I shake my head and clear my throat as the sudden emotion wells up from all the fights and arguments, making me want to avoid going back. It was a dark time for me and them. Lonely nights spent in the hospital, wondering if I was going to be able to take care of myself at all or if I’d need a caregiver.
“They thought it’d be better for me. Familiar places, familiar faces. But I couldn’t do it. It felt like going backward, like giving up.”
The memories of those fights and conversations stir something hot and sharp in my chest.
“They didn’t get it. They just saw me as this broken kid who needed to be taken care of. They wanted me to recover out there, work in the family business, settle down, and have kids. But that’s not who I am. That’s never been who I am.”
She shifts beside me, uncrossing her legs and resting a hand on my leg. Her body language softens, her defenses lowering.
It’s subtle, but I notice.
“So, I stayed here,” I say, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon. “Rehabbed like hell. Went to therapy. Figured out how to live with this…”
I tap the small of my back.
The memory of the screws is a constant reminder, especially having to ice it after those weird angles fucking her.
“This new version of me. It wasn’t easy, and it sure as hell wasn’t pretty. But I did it. Because going back? To Hawaii? To what my family wanted? That wasn’t an option.”
I fall silent for a moment.
The track stretches out like a graveyard of my past, and I can’t help but feel a pang of something, not just regret, but . . . loss.
“I don’t have words . . .”
Heartbreak wraps around her words.
I hug her tighter to my side. She sympathizes and understands that I’m not a hundred percent, physically, as guys my age should be. Yet she’s comforting me and not looking at me like I’m a reject, as other girls have when they learn about my injury and back.
“You don’t have to, Iz. My point is about control. It’s a lifeline. When everything’s spiraling, it’s the only thing you can hold onto. But it’s also exhausting. Trying to hold it all together all the time. I had complete control until I didn’t. It left me reeling. It took me a long time to figure that out.”
“So what does control look like for you now?”
I glance at her, seeing she’s already looking at me. Her lower lip tucks into her teeth, nibbling on it with a look of worry.
“Not what it used to be. Not by a long shot. I’ve learned to let go of most things. They just aren’t as important as we think they are. I stopped trying to plan every second of my life. I ride when I need to feel free or when I need a release. All the same emotions I felt when racing, but I’ve had to change out the activities that elicit them.”
“What are those?”
I cup her chin, my thumb stroking her silky skin.
“Sex with a hot professor or killing her at go-kart racing.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes me away.
“I’m serious.”
“I am, too. It’s why I want this. You can’t see it, but we are similar, just a decade apart.”
She frowns, the first time I’ve brought up our age difference.
“To answer your question, I let myself be. . . . unfinished. Messy. Frustrated. Anxious. Basically human. I won’t go as far as to say surrender to the universe or crap like that, but something along those lines.”
“Yeah, I could never surrender.”
She doesn’t have to tell me that. I know damn well she’d be the last to surrender anything that wasn’t part of her plan.
“Unfinished is better.”
