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I haven’t been to see him or Mum or Bram. They know I’m here, they know why — more or less — they know I flew straight home after Austria. There’s nothing else for me to do except finish up the season and then I’ll be back here for winter break. Several more months by myself.
“Hey, Pop,” I say as he strolls past the garage and takes a seat in a wooden Adirondack chair that surrounds the oversized stone fire pit. He looks older than I remember, I wonder how many of his grey hairs I’ve contributed to his silver head in my life. Between the races, the crashes, and all the rest of my bullshit.
He and Mum sacrificed so much for me. Even though their house is paid off and neither has to work anymore, Pop looks particularly disappointed with me today. It’s one of my greatest fears and adds to the malaise that’s overtaken me since I told Mallory I loved her and then walked out of her life.
“Your Mum sent me,” he starts.
I nod. That sounds about right. I don’t even know where my phone might be today and Mum’s probably worried. Because that’s what I do to my parents, make them worry and embarrass them. Let Celeritas bring shame upon them, too, when all the Scottish papers talk shit about me.
“She wants details,” Pop says.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I swirl the amber liquid around in my glass tumbler.
“You know I can’t go home empty-handed.”
I sigh and get up, taking a few steps to the small bar area built into the stone wall surrounding the fire pit. A few feet from where Mallory threw her phone into the fire and said she knew me. “Drink?”
“Aye.”
I pour Pop two fingers and slouch back into my chair to stare mindlessly at the fire some more. If it has any words of wisdom for me, the fire hasn’t said shit yet. But I’m still going to stare at it.
“It’s different this time,” he announces after taking a slug of the peaty scotch.
“What is?”
“It’s different from when it ended with Kate. You were mad then. You aren’t mad now.”
He’s right, I’m hollow, but not mad. “No, I’m not mad, Pop.”
“Why not?” Christ, this is going to turn into the Spanish Inquisition, just what I need.
“Ah hell, I don’t know.” I huff and throw a splinter of wood from my chair into the flames. “I guess because last time it hurt my pride more than anything.”
“And now?”
“Now? Now there’s no one to be mad at.” Besides Digby, of course. Fuck him. But they don’t know about that. They just think I’m a shitty driver and a shitty son, both are probably true enough.
“But yourself.”
“Aye.”
Pop leans forward, elbows on his chair arms. Even his eyebrows are grey now. “That’s much harder than being mad at someone else.”
“No one to beat the shit out of, that much for sure.” Just that one assclown waiting for me to lose my mind and beat him senseless so he can take the very last thing from me and ensure I won’t drive for anyone next year, or ever again.
“Oh, you’re beating yourself up plenty, son.”
I shrug and continue my lifeless g
aze into the flames. “I wish I could.” That part is true enough and I ponder the physics of physically beating the hell out of myself.
“Is it over, for sure?”
“It’s over, Pop.”
He sighs and sits back into the chair. “Mum won’t be happy. She liked her.”
“You only met her once.” I know that’s a crap excuse as soon as it leaves my mouth. I’ve only known Mallory for five months and I’ve loved her for at least half of them if I’m being honest.
