side, and it almost startles me. He doesn’t say a word, but I know it’s his way of communicating with me, of telling me to stay safe, and to watch his boy. When he glances up, he offers me a small smile.
I want to wish him luck, but he doesn’t need it. He has natural talent and drive, and frankly, it doesn’t seem fitting to say. So, I go with my gut instead. “Kick ass, Mack.”
A flash of something crosses his features. Remembrance, maybe? A touch of nostalgia, even? I know he catches the meaning, appreciates the sentiment, and replies exactly how I expect him to. “Taking names, baby,” he says with a cocky grin and a wink.
Just like he used to before every race in Brenton.
Only this time, there is no panty-melting kiss before he climbs behind the wheel. But do you know what? That doesn’t matter really. He caught what I was doing, saying the exact same thing I’d say before every race back home. And he responded in the same smug way he used to.
It’s fitting.
It’s us.
He squeezes my arm before turning his attention to his car. That’s when I’m whisked away behind the wall and escorted to our pit booth. I’ve watched dozens—maybe even hundreds—of races from a booth, but never with a baby strapped to my chest. Coop is there to help me up and hands me a different set of headphones. I know what these are. They’re the ones connected to Mack’s communication system.
I slide them on and relax instantly hearing his voice. He receives the command to fire his engine from Coop, and suddenly, this is real. I’m about to watch Mack drive in an IndyCar race. I tried once before, on television, but it hurt too much. My dad even went to a few races, but I never asked for details. I needed a clean break, and for the most part, I got one.
Now, I’m right back in the thick of the action, ready to cheer him on as he races. The cars take off, lining up, and heading to the track. A quick glance down lets me know Oliver is none the wiser to what’s happening around him. Maybe he’s the lucky one.
My heart starts to pound as they finally make their way back to the start/finish line. Since it’s a road course, it takes a little more time to reach where they start than a normal oval track race. I scour the field and find the car I’m looking for, the blue and gold one not quite halfway back. I start to get antsy because I know this next time around, the green flag will be waving. I swear I’m barely breathing as I watch the monitors in front of me showing several different places on the track.
Fish is talking, reminding Mack of where everyone is in the lineup, including his teammate. Colton Donavan comes on next, wishing the team a good and safe race. I’ve seen Colton around the track, and it looks like he and his family are currently in the other pit booth, waiting for the start.
“All right, buddy, be careful and bring us home a win,” Coop says in the headset, just as the cars come into view around the final turn.
“Ten-four,” Mack answers.
The cars approach the start/finish line as the flag waves, and they’re off. My eyes are glued to that blue number seventy-three car as he dives down to take the car in front of him on the inside. He makes an easy pass before he’s out of our sight. I watch the monitors and listen to Fish. Hell, I’m glued to those headphones, hanging on every word that’s spoken. Before too long, the cars are rounding the last turn and completing the first lap.
Mack’s up three places.
I watch and listen for a while, loving the feel of adrenaline and excitement flowing through my veins. It’s amazing, watching him drive. Why I haven’t done it before now is beyond me. No, that’s not true. I know exactly why I couldn’t watch him race, but now that I am, I’m reminded of a time when I used to sit beside my dad, listening to everything he said in those headsets. And after that part of my life was complete, I used to watch from different vantage points at our track in Brenton, taking in the race and photographing it.
Now, I’m wishing I wouldn’t have left my camera back at the hotel, but I didn’t want