Page 60 of Riding the Curve

“No,” I breathe out. His back visibly straightens. I walk around and pull out the stool next to him. Trying to ignore my tremble, I flatten my palm against the counter to steady myself. This is what I came into the house for, but my body is trying to revolt and force me to keep it in.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’ve been a coward. Selfish⁠—”

“Em—”

“Please, let me get this off my chest.”

Dad hesitates. His wide eyes scan over me, looking for any hint of a waver. Discovering none, he sinks back into the stool.

“I’m so sorry I let you down. For leaving you when you needed me the most.”

“Son, you were grieving, too. I understand you needed some space these past two years,” he says in the same tranquil tone I’ve always admired.

“These past couple of weeks, I’ve realized that I’ve been grieving far before Mama passed.”

Dad waits patiently as the truth sours on my tongue. Shame makes my body scream in pain. To run. Flee. Abort this endeavor. But I need to get this off my chest before it crushes me.

“Watching her wither away, cancer slowly stripping her radiant light away—” I gasp as pressure builds behind my eyes. “It felt like we were all drowning and no matter how hard I tried to save her, I c-couldn’t. Time after time, Dad. God, she fought so courageously, but we couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save her. She slipped right through my fingers, and there was nothing I could do.”

He reaches for me, but I shake my head and grip his hand in mine instead. If he hugs me right now, I know I’ll fall apart and never say what I need to.

“I’m ashamed.”

“What for, son?” He squeezes my hand tightly, scooting the stool closer so our knees are touching.

“Even after every remission, fear curled around my spine, holding me hostage. Dread loomed each day. I lived each day in fear that it may be the one where it comes back. Mama needed us to show a strong front, but I couldn’t shake the fear. Couldn't loosen the foreboding feeling that clung to me like a second skin. It started to become so suffocating, I had to find ways to numb it. The track became more than just a hobby or career—it became my life support. The one place that would quiet my mind.”

The tears break free, making slick trails down my heated cheeks.

“I was struggling so hard to stay strong for you both on the outside, but inside I was a terrified wreck. When I got the call that day that I was selected to move up to the team in Texas, I should have turned them down and stayed. I hate myself every day because I feel selfish for choosing racing over staying with you both.”

“Son, your Mama was in remission, there was no reason for you to stay and⁠—”

“But then she wasn’t!” I growled, shifting my hands into my hair, clawing at the roots, trying to quell the mix of anger and shame that battled inside of me. “I’m ashamed of myself for leaving you both. I should have been closer to home during those last couple of years. I should have helped more. . .I should have just quit so I could have spent more time with her.”

Dad grips my hand. Even through my swollen eyes, I can see tears rolling down his cheek as well.

“Em, look at me.”

Trying my best to quell the storm raging within me, I lift my head to meet his gaze.

“We wanted you to have those experiences. Your mother and I have always been so proud of you and your passion for racing. She loved watching every race she could and cherished every visit and phone call. You were there for her more than you think, son, and you gave her something to look forward to everyday.”

“But the one memory I can’t get out of my head is that last week we had with her.”

Every one of my muscles begins to lock up, the air thinning in my lungs. Fuck. My lungs burn, as I gasp for air and only inches sliver in. Not even remotely enough.

Is this what it feels like for Henley when she has a full-blown panic attack?

“Focus on me, son. Deep breaths.” He breathes between us, bringing my forehead to his. “Ride the curve. Breathe for me. In . . . out . . .”

Though my brain feels hazy, probably due to the lack of oxygen, I hold onto his words and keep fighting for air.

“I-I even failed her at the very end,” my voice rasps in between breaths. “I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Couldn’t shield my terror of her impending fate any longer. One night after carrying her upstairs to bed, I tried to sing her to sleep. Her favorite song, remember?” I choke out between sobs. Dad squeezes my hand, nodding silently as more tears fall between us.