Page 28 of All That Glitters
I felt Helen’s eyes boring into my back as I walked away. I wasn’t ready to rejoin the party in my current frame of mind. I needed to pull myself together, so I entered the door farthest away, the one that led to the rear stairwell via a small hallway.
Once upon a time I’d have taken the steps two at a time, but since the accident, I had to take them one at a time, slowly, and with a lot more difficulty.
I was a complete fraud. I wasn’t the same man who got into the car on that summer day last year.
All of it hurt, inside and out. I didn’t trust myself.
The biggest hurdle on my agenda, starting yesterday, was to get back behind the wheel of a car. Any car at this rate.
A race car, though… My race car… My hands began to tremble, then my whole body followed suit.
“I can’t go out like this.” I whispered. “I won’t go out like this.”
Leaning my head against the wall, I closed my eyes. Shutting everything out often helped calm my heart rate and stop the panic that welled up inside me.
I always knew the power of controlled breathing, but until this, until these weaknesses showed up, I hadn’t appreciated the art of it.
Deep breath in.
Slow breath out.
And Helen.
In the midst of my breathing exercises, Helen was there in my head and I welcomed the mental distraction of her.
She was probably back inside the house. Was she fielding questions from Brax? Was she telling him about our conversation? Had anyone else watched us leave? Did anyone see her walk back in alone?
I knew my mother was hoping to mitigate some of the tension that was going to follow through to the green flag and I wished I had a way to help with that, to not be one of the biggest reasons for the tension.
Endurance racing didn’t suffer as much drama in the media as the more popular racing series’, but a wreck as devastating as mine put us at the top of the sports highlights, in the magazines and all-over social media for weeks. In some ways I enjoyed looking at all the press, but in other ways it added to my growing rage, my depression.
In the immediate aftermath, Hale was blasted pretty good for reckless driving, for not giving me enough room, for not braking, for not backing out when he got too close. It hadn’t lasted long, though. Analyses of the wreck by sports writers and former drivers and commentators eventually exonerated Hale of any wrong doing. They called it an accident, terrible, yes, but simply an accident. A racing incident. The sanctioning body never once thought of taking action against him.
All drivers understand the risks was a familiar refrain.
I took another deep breath knowing I needed to make my way downstairs. I was doing this for my mother. That was the only reason I wasn’t shut away in the cottage.
In the nearest bathroom, I stood in the dark, splashed water on my face, and waited until the mask I wore now fell back into place.
I made my way down the hall, rounded the corner and headed toward the main staircase, but the voices of my parents coming from inside my father’s study stopped me.
“Leonardo, please.”
What was she pleading for? I rarely ever heard that tone from her, a mix of fear and something I couldn’t name.
“He’s not ready.”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who my father was talking about.
“His doctors say he is.”
“His doctors can say anything they want, Francesca. I’m telling you, he’s not ready to get back in a race car.”
“How do you keep him out of it?”
“By any means necessary.”
“Leo…”
