Page 125 of Promise

Strangers will high-five like lifelong friends.

Being here isn’t quiet, polite, or subtle.

It’s thunder, heat, horsepower—and the unmistakable thrill of speed.

I can feel it rattle in my bones.

I shrug. “I do,” I sigh. “I mean, I did.” Even standing here in all this bounding excitement, I know my race days are over. I can’t get in a car to drive at high speeds and risk something happening to me. Risk leaving Trinity and Mirabelle without me.

Or me losing them.

“You miss it,” she says, not really a question but an observation.

“Yeah,” I say, the sound more a sigh.

I glance toward the fence caging in the racers. The main event will start soon, although people are still moving along the barricade and up the stairs. The energy among the crowd is like a living, breathing thing. The movement is mesmerizing. The sensation intoxicating.

What’s not to love about this collective excitement?

But then again, I’ve taken so much pleasure in the quieter times spent with Trinity and Mirabelle these past months.

We’ve been enjoying the new deck. Trin comes to my games. We’ve gone dancing together, something we never did before.

I’m reminded of that giddy first date feeling from when we first took our seats. Trin and I are new again. We’re whole again.

Engines rev louder. The sound is almost deafening. The purr is like an aphrodisiac. The pull of wild beasts ready to be unleashed.

My heart rate accelerates, as if I’m a driver about to hit that dirt course.

“I never wanted you to feel like you were floating.”

With my arm around Trinity, I lean closer, trying to hear her better.

“I only want you to fly.”

My head turns in her direction, our faces close. We recently watched F1, a fictional movie about a former NASCAR driver who moves to a new division of racing. The main character describes getting in the zone while driving is like flying. That moment of pure bliss. Adrenaline high. Heart full of awe.

“I’m not floating,” I argue. My purpose is clearer now. Perhaps clearer than it’s ever been.

Some of us don’t have definitive answers to what our calling is in this life. We don’t have a constant high from doing what we love, where we love it. We aren’t born with a gift or talent or have an experience that shapes our life, drives it in one direction, like Trin did. Some of us fight and fumble and make big mistakes. Some of us wait and wait and wait before we reach for the brass ring and take destiny into our own hands. Some of us have multiple starts and stops and breakdowns before we hit the road again on a new path.

There isn’t any right or wrong course.

But I know I’m meant to be with Trin and Mirabelle. Wherever they are, I have purpose.

“We should all feel special about what we do,” she continues. “Who we are,” she shouts, her brows creasing, concern circling her eyes.

Racing made me feel special.

Sure, it was entertainment, but on a personal level, I had focus when I raced. I constantly pushed myself to do better, be better. An insistent push and pull between potential and success.

And I was successful in some ways.

But I feel more successful being with Trin. She makes me feel important. Her and Mirabelle. Maybe being a dad isn’t for every man, but it’s something I’ve wanted for a long time, and it was rewarding for me. Rewarding in ways that don’t lead to dollars, trophies, or accolades.

I’m looking forward to that day I might get a homemade bracelet and a handmade award.

World’s Best Dad.