“I can’t,” he responds, turning his focus back to the road as the signal changes and lets him pull forward.
“You must,” I press on.
Denying himself is denying the world. It’s holding back greatness from this sport he loves. The racing community needs him. His daughter needs to see him. There has to be a way to remove the chains from around his neck. I won’t let anything hurt Bristol, but of all the truths there are in this world, the biggest is that Dustin Bridges was born to race, and he’s destined to be the best that ever was.
“I saw your art,” he utters, an attempt to change the subject that works.
My mouth opens and I mentally run through the hows and whats of his confession. My portfolio—online.
“What did you think?” I tuck my hands under my thighs, suddenly self-conscious.
He sucks in his lips, and for a moment I brace myself for a hard truth—the kind I have yet to hear but still expect to from my parents. It’s a nice hobby. What’s the point? How can I make money off any of that?
“I think you’re fucking incredible.” He swivels his head and his gaze grabs hold of me, knocking me speechless. Now it’s my turn to suck in a modest smile.
“Thank you,” I utter after he looks away.
He nods.
We pull into the crowded dirt lot, lights strung around picnic tables and food vendors, the happy music of Christmas coloring the air with reds and greens. Dustin lowers the windows and I breathe in. Somehow, it smells like pine outside, despite the fact that most of the green around us comes in the form of desert brush and cacti.
I wait in my seat for Dustin to round the car after he parks, and when he offers his hand, I take it. I take it and I don’t let go because he doesn’t seem to want me to.
We maintain this delicate hold on each other along the circular trail, and while there’s a guarded nature about the way Dustin and I both scan the crowd, there’s also a sweetness to this moment.
“Kettle corn?” He leans his head toward my favorite booth.
I nod, and let go of his hand long enough for him to fish cash from his wallet. He purchases a medium bag and hands it to me to hug close to my chest. When he offers his arm for me to loop mine through, I take it without hesitating, and when I pick out a kernel to feed to him, he bends forward and lets me place it between his lips.
“It’s sweet,” I warn.
He chews slowly, eyes scanning the contours of my face.
“Yes, it is.”
My moment to swoon is cut short by the shrill voice of one Amanda Judge. My mom is waving her hand over her head when Dustin and I turn to face her. She’s manning the ticket booth, and a very anxious little girl stands on the chair beside her.
“I think someone wants to see Santa,” I say.
“Don’t we all.” Dustin chuckles.
We head to my mom and surprisingly, rather than rushing to me, Bristol climbs from her chair and clings to Dustin’s side, her arms stretched up in request. The love that colors his eyes and pulls at his smile warms my body, and the ease with which he bends and sweeps our girl into his arms, bracing her to his side, is both natural and new all at once.
“Santa,” Bristol announces.
“Right. Santa it is,” Dustin says, pointing toward the trail ahead.
I exchange a quick glance with my mom, one that lets each of us know it’s all right to enjoy this night. Our worries will be there when it’s over.
I walk close to Dustin’s side, a little afraid to take his arm again now that he’s holding Bristol, but about a hundred feet into our small climb, he stretches his fingers wide in the space between us, his knuckles brushing mine until I slip my fingers between his and hold on tight. He doesn’t look at me when our hands meet, but he smiles at what’s ahead. He smiles because this is the dream—our shared dream—and for this little slice of time, we are actually living it.
The line to see the big man in red—aka Gary—isn’t very long. Most of the people out this late are older, teenagers and older couples out for the night air and food. Within minutes, Dustin is helping Bristol up on Gary’s knee. She grimaces at first, and I hold out my phone, ready to snap a quick picture before a total meltdown. Dustin kneels in front of her, though, and cups her ear, whispering something. She turns to face him and scrunches her face. He whispers in her ear again and when she looks at him, he nods.
“You can do it,” he says, slowly letting go and letting Gary hold her up.
“She hates this,” I mutter at his side when he reaches me.
“Nah, she’s tough. She’s got this.” He sinks his hands in his pockets and lifts his chin, brandishing his signature arrogant smile. I give him a sideways glance before readying myself to take a picture.
The elves—aka members of my mom’s staff—jingle bells in the air, coaxing Bristol, and maybe Gary too, to look in the right direction. I snap a few photos of my own, but decide to meander toward the monitor to see what kind of shot the professional got.
“So tell me, Bristol. What do you want for Christmas?” Gary has the Santa voice down, and I smile to myself while I compare the two shots showing on the photographer’s screen. I glance to Dustin, about to ask him for his opinion, but he’s busy coaching Bristol.
“You can do it,” he nods.
I laugh quietly, pretty sure she’s going to ask for pancakes and then ask if she can go home and watch cartoons now. My hand is in my pocket, reaching for my credit card, when my daughter—with some sneaky help from her father, no doubt—changes the moment entirely.
“Mommy kiss Dustin.”
The elves nearby giggle, as does the older couple waiting in line behind us. All I can seem to do is stare with wide eyes and an open mouth at the photos I want to buy.
“I’m sorry?” I shift my gaze to Dustin.
Hands still in his pockets, he shrugs his shoulders and pouts his lips as if he is innocent.
“Kiss him! Kiss him!” Bristol has started to kick her legs and giggle.
“Oh, my God,” I utter, returning my focus to Dustin. He looks up with guilty eyes, but eventually gives in and stares into mine, the nerves of the moment finally catching up to him.
“Kiss him!” Bristol continues.
“Someone give her a candy cane!” I shout back, which gets a good laugh from the small crowd.
I cover my face with my hands but step closer to Dustin, parting my fingers to peek through then cupping my face to shield my eyes from the onlookers.
“Did you do this?” I know he did.
“I mean, did I sit on Santa’s lap? No.” He bites his lip, but it slips free as he takes a single step forward.
My heart picks up to a manic pace, and I’m sure everyone can see my entire body quiver. My lips feel numb.
Dustin pulls his hands from his pockets, reaching to my face with his right palm and brushing back a few strands of hair before resting his hand softly against my cheek as his gaze freezes time. I reach forward and clutch the center of his long-sleeved shirt look up into his magical hazel eyes. My home. My everything.
“You heard the girl.”
While the people around us are amused by his banter, an intimacy slips in that draws us closer and somehow blocks everything else in the entire world out. No Alex. No judgements or fears. No past or future. Only a right now. A very electric yet tender right now.