“You have to, Dad. Will deserves this,” I say, breathing out a desperate grunt through my nose.
“His DUI, Maddy…the recreational drug use, and the drinking. He’s like one of those rock stars or child actors that your mom tells me about when she flips through tabloids in the grocery line, and sponsors don’t want to jump on board with big risks,” my dad argues. “I need to bring in the money. The greatest coaching in the world is meaningless compared to dollar signs. Will is a risk I can’t afford—at least not past the trials. His story buys him a shot, but one race…that’s all the risk people are going to want to take.”
“But that’s not Will’s whole story,” I defend.
His mouth closes tight, and he breathes in through his nose, his chest lifting slowly, like he’s building a shield against any argument I can throw his way.
“He’s doing this goddamn interview for you, Dad!” I finally let that out, because my father has to see—he must know this is the last thing Will wants to do. “He’s going to walk through the most horrific moments of his life on camera, because you asked him to, Dad. That…that has to count for something!”
“That makes the Cumberlands happy,” my dad shrugs. His face is growing pale, and I think it’s from shame.
My mouth curves in disgust.
“They want his story on primetime, because the world loves gossip,” I shake my head, walking away from my father.
“Maddy, I love that boy like a son,” he says to my back, a last-ditch effort to cover up his own desperation and greed.
I pause with my hand on the handle for the door, and I speak my words, unable to turn and look at him. For the first time in my entire life, I can’t look at the man I’ve idolized. I’m ashamed of him.
“No you don’t. But I love him, and maybe that will be enough to change your mind,” I say.
I step inside and shut the door behind me, then fight my instinct to rush up the stairs and take Will by the hand and beg him to just run away. We could run away from it all, and our lives would be amazing. But there would always be unfinished business. I’m supposed to win. He’s supposed to race for real.
I just need to find a way to make that happen so it doesn’t ruin life for everyone else.
Chapter Seventeen
Will
The lights are always hot.
That’s the one thing I remember from those interviews after the crash. I remember that, and I recall how fast the questions came. I was the human form of a speed bag, the reporters pummeling just fast enough that I had time to catch my breath and say words at their next intrusive question.
“How are you coping?”
Words, words, words.
“Are you in any pain? Will you ever swim again?”
Words, words, words.
“You must feel a tremendous amount of guilt. It’s natural; can you share a little about that?”
Words, motherfucking words!
I know why Curtis is pushing for this interview—I bring buzz, and that gets airtime, which equals revenue. As painful as the interview is, I feel like I owe him for this shot, and if it can help secure him as head coach—a coach, at the very least—then one afternoon of misery on my part isn’t so unbearable, especially when I look at it in context with the big picture of four years of grief.
I have one nice suit, and I’ve worn it once already since I’ve been back in Knox. Either my muscles have doubled in size from a few weeks of workouts, or that panic I thought was reserved for airplane rides is starting to bleed into other areas of my life. Either way, this collar is fucking tight. I slip behind the counter at the club’s small snack bar and tug my tie loose, fumbling because, well…fucking panic, when I feel her cool hands glide over mine and take over. I let them.
“Thank you for doing this,” Maddy says, her thumbs dusting across my knuckles. I stop her and work my fingers through hers, nodding lightly and blinking once. Bringing her hands together, I press them between mine and turn her wrist to kiss the inside. She sighs. She’s worried about me, but she doesn’t realize how many interviews like these I’ve survived.
I let go of her hands and she goes to work retying my tie, a little looser, so I can breathe.
“There are probably going to be some questions…some things…that you don’t want to hear. I’ve done dozens of these, and they like to talk about Evan, about his path to greatness getting cut short. It just…it might be hard to hear,” I say, partly preparing myself to hear the awful regurgitation of events I’m only now starting to overcome. For Maddy, this will be the first time she has to hear the story knowing about Tanya. It makes it hard to sit quietly and listen without choking out a laugh every time they compliment his great character.
“I’m staying,” she says, her eyes focused on her hands at my neck. Her mouth is set in a hard line. I figured she would stay, but I felt like she at least deserved the warning.