“I’m not surprised. I am surprised you can still buy film for that thing.”
Taking a drink of my beer, I shrug. “I order it online with the rest of my darkroom supplies.”
I watch in silence for several long minutes, my foot tapping along to Tim McGraw on the radio. Mack keeps working, but I can tell it’s his mind that’s really doing all the exertion. “So are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” I ask, leaning forward so he can hear me over the music and his tinkering.
He glances my way. “Who said anything’s on my mind?”
“Well, you mentioned this was where you go to think, so either you needed someone to talk to or you just didn’t want to be alone,” I state, watching as his back stiffens just a bit.
Mack turns back to the engine and busies his hands. He doesn’t say anything for a few long seconds, but eventually, he does reply. “What if it’s a little of both?”
I set my beer down on the bench beside me and give him my undivided attention. “I’m listening.”
After a quick glance my way, he turns his attention back in front of him. “Today was a…rough day. Sponsor shit in the morning, which I already hate but know is necessary. Then, we had track time. I was all over the place, and it wasn’t just the car. It was me.”
“Why do you think it was you?” I ask.
He exhales and tosses the wrench on the bench. His eyes are fierce, hard and fiery as they turn and pierce me with their intensity. “Because all I could focus on today was you.”
The air heats up and thickens, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. “Me?” I croak out over my dry throat.
Mack leans his hip against the front bumper and relaxes his stance, arms crossed over his expansive chest. “I’m usually much better at turning off my personal shit and flipping the switch to professional, but I’ve been struggling lately. Hell, not just lately. Something’s been off all year, and I’ve been struggling to find my groove. Sunday, I felt like I had finally found it, you know? A top-five finish, my first all season. Then, I get behind the wheel today and could barely keep it from bouncing off the wall.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I mean, what do you really say to that?
“I’m not blaming you, Lean, not really. I’m just struggling to figure out how to deal with all the changes that have happened recently.” He sits on the bumper and rests his elbows on his knees, his jaw on his fists.
“Do you remember the first time you got behind the wheel at Brenton?” I ask, seemingly out of the blue, but there’s a method to my madness.
Mack looks up, his back suddenly straight. “Of course I do.”
I offer a small smile. “I figured. I remember watching you get in my dad’s car. You were so excited, but I could also see your nerves.”
“Hell yes I was nervous. Jim Stanley just offered me a chance to drive his personal dirt track car. I was terrified,” he replies with a laugh.
“Exactly. That first lap was horrible, am I right?”
Mack laughs a deep, hearty sound that goes straight to the apex of my legs. “Horrible.”
“But what did my dad tell you? After those first two laps?”
He sobers a little and stops to think back to that day, when an eighteen-year-old boy got behind the wheel of a race car for the first time. “He told me to breathe.”
“And then?” I encourage, knowing he’ll recall everything that happened that day.
Mack sighs. “He told me to listen to the car, and let her do the talking. He said I’d have good days and bad days, but to always stop and listen. She always had something to say.” He takes a deep breath. “And then he told me not to fuck up his car,” he adds with a hearty chuckle.
I’m already smiling, remembering the one-sided conversation as I stood beside my dad and watched Mack drive the car around the track for the first time. “What happened today?” I ask, keeping any judgment out of my voice.
“I wasn’t listening to the car,” he confesses. “I couldn’t get out of my own head. Sunday, during the race, I was able to shut it all down and just drive, and it felt so fucking good, Lean. Better than I’ve felt in a long damn time.”