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I didn’t know what to say to that.
In fact, I wanted to rage.
“That’s ridiculous,” I admitted. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say,” she admitted. “It just kind of made us all somewhat immune to normal cold. If it’s like this, I can handle the no clothes thing longer than most people would be able to. Is it comfortable? No. Is it something I can handle? Always. School of hard knocks.”
I unlocked the truck and opened the door for her, not waiting until she was in before I rounded the hood and took the driver’s seat.
My thoughts were on joining Winston in reincarnation, and not on the ones that I was about to experience, so I forgot to worry the entire way. Which she and I made in silence.
It was a reminder that we were not friends.
We barely tolerated each other.
And she probably regretted sharing with me that information.
I was happy to have it, though.
I liked that she’d shared.
I’d always wondered why Winston hated the dad so much, and now with this little glimpse, I knew why.
The drive to the hospital/Hightower Estates took a little less time than usual thanks to an unusually low number of people on the road.
It wasn’t until I was pulling off to the side of the road to let her out that I remembered why.
It was way too early for traffic. At barely seven in the morning, I’d missed almost the entire morning rush.
“Thanks for the ride, loser.”
Then she was gone, stomping up to the Hightower Estates with her cute little ass shaking in her short little jean shorts.
I hated myself for watching.
I hated myself even more when I drove to the hospital and remembered why I was there.
• • •
I knew without looking that it wasn’t good.
Based on Hoyt’s eyes alone as he came into his office—where I’d been lounging on his massive couch—I wasn’t going to like the news.
“Am I losing both of my balls?” I asked.
He winced. “Yes.”
“Do I get to pick the size of the ones I replace them with?” I wondered.
He rolled his eyes. “There is usually only one size.”
I scoffed. “What’s the plan, Stan?”
He tossed the papers he’d been looking at down onto his desk then turned so he could face the couch before going into a lean against his desk.
“The plan is the absolute necessary removal of your ‘balls,’” he said. “Pronto.”
“What kind of recovery is that?” I asked.
“It would’ve normally been about two weeks, which you know,” he said carefully.
Too carefully.
Shit.
“Okay,” I said. “And what’s the actual recovery going to be like?”
“It’s going to be rougher,” Hoyt said. “It’s spread to your lymph nodes.”
“Of course it has,” I sighed. “I’ll have to get a driver to sit in for me for a few races.”
Which fucking sucked.
My first race was literally next weekend.
“When are we doing this?” I asked.
“I’d like to get it done by the beginning of next week,” he said. “We’ll have to grab the affected lymph nodes. But luckily, we found it before it could spread to the lungs.”
Freakin’ perfect.
“Will I be back for Vegas?” I wondered.
“A month will be…” he paused. “You have to get cleared with NASCAR, right?”
I nodded.
“I think that it might be pushing it,” he admitted.
“Six weeks?” I wondered.
“Maybe.” He paused. “I’d still like to do a few more tests. We need to get your testosterone levels done to make sure that you’re where you need to be later after the surgery, and you’ll also have to go through chemo. This isn’t going to be as simple as removing your balls and going about your life, Nash. Not anymore.”
What he was trying to say but not ‘say’ was ‘I told you so.’
As in, you should’ve had your balls removed with the rest of us.
Of course, he wasn’t going to outright say it.
He was going to leave it said but not ‘said.’
I sighed. “I’m attached to them, Hoyt.”
“So was I,” he said. “And you should’ve taken my experience to heart and just removed them like…”
He trailed off, stopping short of saying what he wanted to say.
I stared up at the ceiling. “You exhaust me.”
“You exhaust me,” he said. “Do you think that I really want to remove my own brother’s balls?”
I thought about it for a long minute before saying, “Actually, yes. I think you do.”
He snorted. “I don’t.”
“At least not like this,” I sighed. “I’ll contact the team. We’ll get a sub driver in for me for the next six weeks, then reevaluate. Let me know where to be and when. But I’m still going to be attending everything that I can for my peace of mind. Meaning, I’m not stopping working. I’m just going to put the races on pause until I can pass the NASCAR physical.”
“When are you telling everyone?” he asked, not agreeing, but not disagreeing, either.
“I guess tomorrow or the next day. I have a race this weekend that I can make. So I’ll be flying out to Los Angeles after the reunion. Then you can let me know when the actual date is, and I’ll let them know before I do it.”
