Page 110 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“You were right,” I begin.
“Remember that.” He lifts a lone eyebrow but says nothing more.
“Something had happened and I didn’t know how to cope. . . .” I carry on with my explanations for the second time in less than an hour. The difference is this time around it’s much harder to explain.
I could read Rylee’s body language, knew she understood, but he just sits face forward, expression stone cold, breathing completely even the entire time.
The silence stretches when I finish. My muscles are clenched so taut they ache. My knee jogs up and down.
“You came to me that morning . . . ,” I continue, knowing I need to address the things I said to him now that I’ve explained the background behind it. “and there’s no excuse for—”
“You’re goddamn right there’s no excuse,” he shouts, his sudden reaction shocking me after his total silence. He turns to face me for the first time since I’ve been here. His green eyes burn with emotion. Fury. Disappointment. Hurt. Sadness. The same damn things that ran through his expression the last time I saw him.
I shove up out of the chair, the anger I thought I’d gotten rid of now back front and center and fueled with the bitter taste of rejection. My intention to come back here, explain what happened, and fix things without any more fallout suddenly feels way off base.
When I move across the small space, I can feel his eyes boring holes in my back the whole time. Taunting me. Daring me. Questioning. The stairs call out to me. I told myself that I was done with anger. I was over the pain. Why did I think it would be this easy to come back and apologize and step back into my place in his life?
My hands are on my neck. My head hung forward. Tension smothering the open air of the booth.
“Colton.” My voice breaks, tone solemn. His name is the olive branch I extend. Whatever I need it to be to try to make this right, because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be at odds with him. And it hits me. Of all the words I need to say, I know the ones that will matter the most.
“Speak.”
“Thank you for coming to the hotel that day. For forcing me to hear truths I refused to listen to. For firing me.” I shake my head, drop my hands, and turn to face him. I need him to see my face when I say this. To see that I’ve become the man he showed me how to be. The one I want to be. Our eyes lock again, but there’s hope now as he waits for me to continue. “I can give you every bullshit excuse in the world as to why I did what I did, why I was hurting how I was, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. None of it does. They’d only be words. We all have bullshit we have to deal with. I left pissed, refusing to acknowledge you were right, and wanting to prove the point that I needed no one. That I could handle everything on my own. And I did. But I also learned that anger gets me nowhere. That the truth is harder to face on your own. And yeah, I can do it on my own, but I don’t want to. That’s what family is for. To lean on when life gets tough.”
“Are you fixed, then? Your shit all worked out?” His questions sound casual but have so much weight to them as we hold each other’s glare.
“Yes, sir.” I nod to reinforce my answer.
“Good, because it’s my turn.” A lift of his eyebrows in a nonverbal warning to see if I’m going to challenge him. “Number one: Family comes first. Always. We don’t have to share the same blood, Zander, for me to care about you. You ever insult me again by telling me you’re not my son, then there’s going to be a whole helluva lot bigger problem than this. And then I’m going to be even more pissed because the fallout will break Rylee’s heart, and that’s something neither of us wants, so I suggest you watch your tongue next time you want to be an asshole to me. You can figure out something more creative to say.” His voice is a quiet steel that’s barely audible and yet I hear every single word and the implication behind it.
He rises to his feet, shoulders square to me, eyes boring into mine. “Number two: You’ve got a problem? You need to talk? Fucking talk. You’re pissed at me? Think I’m lying to you because I say the goddamn sky is green? Confront me. Yell at me. Tell me it’s blue. I don’t give a flying fuck so long as you don’t turn your back from your family and you don’t disrespect me. But if for one second I think the sky being green is going to prevent you from being hurt, then I’ll fight you on it till the goddamn cows come home. Lie to you if I have to. And I’ll never apologize for it. Not once. Because you being okay is part of my job and the only thing that matters. And speaking of that, you need to blow off steam? Get on the track. Race the fucking wind and outrun your demons there. Nothing good’s ever come from throwing them onto someone else. Understood?”
To an outsider his words might seem harsh, but to someone who knows him, they sound like love. I nod my head.
“Third, you ever insinuate again that racing is more important to me than you, you’ll never touch the track again—I don’t care how good you are.” He stares at me, warning loud and clear, and waits till I nod in understanding before he continues. “A long time ago racing was all I had. It mattered more than anything to me. Then Rylee happened. And she changed everything. A man can love more than one thing, Zander. You need to remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lastly—your past? You’re. Not. Him. A coward. A man who runs from his mistakes. I’ve spent too many nights in my life worried about the same fucking thing, so it’s something you need to hear. You coming back here, having the courage to fix your mistakes, proves that point.” His voice lightens some and he takes a step closer to me as his words dig deep within me, a salve to help heal the cracks still on my soul. He reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Leaving that hotel room was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It killed me to walk away from you when I knew you were hurting . . . but it was worth every day I worried about you, because I couldn’t be more proud of the man who just walked in here. I’m sorry you went through losing your mom all over again on your own. But I’m glad you got the closure you needed.”
There’s a moment that passes where I just shake my head disbelieving the last thing he said to me. But there’s pride in his eyes now. Love. Acceptance.
He pulls me into a hug. And I feel like I can breathe for the first time since I stepped foot back on the track. I’ve righted a wrong and hopefully made my mom proud.
And him. And Rylee.
And Getty.
When he releases me, he hooks an arm around my neck and keeps me near him. “I missed you, Zee.” His voice sounds gruff, emotion clouding it, as he tugs a little tighter on my neck.
For months I let the fear and the worry and the angst over what was going to happen when I returned wiggle doubt into my mind over the connection we shared. I let the concern that I had ruined this relationship keep me up many nights I was away.
Who knew watching Getty’s father’s warped sense of family obligation and getting the nerve to come back and apologize with this new view of what family means were all it would take to get this feeling of rightness back between us?
“I missed you too,” I murmur with a huge, silent sigh of relief, a purge of the discord in my soul.
We stand together, father and son reunited—and better for the time apart—taking in the one thing that flows through our blood just as strongly as our love for each other, the passion for the track. The adrenaline. The rush of speed.
