He backed up and ducked his head. “Was worried about you. Didn’t know if you were ever going to race again.”
“Me too.” I clenched and unclenched my jaw to temper my emotions.
Malcolm pushed his hands in his jeans. “So, you want to take it easy or go for it?”
“Think it’s time to get back out there since they expect me to be in Italy in about six weeks for some crazy reason. Do you know why Ferrari believes that?”
Malcolm’s dark eyes twinkled. “No fucking clue.”
I quirked a brow.
“I mean . . .” He chuckled. “You wouldn’t have wanted me to answer any other way.”
“Facts.” I bumped his fist in solidarity. “We got our work cut out. I know I have to shake the fear first. Thinking about getting a sports psychologist or something.”
“Whatever you need to do. We got this.” Malcolm tossed me the keys.
I pocketed the keys and stumped the toe of my Nike, gathering my words. “Listen, about Kensie . . .”
He held his hand up. “I saw the post. You don’t have to explain. I just wish you had told me; then I wouldn’t have been so hard on you and Kensie. I couldn’t wrap my brain around your insistence that she be around for everything when, in the past, you didn’t want any woman near you while you worked.”
“Some of that was for the façade, but most was because I fell in love and hated being apart from her. I didn’t want to tell anyone that our engagement was fake because I wanted us to be real.” I pressed my back against the car and crossed my ankles. “I blamed her and allowed you to blame her, and she didn’t do anything wrong except love me.”
Malcolm nodded. “I was hard on her after the crash. After watching her confession, I called and apologized. She told me she understood my anger, and she didn’t hold my actions against me.” He glanced at me. “Kensie ain’t no punk, I’ll tell you that much. She holds her own, and she rides for you.”
“She does if she got you to apologize.” I smiled, missing her more and more.
He nudged my shoulder. “Give her a call. A good woman who has your back is hard to find. You better hold on to her.”
“I plan to ask for forgiveness. Beg and plead if I have to. Wanted to get this part of my life back on track, first, no pun intended.”
We both laughed and fist bumped again.
“What about you? You seeing anyone?”
“No one important. Too busy.” Malcolm stomped the tip of his Nike on the ground and looked past my shoulders. “Right about now, love would have to find me because I sure ain’t looking for it.”
A sleek Jaguar approached from a distance before I could retort that love found me when I wasn’t looking.
Malcolm squinted. “Is that your father?”
Pride swelled my chest. “He said he wanted to see me drive.”
“Hell must have frozen over,” Malcolm wryly said.
“Indeed.” I laughed as my father exited his car wearing a red tracksuit, his attempt at casual wear. “Dad, I think after we finish up here, we’ll take a trip to the Galleria and get you some new gear.”
My father pulled on his hoodie. “It’s Nike. Isn’t that what people wear?”
“The hoodie is Nike, and the bottom is Adidas. I don’t know quite how you ended up wearing a mismatched jogging suit.”
“Aw, Canaan, leave him alone. No one cares about that,” scoffed Malcolm.
“I do,” I insisted. “I can’t have my father out here bad.”
Mr. Jackson seemed to beam at the pride he could hear in my voice. “We can head to the Galleria and grab dinner afterward. Got to represent my son right.” He squeezed my shoulder before pulling me into a hug. It had to be the most awkward hug I’ve ever had, and I would welcome it again and again. “I’ll try harder.”
“Me too,” I promised.
