Page 40

Chapter 40

GAbrIEL

W hen my mom told me she’d be back from Mexico in time for my race, I let her know she didn’t have to be there—this was my ninth Ironman, after all. As expected, she shut that down right away. She’d always been my biggest supporter, and she loved the Ironman experience: the race, the spectators, and the village.

On the day of packet pickup, I invited her along for the ride. Mostly because I missed her company, but also because I needed someone to distract me from thoughts of April. When my mom climbed into my truck, she reached over the console to give me a hug, and I swear, it felt like she was getting smaller.

“How was Mexico?” I asked her in Spanish.

“You leave for a few years, and everything changes,” she replied, also in Spanish. It had been a while since I’d held a conversation in my mother tongue, but it came naturally talking to Mom. She patted some of her graying hair back into place. “The family misses you. I told them you’d come next time. ”

I surprised myself by laughing, something I hadn’t done in days . . . maybe weeks. Leave it to Mom to sign me up for family functions in another country.

I grabbed the shifter to put it in reverse, but she pulled my hand off it to inspect my knuckles.

“What happened?”

My hand looked better by the day, but scabs still marred my skin. The evidence was incriminating.

I gently pulled my hand away to put us in reverse. If we were going to have this conversation, I needed somewhere to look other than at the disappointment on her face. “I hit someone.”

She laughed. “Tell me what really happened.”

I flashed her a look, and the laughter died as soon as she realized I was serious.

“What happened?” she asked again, alarm rising with the question.

I tried to map out the easiest explanation. She didn’t need to know about April and the complexities she’d brought. So, I left her out as if she was a minor detail and not the reason for my rusting heart, with its pieces flaking off by the day.

“Another coach put one of my athletes in harm’s way, and I snapped.”

I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel her eyes scanning my face. I wondered what she saw when she looked at me—another version of my father? I couldn’t bear the thought.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” she finally said.

“I’m not proud of it.”

“What do you mean he put your athlete in harm’s way? Explain.”

I knew she wouldn’t let the story rest at that. I sighed. “He deliberately messed with her bike, and because of that, she almost got hit by a car.”

My mom didn’t answer at first. When she did, it was quiet. “That must have been scary.”

I nodded, but my head felt heavy; most of my body felt that way. Everything felt heavier without April. “It was.”

I could usually read my mom pretty easily, but at that moment, I had no idea what she was thinking. Was she embarrassed? Disappointed? Scared of me? The silence in the car stretched until it thickened and soured.

I couldn’t take it any longer.

“It was a one-time mistake. I’m not dangerous.” And I believed myself. I would never get so caught up in my feelings again.

Her head snapped my way. “Of course you aren’t, Gabriel.”

“I just don’t want you to be scared of me.” I hated how small I sounded, like I was a little boy again, huddled in the corner, but that’s the place I went back to when I pictured my mom being afraid.

“Pull over,” she said calmly.

“Mom, I—”

“Right now, Gabriel!”

Surprised by my mom’s outburst, I yanked us into the closest parking lot. As soon as the truck rocked to a stop, she reached over the console and grabbed my face. “Why do you think I’d be afraid of you?” Her soft brown eyes danced with tears.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m going to be like Dad.”

She shook her head. “Son, the only thing you got from that man is your height. To me, it sounds like you were defending someone you care about.”

I grabbed her hands to free my face but didn’t let go. “I still shouldn’t have hit him. I never wanted to hurt anyone. ”

“Could you have handled things differently? Sure. But that doesn’t mean you are dangerous. Okay?”

I looked at her. We had the same nose, same eyes, same dark hair—in the places where she wasn’t graying. We couldn’t deny kinship if our lives depended on it. Then there was the Ironman T-shirt she wore. She had to gather the loose ends of the shirt in a rubber band so it didn’t swallow her. She’d had it for years. It was from my first race. I’d crossed the finish line, picked up my medal and finisher shirt, and handed both right over the corral to her—my biggest fan.

Of course, she would see the best in me. She always had.

But I didn’t see the point in upsetting her further, so I put on my best attempt at a smile and kissed the back of her hand.

“Okay.”

Bike and gear checked in, the two of us meandered Iron Village. We walked in and out of tents, looking at products and people-watching excited athletes. I tried to let the pre-race high permeate. Tried to allow myself to feel something other than the loss of April, but it was all still too fresh. I tried to tell myself I’d eventually feel better, but I was having difficulty believing it. As if to give my theory of everlasting misery more weight, who should step out of a tent but April?

The sunlight hit her, turning strands of her blonde hair golden. With it being a mild October day, she wore her overalls with a flannel tied around her waist. She was effortlessly beautiful, as always.

