She’s gone down the rabbit hole of my sport. Beyond the glitz and glamour seen on social media, there’s a sordid, and at times ugly history here. My stomach twists and turns in knots for my stupidity in thinking I could keep this from her.
“Alyssia, we’ve come a long way in the two decades since Severino’s death.”
She finally stops pacing, but the distance between us remains. Almost as if it were a palpable force, keeping us separated.
“And if we have a son, Travis? One who takes after his father and decides to drive F1? What new safety feature will his car have as a result of your death? Tell me?” Her words break off on a sob.
“Please.” I try to pull her into my arms, but she pushes me away.
“Don’t,” she says, almost stumbling backwards into the fridge.
“Baby, be careful.”
Another mocking laugh. “Careful? Right? That’s my line, isn’t it? After all, I’m not the one who tries to drive to my death for a living.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I tell her.
“How do you know?” she shouts at the top of her lungs.
“Baby, you have to calm down, please.”
Her hands drop to her belly.
“You’re upset. We can talk about this, but please calm down. Think about the baby.”
“I am thinking of our child, Travis. Are you? Are you thinking of what it would feel like for our child to lose his father in an accident? One that could’ve been prevented? I already know what that feels like. Maybe you should ask Max how it feels,” she shouts.
“Don’t touch me,” she screams when I try to approach her again.
For her sake and our baby’s, I take a step back.
“I can’t do this,” she says, wagging her head as tears fall to the floor in front of her.
Her tears create tiny pools on the wooden tiles that reflect our distorted images.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She was becoming more at ease with my sport, more comfortable with the idea of what I do for a living. I’d started to dream that it wouldn’t be an issue moving forward, not one that stopped us from being together—a family. A real family.
But now as I look at her crumpled, pained expression the truth of my naivete is revealed.
“You need to leave.”
Every instinct inside of me wants to stay … needs to stay. I can’t leave her crying and alone like this. I need her.
Alyssia’s sobs are what convince me that she’s right. It’s too painful for her for me to be here right now. I gather every ounce of strength I have and force myself to take a step back.
When my brain and heart tell me to run toward her, to grab her in my arms and make her see reason, I listen to the smallest voice inside of me that tells me she needs space. That I’d do more damage remaining here than doing as she asks and leaving.
On trembling legs, as I stand outside of the door, I pull out my phone and dial the one woman I trust right now.
“Mom.”
“Travie, hi. I thought?—”
“I need you to come up here,” I say. “Alyssia needs … someone and it can’t be me and I don’t want her to be alone. Can you please?—”
“I’m on my way.”
