Page 47 of The Big Race

Beyond the Race

Leo was there at the airport to meet us. “You guys seem different,” he said, wrapping one arm around each of us. “Did you decide? Am I going to be the product of a broken home?”

“Nothing is broken that can’t be fixed,” I said, and he kissed both of us on our cheeks.

“I knew it!” he said.

“The race changed us,” Ray said, ruffling Leo’s hair though he had to reach up to do it now. Leo had sprouted up in college, surpassing my height easily.

“Are you sure the problems between you are fixed? Just like that?”

“Not fixed,” I said. “We’re working on it. Going to counseling.”

“Both of us,” Ray added. “Together and separately.”

Leo nodded slowly. “Good. Because I’ve seen how you two bottle things up. Dad with his athletic stuff and Pop with his computer. You both disappear into your own worlds when things get tough.”

I was startled by his perception. When had our son become so insightful about our marriage?

“And you can’t just paste over what happened,” Leo continued, looking directly at Ray. “Dad, you really hurt Pop. That kind of thing doesn’t just go away because you had some adventures.”

Ray flinched but nodded. “I know. I’m trying to understand why I did it. Not to excuse it, but to make sure it never happens again.”

“And what about you, Pop?” Leo turned to me. “Are you ready to trust Dad again? Or are you going to be checking his phone and second-guessing every late night at the office?”

His bluntness caught me off guard. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Some days I feel like we’re stronger than ever. Other days...” I trailed off, not wanting to hurt Ray with the truth.

“Other days you remember what happened and wonder if you’re being a fool,” Leo finished for me.

“Yeah.”

Ray reached for my hand. “That’s why we’re in counseling. Dr. Lieber says trust gets rebuilt in small moments, day by day. Not all at once.”

Leo grabbed both our packs and began to lead us to the car. “And what about the things that led to the affair in the first place? Dad feeling trapped, Pop working from home all the time?”

I was impressed and a little unnerved by how accurately he’d assessed the situation. “We’re making changes there too,” I said. “I’m going start going into the office three days a week.”

“And I’m going to sign us up for dance lessons,” Ray added with a small smile. “Turns out Jeffrey has a talent for it.”

“After those Thai dancing lessons, anything would be easy,” I laughed.

Leo dropped the bags when we reached the car, visibly relieved. “Good. Because I need you guys to make this work. You’re my model for what a marriage should be.”

His words hit me like a blow to the chest. All this time, I’d been thinking about what Ray’s affair had done to me, to us. I hadn’t considered what our potential breakup would mean to Leo, who’d already lost one set of parents.

We got into the car, and it was comfortable to slide into the back seat next to Ray, letting Leo drive. I almost missed having Cody in the front seat, filming everything.

“We’re committed to making it work,” I assured him. “But it’s not going to be perfect overnight. There will be hard days.”

“Like when Dad’s sees his client Russell at that industry conference next month,” Leo said, always thinking one step ahead.

Ray’s head snapped up. “How did you know about that?”

Leo shrugged. “I follow him on Instagram. He posted about the keynote he’s giving.”

Ray and I looked at each other, both realizing we hadn’t discussed how to handle the inevitable situation where he might run into Russell.

“I’ll skip the conference,” Ray said immediately.

“No,” I said, surprising myself. “You’re presenting. It’s important for your career.”

“More important than your comfort? Than us?”

“I can handle the discomfort if you can. Maybe we should go together.”

Leo watched this exchange with approval. “See? That’s how you figure it out. Together.”

Later that night, after Leo had gone to bed in his old room, Ray and I sat on the back patio. The neighborhood was quiet, just the occasional car passing and the distant sound of a neighbor’s pool filter.

“That was harder than anything on the race,” Ray said softly.

I took a sip of my wine, then asked the question that had been lingering between us since we’d gotten home. “Tell me about Russell.”

Ray tensed beside me. “What do you want to know?”

“Not the details of...what happened between you,” I said carefully. “But what drew you to him? What was it about him specifically?”

