“Are you surprised?”
He dragged his gaze away from his dad. “What?”
“That your father’s here.”
He dragged his head from the fog of confusion. “What are you talking about? Did you arrange this?”
Now it was her turn to look confused. “Me? Of course not. I had no idea he was going to show up. He shocked the hell out of me when he called and said he was here.
I scrambled to get him in. Thank God for Ian, who helped us out. He hung out here watching everyone qualify, Gray.”
Sure. He had the whole time to work the crowd. “I’m sure he did.”
She frowned. “Aren’t you happy? He’s talking to reporters right now.”
“Of course he is. That’s what he does. That’s why he’s here.”
It was just like school again, his father only showing up to stump for votes. He was only here for self-serving reasons. Not for Gray.
Not ever for Gray.
He waded into the crowd of photographers and reporters and pulled his father close.
“Gray,” his father said, his smile wide. “You did so well today. I had no idea you were so talented. I’m so proud of you.”
Of course he had no idea, because he’d never shown up. But he wouldn’t do this here. Not in front of all these reporters.
He smiled for the cameras, but turned so only his father could hear.
“I won’t let you manipulate me, old man. Get the f**k out of my sport.”
He turned and walked away, not bothering to look back to see the expression on his father’s face.
Because he didn’t care how Mitchell Preston felt.
He should never have agreed to this media circus. He knew from the outset it would be a mistake, a clusterfuck.
Seeing his father at home in the middle of that media storm of reporters and photographers set Gray off. This should have been about racing, not politics, and he knew then he’d been right all along.
He should have said no. No matter what kind of emotional blackmail his mother had tried to use on him, he should have said no.
Because he was suddenly eight years old again, with that gut-punch feeling of hurt because his dad had just let him down.
And no matter how old he got, that feeling was never going to go away.
TWENTY-FIVE
EVELYN LEFT THE SENATOR IN THE HANDS OF HIS AIDES, instructing them to wind down the interviews and get the senator out of there, that there’d be no joint interviews with Gray and Mitchell Preston today. She made up the excuse that Gray had other commitments today, and they’d try for another day.
She knew where to find him—in his trailer, the only place he could be assured of privacy.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t locked her out. She shut the door, found him nursing a beer, his fire suit hanging around his hips.
“What was that about?”
He shrugged and ignored her, taking another long swallow of beer.
She moved into the room and stood in front of him, arms crossed. “Your father came here today to watch qualifying, you know.”
He smiled around the rim of the bottle. “My father came today to use me to get votes and face time.”
“Uh, no. The only thing he said on camera was how proud he was of you, and what an amazing driver you were.”
Gray snorted, tossed the beer into the trash and got another out of the fridge, then resumed his seat.
Irritated, she leaned against the arm of the chair across from him. “Why do you find that so hard to believe?”
He didn’t even look at her, just past her. “Because he never once saw me play ball when I was a kid. Or in high school or in college. He was always too busy with politics, with his career, which was so much more important than his own kid. Except one time, he showed up at my game. God, I was so excited to see him there, until I realized it was an election year. He wasn’t even watching me play. He was glad-handing the parents in the stands, trying to get votes. I could have walked off the field and he wouldn’t have known the difference. He didn’t even know I was there.”
“I’m sorry, Gray. That must have hurt.”
He shrugged. “I got over it, and got used to his indifference.”
“I can’t imagine you could ever get used to that. But that’s not the Mitchell Preston I know. The Mitchell Preston I know is warm and caring.”
He dragged his gaze to her. “Yeah, he was always warm and caring with beautiful women.”
She rolled her eyes. “I told you he’s never been like that with me.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Don’t be insulting to me just because you’re pissed at your dad. I think you know me better than that.”
“Do I? You seem to defend him a lot.”
He was hurt, and lashing out at her because his father wasn’t there to take his anger out on. A part of her understood that, even though his words hurt her. “I defend him because of who he is and what he stands for. He isn’t the man you describe to me.
Believe me, I know about his past. I wasn’t going to work for someone I hadn’t fully vetted. But after his heart attack, he changed.”
Gray frowned. “What heart attack? My father never had a heart attack.”
“Uh, yeah, he did, Gray.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago. It nearly killed him, and it sure as hell scared the shit out of him. It changed his life and changed his outlook on everything, from politics to his relationships with his staff, the way he lived his life and his relationship with his wife.
He said he reached out to you afterward, but you refused to respond.”
Gray shook his head, unable to fathom what Evelyn said was true. Eight years ago he’d been . . . what? Racing. Loving his life, just getting started.
He didn’t remember his father contacting him. Then again, they corresponded, but that was right after his grandfather died, too. When Gray inherited the money. He remembered his father calling him, trying to see him. He figured his father was going to try to convince him to reevaluate and go to Harvard. He wanted no part of that, so he resisted the contact with his father.
No. “That can’t be true.”
“It is true.”
He went for his phone, called his mother.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At the convention hotel.”
“I’m coming over. Don’t leave.”