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I nodded, surprised she knew anything about that.
I couldn’t count on a set of hands the number of times this woman surprised me, though.
“No offense to you doctors or anything, but a kid dying of brain cancer isn’t going to call y’all for their last wish. Doctors are heroic and necessary. A pivotal part of this world. But they’re not something that’s going to make a dying kid so freakin’ happy he’s practically crying his little eyes out.”
That had happened.
And the only reason the world knew it had happened was because the mother had recorded everything.
Personally, I felt like it was for the wrong reasons. Videoing her son seeing his idol would’ve been great and all… had she been doing it to look back on later. Or enjoying the moment. But she hadn’t been. Instead, she’d been blabbering about ‘this is going to get so many hits online.’
Instead of enjoying the moment with her son, the woman had gotten every single angle she could to make sure the video was the very best.
She hadn’t wasted time posting it on social media.
The video had hit before I’d even taxied down the runway on the way back home.
“That’s true,” Aracelli said. “Last year he met with a couple of kindergarteners, all of whom were huge fans of him. He’s really popular with the young ones.”
“Very true,” Zip looked over at me. “It’s probably because you’re the baby of NASCAR.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am not the baby.”
“Anymore,” she said. “But you’re quite literally the youngest to ever make it their career. And win. Speaking of winning, are you going to win this year? I need to know who to bet on.”
“I’ll try,” I said.
And I would.
But this year was bound to be difficult for me. There was just no way to know how this year would go when I had to spend the first at least six weeks of it recovering from surgery.
“That sounds like a cop out.” She narrowed her eyes. “My siblings and I have a pool going on. You’re my entry. I need you to do better than ‘I’ll try.’”
My lips quirked.
God, why did I like this woman so much?
The next fifteen minutes were spent with Zip and my dad volleying back and forth about NASCAR, and Zip trying to explain to everyone at the table why I was the best.
“Do you think she’s seeing you because she’s a crazy stalker fan?” Tyson asked in a whisper.
I elbowed him in the gut.
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
But it was kind of exciting that Zip knew so much about me and my career. I wasn’t sure why.
Normally this would be a huge turnoff—someone knowing everything about me. Usually, when one of my dates knew all about me, it was to get a leg in the door, or a ring on their finger to ensure that they would be set for life.
But Zip and I weren’t here together like that.
She was the distraction, and she was playing her part very well.
My mother hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. My dad wasn’t staring at me like I was a disappointment.
And not once had anyone said a word about my cancer.
But my dad would never let this opportunity slide.
“Who wants to go outside?” Dad stood up.
I eagerly stood up, then thought better of it seeing as if I left, I wouldn’t have Zip as a buffer.
But before I could make the decision to stay or go, my sisters got up and said, “Zip, come with us and let’s grab some food before everyone eats it all. The chicken spaghetti is the first thing to go in this joint, and Mom bought it from the deli down the road from us. It’s really good.”
Zip got up, looked at me questioningly, and waited.
I nodded, jaw tight.
My silent communication was ‘come get me if it looks bad.’
I hoped that she understood, because the next minute I was being drug outside with my brothers and Dad, and she was getting carted off in the opposite direction.
We made it outside where a few of our other relatives were already standing, and luckily, they couldn’t launch right on into my testicles.
Unfortunately, they left soon enough, and before I could make it back inside to safety, my dad waylaid me by the door.
“Nash,” Dad said quietly.
I sighed, turned around, and leaned my shoulders against the pillar, waiting for the inevitable.
It didn’t take long.
“So, what are your plans?” he asked.
What were my plans?
Well, the obvious, really.
“To get my testicles removed by my own brother.” I paused and looked at Hoyt. “Is that going to be awkward seeing my penis? I mean, I don’t want you to think about what you don’t have.”
He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Be serious, son,” Dad ordered.
I sighed. “What, exactly, do you want me to say here? There are no plans. I get them removed, then I go to chemo.”