Ray was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. Finally, he said, “He reminded me of you. When we first met.”

That wasn’t what I’d expected. “Me?”

“He had this enthusiasm about life. About trying new things.” Ray leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The first time I met him, he’d just gotten back from climbing Kilimanjaro. His office was full of these incredible photos, and he talked about the journey with such passion.”

I remembered our early days, how I’d listened to Ray’s basketball stories with the same rapt attention, how we’d stayed up all night discussing books and movies and places we wanted to see.

“He was thirty-three but seemed younger,” Ray continued. “Not in a trying-too-hard way, but in his outlook. He’d ask questions about my sales pitch instead of checking his watch. Wanted to know why copiers worked the way they did.”

“Curiosity,” I said. “That was one of the things you said you liked about me when we first met.”

Ray nodded. “He’d pull out his phone to show me articles about things we’d discussed in our last meeting. Remember how you used to email me links to stories you thought would interest me, even after just our second date?”

A knot formed in my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that.

“After the sale was finalized, he invited me to join him for a trail run. Said he wanted to pick my brain about training for his first triathlon.” Ray’s voice grew quieter. “I told myself it was networking. Building client relationships.”

“But it became more.”

“We’d meet up once a week to run. Then he invited me to his lake house to test out his new paddleboards. It was all so...easy. No history, no responsibilities.” He looked up at me. “No real intimacy either, if I’m being honest. Just shared activities and surface-level conversation.”

“When did it cross the line?”

Ray ran a hand through his hair. “After a race in Tampa. He’d placed in his age group, and we were celebrating. He kissed me, and I...I didn’t stop him.” He swallowed hard. “It felt like being twenty-five again. Being wanted for just...being me. Not for being a good husband or father or provider.”

The pain was still there, but mixed with it now was understanding. How many times had I greeted Ray’s athletic achievements with distracted congratulations, my mind still half on work emails?

“The thing is,” Ray said, “what I had with Russell was just a pale imitation of what drew me to you in the first place. Your curiosity, your willingness to try things even when they scared you, the way you used to look at me like I was the most fascinating person you’d ever met.”

“I still think you’re fascinating,” I said quietly. “I just stopped showing it.”

“And I stopped earning it,” Ray admitted.

“Stopped sharing the parts of myself that made you curious in the first place. And then facing the reality that our actions affect more than just us.” He swirled his glass of wine, watching the liquid catch the patio lights. “I never meant to hurt either of you.”

“I know. But intentions don’t change outcomes.”

He nodded. “Do you think we’ll make it? Really make it, not just stay together out of habit or for Leo’s sake?”

I considered the question seriously. The night was warm, the air heavy with the scent of hibiscus from the garden. The same hibiscus that had been there when we’d first bought this house, when we’d dreamed of the future we would build together.

“I think we have a better chance now than we’ve had in years,” I said finally. “Because we’re both looking at what went wrong instead of pretending everything’s fine.”

“But?”

“But it’s going to take more than a few months of effort to undo years of drifting apart. And we’re both going to have to be honest when we’re struggling. No more hiding.”

Ray set his wine glass down and reached for my hand. “I can do that. I want to do that.”

“Me too.” I squeezed his hand. “But Ray? The next time you feel like your life is too predictable, like you need something more exciting? Tell me. We’ll sign up for skydiving lessons or take a spontaneous trip. Just don’t look for that excitement outside our marriage.”

“Never again,” he promised. And in that moment, under the Florida stars with the weight of our history between us, I chose to believe him—not blindly, but with my eyes wide open to both the risk and the potential reward.

We still had a long way to go. Trust wasn’t rebuilt in a day, and old habits didn’t change overnight.

There would be setbacks and arguments, moments when the past rushed back to undermine our progress.

But sitting there with Ray, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

Not the adrenaline-fueled euphoria of crossing a finish line, but something quieter and more enduring.

The kind of hope that could sustain us through the real race—the everyday marathon of building a life together, step by careful step.