews are nearby, capturing prerace moments for television. Mack seems to ignore them and comes over to where I stand. Oliver is awake right now, his wide eyes gazing up at me. When his dad appears in his line of sight, he seems to move a little more. “Hey, little dude,” Mack says softly, reaching down and running the outside of his finger over his soft skin. “Look at you all bright-eyed.” He smiles down at his son, which makes my heart flutter.
“He’s been awake for a good twenty minutes or so. We’ve been walking around and people-watching,” I say, slowly rocking my hips back and forth. One thing I’ve learned is Oliver loves to move.
“Just be careful,” he says, those dark chocolate eyes meeting mine, drawing me in and refusing to let go. “I don’t want you guys to go off too far. The press is still gunning for you.”
My throat is thick, so I give him a quick nod in reply. I’m well aware I’m already viral on social media. Not me, per se, but Mack and Oliver. I’m just along for the ride. “We’ll be careful.”
He seems to visibly relax. “Okay, good. I mean, I know you will, but, I don’t know,” he starts, running his hands through his hair and looking down at his son. “I guess I just feel the need to remind you.”
“That’s fatherhood for you,” I reply with a giggle, recalling how my dad used to do the exact same thing when I was younger and wanting to freely walk around the garage and pit areas.
“No, not fatherhood,” he replies, his voice low. When he looks back up, I feel the force of his concern like a sledgehammer to the chest. “That’s what you do when you care about someone.”
My breath catches in my throat and I almost choke.
What does that mean?
His intense gaze softens a little as he steps even closer. “I’ll always care about you, Lean. Always.”
I can’t swallow over the lump suddenly forming in my throat. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. In my mind, however, everything is swirling and flying like a tornado. What is he saying, exactly, and why does the prospect of him still caring about me make me want to weep for joy? I’m leaving in a month, and he’ll still be here, living his life. Yet, I can’t stop thinking about…what if?
Fortunately, I’m saved from having to come up with any sort of reply. Fish hollers, ending our alone time. “Cruz, we’re ready to head to the track.”
The moment has passed.
“Walk with me?” he asks, bending down and kissing Oliver’s head.
I turn and grab my bag, which contains both pairs of headphones and an emergency bottle and diaper for Oliver. The guys walk together, their game faces on and ready. Mack brings up the rear of the group, with me walking beside him.
“You know, I haven’t seen a race since my dad retired,” I confess, feeling the need to say something.
“No? Not even on TV?” he asks as the crowd starts to get thicker.
“Nope. I guess I just needed to cut the cord, so to speak. If you know what I mean,” I add quickly.
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.”