I thought you shit yourself when you had food poisoning? Isn’t that what you did, Beck?
Van
He did. All over Mom and Dad’s bathroom.
Noah has changed the group name.
Beck is the Reason We Can’t Have Nice Bathroom Rugs.
Graham
I swipe out of the texts and open my search engine. I shield my phone so Beck can’t see and type in the name of the medication the doctor mentioned. My fingers clench around my phone as the information pops up.
The room tilts on its side.
The nagging truth buried beneath a layer of denial grows like a fucking weed.
Inderal, also known as propranolol…
Propranolol.
I shut my eyes and travel back in the past. The pill bottle appears, along with tiny, orange pills scattered in father’s hand. He took one before every race, like some type of good-luck charm.
I stand abruptly, and Beck jerks in his seat.
“Are you about to throw up?” he asks, panicked.
“I have to head back to the track.” The lie effortlessly leaves my mouth. “Gia texted, and she wants me to meet with the media to explain my reasons for not finishing the race.”
“Good luck with that,” he chuckles.
I glance at Tessa, nestled on her side. A piece of her long brown hair lies over her face, and my fingers twitch to move it out of the way, but I’ve already shown my cards once today to the public. I can’t allude to anything else.
Not with her brother watching.
On the way back to the track, with my gut churning the closer I get, a text comes in from Vince.
Vince
Most team owners would hang you dry for doing what you did today.
I’m aware. My own father would have beat me.
Vince
But most fathers would thank you.
Me
Which one are you right now?
The taxi comes to a stop near the back of the track, and I slip out in an attempt to blend in.
Vince
I’m a father first. Always.
Me
