Page 47 of Raced (Driven 3.50)
“I’m not going to lie, your list has had some pretty fucked-up shit on it, son.”
The way he says it, like he blames himself for the shit he couldn’t prevent, stabs at the parts deep inside of me. Parts I’d always thought dead until recently. The kid in me starts to apologize and then I stop myself. Can’t apologize if I don’t know what the fuck I did wrong, so I just sip my beer and give a noncommittal sound, not wanting him to feel guilty for the demons that came before he could protect me.
“I just think it’s time that you look at your list. Take stock of all of those things—expected and unexpected—and look at what extra things you’ve earned for crossing those items off.”
Silence falls between us as his words and what I think they mean start to sink in. The weight that has been lifted from my shoulders. The poison exercised from my soul. The new chance at life without the demons snipping at my heels.
All because of the defiant as fuck contradiction of a woman my eyes keep drifting back to.
“Sinner and saint,” I murmur without thought. My dad either doesn’t hear me because he just pulls the beer to his lips and takes another sip or chooses to let my comment slide. And as thoughts connect, puzzle pieces begin to fall in place. “Dad?”
“Hmm?” He doesn’t look at me, just keeps his eyes forward when I slide a glance his way.
“What is it you think I’m thinking about?” My voice doesn’t sound like mine when I ask it. It’s cautious, quiet, and I don’t care because all I want to know is his answer.
“How you’re going to ask Rylee to marry you.”
He delivers the statement so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment for me to register that I’m choking out, “Fucking Christ, Dad!”
Disbelieving laughter follows right behind my words. I scrub my hands over my face, more than aware of his scrutiny, and yet my mind races with his comment. Parts way down deep that I’m not sure I want to acknowledge flutter to life like nerves right before the green flag is waved on race day. Nerves that tell me my adrenaline need is about to get its next fix.
A fix.
A necessity.
Something you can’t fucking live without.
Rylee.
Dots connected. Bread crumbs scattered and gone so I can’t find my way back again.
The question is, do I want to?
Shit, I’ve got Becks chewing my ear about it and now my old man starting in. Fuck yes, the thought has crossed my mind. But shit I just realized I’m capable of loving someone, let’s not shoot the gun without loading it first.
Ruin a good thing by fucking it up with something that’s so bad for so many.
And things are good between us. Like fucking stellar. We’ve never talked marriage. Never even brought the word up. I told her I wanted to see what life hands us and she was cool with that. Didn’t say first comes marriage and shit.
So why all a sudden is the idea mulling around in my head when it’s a finish line I swore I was never going to officially cross.
Fuck me running. C’mon, Donavan. Speak the fuck up. Assert yourself. Say hell no instead of wondering what it would feel like to have her name be Rylee Donavan.
“Well, I don’t hear you saying no, now do I?” He glances my way, raises his eyebrows, and then leans back to put his feet up on the coffee table.
Ah fuck, he’s getting comfortable. I know what this means.
Can’t we just back the hell up here? I prefer the guessing game. I can fill in another answer we can get stuck on. Anything but this because it’s causing me to think of things I shouldn’t be thinking.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut momentarily as I try to wish the conversation away. And when I do, all I see is that goddamn vision of Rylee in a white dress that Becks’s comments at the pool party caused me to think of. And shit, that vision comes back with a vengeance. Veils and rings and shit I shouldn’t be thinking of. Shit that’s getting way too comfortable as a visitor in my thoughts lately.
I shake my head. Need to clear this nonsense. Rid it of the road this man is never going to race down. So why do I see the metaphorical finish line at the end of the track all of a sudden?
My heart pounds momentarily until I push away the thoughts his words are creating. What the fuck is going on here? Why does my dad have me thinking of scavenger hunts and marriage proposals? Sweet Jesus.
“You’re not pulling any punches today, are you?”
“I don’t believe I threw one,” he says, completely unaffected.
