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Chapter Two: Is He Even Capable Of Smiling?

Good morning! Well, from my part of the world at least 😂

What are your plans for Christmas break?

Enjoy!

*****

I wasn't the first race car driver in my family.

Kennedy and I were total opposites and only became closer when I turned thirteen, but that only lasted for about two years. Dad was the one who pushed us to get into racing despite my mother's protests. She never liked how Kennedy and I would rather fix up the karts in time for the competition than help her go around the city and visit the bakeries she managed, but Kennedy did find time to help out whenever she needed an extra set of hands. She was closer to our mom, always in understanding of how she wanted to handle things. Kennedy was also louder than me, her entire personality showing that she was an extrovert. She was well-known as well, always winning the races that I placed second in. She was definitely on her way to having a stable racing career with the attention she was getting until she decided to stop.

She was sixteen when she lost the time for racing, replacing it with watching high school football games and going out after school with her friends. I knew my dad was disappointed when she broke the news to him, the sad look in his eyes only disappeared when I asked him about my next race. My mom's reaction was the completely opposite, urging Kennedy to go out and enjoy her teenage years. She kept on telling me that I should follow in my sister's footsteps instead of spending most of my time in the garage with dad.

Believe me, I wasn't an introvert. I had a few friends in high school, but only one of them stayed until now. I still see her from time to time and have our weekly catch-ups, but with my job needing me to travel around the world, it was difficult to keep in touch every day.

Kennedy still supported me whenever I had race weekends, always trying to attend them despite her busy schedule. Things changed when she turned eighteen and she went out to New Jersey to celebrate with her friends. I was sixteen at the time and began competing internationally while studying for homeschool whenever I went back to New York. Luckily, it wasn't a race weekend when we got the call.

Dad and I were watching replays of the previous race in Monza when the phone rang. Seeing as we were both entranced, eyes focused on the television, mom was the one who answered it.

Everything happened so fast, I couldn't comprehend what was happening. The next thing I knew, dad was driving like crazy as mom cried in the passenger seat. Neither of them told me what was happening as I kept on asking questions, my mother even snapping at me at one point.

It was when we stopped in front of a hospital that things fell into place.

I couldn't hear anything. My mind didn't register the loud cry of my mother as a man wearing a white hospital coat stood in front of us, hands clasped together as he held a solemn expression on his face. I saw my dad cover his mouth as his eyes formed tears, his left hand squeezing my shoulder. I could smell the air of alcohol that surrounded us, people dressed in green medical scrubs walking through the hallways. There were two nurses talking by the counter as they went over what looked like a patient's chart. There was a doctor drinking a cup of coffee even if it was almost nine in the evening. There was another family just like us, but their faces looked like the complete opposite. The mother was crying as well, but she had a smile on her face the same way the man beside her was showing. A boy a few years younger than me was holding his mom's hand, chin angled up as he tried to understand what was happening with the three people towering over him.

It was clear that what their family was experiencing was far different from mine. We don't rush to one of the hospital rooms, relief and happiness flooding our features. No. Instead, my mother stays rooted as dad tries to pull her along with us to follow the doctor. His hand on my shoulder had moved to my hand which he was squeezing tighter. His knuckles were turning white and I was trying hard not to flinch at the sharp pain his ring was making on my skin as it pressed against my palm.