Page 23 of Riding the Curve
Shame grips me as I force a nod.
He releases a deep breath, and helps me sit upright on the steps. “Wanna go take the Porsche for a spin? I oiled her up and rotated the tires once you told me you’d be coming back. She’s all ready for you.”
“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “I’d really love that.”
“Me too, son.”
Rolling down the window, I let the breeze sweep through my hair. The strain in my chest feels lighter the closer we get to the auto shop. Once we park, we make our way toward the back door, which leads to the track my Dad had built for me to practice on. I started my racing career young with kart racing. Dad decided to build a track that I could grow into. It was large enough to accommodate full-size race cars. That way, if I decided to race professionally when I grew up, the track could help me to build my technique and skill faster. Whenever I’m home for breaks, I often come out here to drive.
Familiar faces brighten as we pass through the busy workstations. Several pull me into handshakes and hugs. Only a few new faces, but most are Dad’s employees I’ve grown up with and worked alongside in my teens. Some of my best memories with my Dad happened right here in this shop.
Regret rears its ugly head, my stomach twisting in knots. I should have come back to visit these past two years. I’ve left him alone in the house full of all those memories. The ones I’ve been too cowardly to confront, because they remind me that the amazing woman that gave us all those wonderful memories no longer resides there.
“Catch!” Dad’s voice booms from beside me. I turn with just enough time to grab the set of keys that fly straight for my head. “Ready?”
A cheshire grin spreads across his entire face, and I let out a laugh as he waggles his brows up and down. Dad has always loved the thrill of racing around the track with me.
“I’m always ready.” I smirk as we head outside.
It’s a gorgeous day for a drive.
The bright, cerulean sky above is sprinkled with fluffy, cumulus clouds. Or cotton-candy clouds, as Henley used to call them when we were younger. Balmy sun rays radiate through my bare skin, melting through the darkness that had crept its way in earlier.
The sleek silver Porsche 911 (964) that my dad and I refurbished for my seventeenth birthday glistens in the sunlight, waiting patiently for its chance to run free once again. The rich, earthy smell of the black leather interior is like a rush to my system. With the click of our seatbelts, I lower my shades, shift to first, and let out the clutch.
Dad hollers gleefully out the open window as we whip around each tight curve. The engine sings as I accelerate through each gear, the high-pitched howl I love so much filtering through me. Lap after lap, I lose myself in the thrill of the drive. I fight to maintain the lead over my intrusive thoughts, struggling to keep the shadows of my past in the rearview where they belong.
Exhaustion begins to set in, my hands aching from the tight grip on the wheel, the muscles in my legs sore. Before exiting the track, I throw in a few drift circles just to hear Dad’s deep belly laughs. Thick gray smoke billows around us, and the scent of burnt rubber fills my senses.
Behind the wheel, every fear fades.
All my mind can focus on is the task at hand, the shifting of gears, the speed on the speedometer, the turns of the track. For a moment in time, I’m not tugged down by the heaviness of life. I can get lost in the smell of rubber burning against the asphalt, feel the adrenaline rush through my system as I push myself and the car to our highest potential. I know this is what I am meant to do with my life, but lately I haven’t felt worthy of it.
Off the track, I’ve become a bit reckless. Going out every night, drowning my sorrows in whiskey, and having so many one-night stands with women whose names I never remember in the morning. Constantly searching for a vice that will fill the gaping hole in my heart that I can’t seem to heal on my own.
That foolishness has finally spilled into the one place I’ve tried to keep it away from, my career. That fight may have just cost me the one thing that makes me happy. The one thing that reminds me what it feels like to be alive.
Lately, I’ve become someone I don’t even recognize. Keeping everyone at arm’s length, never letting anyone get close, for fear they might see how deeply broken I really am. It’s also the reason I’ve stayed away from Dad these two years. I’m embarrassed of the man I’ve become. Axel was right. My mother would be ashamed of me.
I slow down to a crawl, the engine dulling to a soft hum as I drive us back to the shop. Sneaking a glance toward my dad, I see his smile has shifted to a thin line. Creases crowd his forehead with concern.
“What’s going on?” he questions, patiently giving me time to collect my thoughts.
I turn off the engine and let my hands fall into my lap. “I’m afraid I’ve imploded my entire career . . . and my life.”
“Emerson, your career doesn’t define your worth. It’s just a job, not your entire identity. Your actions and how you love and support those around you are the true definition of the good man that you are. That is the only thing that you should place value on in your life, son.”
Scrubbing my hand over my face, I let out a deep sigh. “If you knew who I really was these past two years, I don’t think you’d be saying I’m such a good man.”
He shakes his head and squeezes my shoulder. “So you’ve made some mistakes. It’s nothing you can’t change.”
I raise a brow at his nonchalant attitude. “I’m not proud of who I’ve become. I’m thirty-two years old, Dad. Too old to be making these mistakes. Hell, maybe even too old to fix them. And I definitely don’t deserve to be forgiven, either.”
Dad snorts, and my anger flares. I’ve never been vulnerable enough to share my feelings of inadequacy with anyone—except Henley. She’s the one person who’s ever seen me completely unguarded.
The first time I gather my courage to finally express my feelings to him, and he laughs?
My scowling face makes him grin. “Em, do you think that you’re the only person in the world that has made a mistake?”
