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“You better explain yourself, boy,” he demands, face turning redder by the second.
“Pretty self-explanatory if you ask me,” I shrug.
“Listen here, you little shit,” he says, drawing in closer, finger poised to my face. “We have a race this Sunday. Your new sponsor will be there, and I have a press junket all lined up. You can throw your tantrum some other time, because we have business to attend to.”
He says, with no room for argument. Good thing I hadn’t planned on arguing.
“I don’t know what to tell you other than to find someone else. I’m not driving for you anymore.”
He splutters, the vein in his forehead bulging.
“Why, you selfish little prick. All of this because of the dinner the other day?” he says.
“If only that were it,” I sigh, shaking my head, honestly embarrassed over his little outburst.
“Please, enlighten me,” he spreads his arms open wide, like he’s ready to receive whatever I explanation I give, but it’s no use. He never hears anything he doesn’t want to hear.
“There isn’t anything to explain. I don’t want to race for you anymore, so I’m quitting.”
I cross my arms over my chest, standing my ground.
“You can’t just quit. This is my legacy, and you’re just throwing it away?”
If he had been a better man to me growing up, or hell, even if had tried harder in recent years, I might feel worse for him. The fact is, I don’t.
“You never wanted to pass it on to me, anyway. You only would have done so out of necessity. To further the family name. Even then, it probably wouldn’t have happened until you were on your deathbed,” I say, and he just stares at me like he has no idea who I am.
I guess that’s pretty true.
“You can’t do this to me,” he says, voice a disbelieving whisper.
I shake my head, taking a step closer.
“I’m not doing this to you. It isn’t about you.” I reach my hand out to grasp his shoulder and he jumps away, like my touch might burn him or something.
“It is about me. Do you know what the press will say when you don’t show up this weekend? When it’s made public knowledge that my only living son quit? I’ll be the laughingstock of the industry,” he says, his face going ash white with horror.
He turns, making his way toward the fireplace and resting his fist against the mantle place.
“I’m not going public with my decision. You can do that if you’re so concerned. Tell them whatever you want. I don’t care anymore,” I shrug.
He laughs in disdain, and I glance in my mother’s direction, taking in her timid posture.
I can’t leave her here. Who knows what lengths he’ll go to in this state of mind?
“Like you ever cared,” he sneers.
“I did. You just never chose to see it,” I say, the admission harder to admit than I expected.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he snaps, whirling around to face me again.
“Look, I get it. Tommy was your only son… by blood. But I was there, too, and I just wanted a dad. You refused to be that to me. I understand why, but that doesn’t excuse your actions,” I say, and the weight that lifts off of my chest is mildly freeing.
“My actions?” he yells.
My mom shudders slightly, and I try not to focus on her. I really don’t know how he’d react right now when his whole world — what he sees it as anyway — crumbles before him.
“I’m not arguing with you over it. It’ll only piss me off and you won’t even listen to half of what I have to say, anyway. It’s a waste of breath,” I tell him.
