Page 24 of Drive To Survive

“I think I can go even faster,” Rhett said, drawing me out of my head. “Can I go again?”

I shook my head. Tempering his exuberance and preventing confidence from tipping over into recklessness was paramount to his development. “That’s it for today, buddy.”

Rhett stamped his foot and folded his arms over his chest, and for that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the boy he’d been just a few short weeks ago. His lip came out in a pout, and his eyes swam with tears, ready to fall.

I shot him a look, one that usually worked, and held my breath, knowing that if he threw a tantrum, I’d come down on him hard. I believed in discipline if it led to self-discipline. Someone with a temper was not only a danger to themselves but also to others. Race car drivers had to remain calm under pressure and learn to channel their anger into more positive traits. That wasn’t to say I hadn’t lost my temper over the years, but even when rage boiled my insides, I still managed to maintain control.

Control was everything.

He must have seen the challenge in my eyes, and instead of launching into a fit, he blinked away his tears, locked up his disappointment at not getting his own way, and gave me a wavering smile.

“Okay.”

I tousled his hair. “Good lad. Come on, let’s get you out of those things. Your mum will be waiting for you.”

I hung around outside the changing area while Rhett got changed just in case he needed any help with buttons or laces. He didn’t. For a six-year-old, he was incredibly independent, which probably lent itself to his mature performance on the track.

“Ready to go, buddy?”

“Yep.”

He skipped on ahead of me. I heard the roar of an engine a split second before Rhett stepped into the pit lane without looking.

“Rhett!” I sprinted forward, catching his arm just in time as a single-seater exited the garage. “Hell, kid, you scared the bejesus out of me. How many times have I told you to look both ways? This is a dangerous area.”

His chin dipped to his chest, and he nodded, contrite. He rubbed his arm where I’d grabbed him. Fuck.

“Did I hurt you?” I asked, mortified. Sure, the end justified the means, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

He shook his head, but he didn’t convince me. I captured his hand and rolled up his sleeve, gasping at what I found. A huge, dark bruise on the outside of his upper arm that I hadn’t caused by a simple act of grabbing him. A prickling broke out over my skin. That didn’t look like he’d simply bumped into something either.

“Rhett,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even, despite feeling the complete opposite. “What’s this? Is someone hurting you?”

It couldn’t be Everly. She wouldn’t harm a hair on Rhett’s head. Anyone with half a brain could tell she’d throw herself in front of a train if it meant keeping her son safe.

He bit his lip and shuffled his feet. He wouldn’t look at me.

I tried again. “Bud, if someone is hurting you, you have to tell me.” I remembered Everly telling me he was being bullied at school a few weeks ago, but I thought that problem had gone away. Everly certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about the bullying escalating recently.

Dickhead, how could she? You’ve avoid her like she has leprosy.

Rhett’s eyes flitted to mine, then cut away immediately.

“Is it someone at school?”

The nod he gave was almost imperceptible, but I caught it nonetheless.

I dropped to my haunches. “Who?” I asked as gently as I could manage.

“I can’t tell you,” he whispered.

“Buddy, listen to me very carefully. It’s important you do tell me.”

Finally, he locked gazes with me. “It’s Brad. But you can’t say anything. His dad is mean.”

A flush of anger made me feel hot. How the hell did Rhett know the dad was mean? Had the son of a bitch dared to speak to Rhett? What the fuck was going on here?

I straightened and put my arm around him. “Come on, son. Let’s go find your mum.”

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