I tried to read her expression, but it didn’t offer much. Her eyes looked puffy, as though she’d either been crying a lot or missing sleep. Those lips that I loved so much were in a neutral line. She looked okay, not happy, but like she would be with enough time and space.

She hadn’t seen me yet, but there would be no going back if I didn't move. I pulled my mom into the Ironman store—where we’d just come from.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I changed my mind,” I said, feigning interest in the ungodly-priced outerwear. “I think I do want a finisher jacket.”

“Are you hiding?” my mom asked, stepping on her tiptoes, unabashedly searching out the culprit.

I gently pulled her to face me. “Can you just—” I blew out a breath and settled my hands on her shoulders. “I just need a second.” I risked a glance outside the tent where Billie pulled April toward a stand with drinks. April gave a half-hearted laugh and relented.

It’s a good thing she’s here, I tried to tell myself. It meant she still planned on racing in a couple of days.

My mom looked over her shoulder, scanning. Then her eyes narrowed on Billie and April before snapping back to me. “Which of those girls are you hiding from?”

I got the distinct feeling that if I didn’t give my mom answers, she’d launch her own investigation.

“The blonde.” My voice automatically sounded thicker, just talking about her hair color. “Her name is April.” I sighed, letting myself have an unguarded moment. “I really like her—love her,” I amended. “I love her.”

“You say that like it’s a prison sentence.”

“I had to let her go.” I reached over and refolded a shirt that had been thrown over the neat piles. I hated having this conversation with yet another person, but if anyone could understand, it would be Mom .

“Why?” she asked, eyes swinging back to April. Then her mouth fell open as it dawned on her. “She’s the athlete who almost got hurt.”

“She did get hurt,” I said miserably. “But it could have been so much worse.”

“So, you were defending someone you love. Can you explain why that’s so horrible?”

“Because I exploded. I don’t even know who I was when Clay—the guy I hit—told us what he’d done.” I let out an exasperated breath. “I feel too much with her.”

“Then let yourself feel too much, Gabriel.”

“I can’t do that. What if she is on the other side of my fist one day?”

My mom’s eyebrows drew in. “We both know you would never do that.”

“No, I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

“Do you not love me?”

“What?” I asked, confused by the question. “Of course I do.”

“You’ve never been violent with me. Never even raised your voice, and I know there were more than a couple of times in your teen years when you wanted to.”

“Grandma said Dad wasn’t always abusive—that he wasn’t that way until you two got married.” I shook my head, thinking about how off the rails I’d gone since April’s wreck. “Love makes people crazy.”

“You think love made him talk with his fists?” She shook her head. “I thought we decided, a long time ago, that we weren’t going to make excuses for him anymore.”

My mouth fell open. I wasn’t making excuses for him. Was I?

Her expression softened. “When you act like he had no choice, you let him off the hook. He chose to yell. He chose to break our home—to use his hands for harm.” She grabbed my hands. Hers were so small compared to mine, and yet she had a fierce grip. “You’ve chosen to use yours for healing. To defend those you love.” She looked close to crying. “Where he used his strength to tear others down, you’ve used it to help.”

“You have to see the best in me,” I finally voiced. “You’re my mom.”

“Because I’m your mom—because I experienced firsthand how dangerous your father was, I know better than anyone. Do you think I would ever let you be with a woman if I thought you’d bring her harm?”

I looked at her for a long time. You’d never know that she’d carried bruises across her cheeks, worn them around her eyes. You’d never be able to guess the sounds of her crying when my dad shook her or slammed her into a nearby wall.

The memories were haunting, but she’d moved on. She’d healed. Even still, she was the one person in my life who understood what it was like to be broken apart by someone who was supposed to build you up. So I believed that she’d protect others from that, even if it meant protecting them from her own son.

“But ultimately,” she continued, “the choice will always be up to you. You can choose fear—as your father did. Or you can choose love.” She turned her head, and I followed her gaze back to April.

What did choosing love look like right now?

I imagined running to April, begging for her forgiveness, professing my feelings. There was a possibility I could still guide her through Ironman. I could be a part of her big day. More than that, I could have her in my arms tonight. I wanted that so bad it hurt.

But I kept my feet cemented to the ground because there was a chance she wouldn’t welcome my apology. I’d hurt her—enough that she might want nothing to do with me. As she’d once said, self-preservation is loud. What if she built up a wall to protect herself? Or worse, what if she’d gotten wise after I’d hit Clay and realized I was dangerous after all? I really didn’t know how she felt, and how could I, after running and hiding?

I watched April push Billie away as she tried to take a sip of the drink she’d just purchased. The two laughed, and even though I could see the residual effects of hurt, April was okay. She was doing fine without me.

The day after tomorrow was a huge day, and I knew within my bones what loving her meant at that moment—it meant watching her walk away.

So that’s what I did.