𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 - 𝙰 𝚁𝚢𝚊𝚗 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚢/𝙺𝙹 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:* : 𝟎𝟎𝟏: *:ꔫ: *+ ﾟ

Fractures

📍Concord, NC

June 17th, 2025

The crash had been a blur. Ryan Blaney had always known the risks of racing, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of being on the receiving end of it. The hit came fast, too fast for him to process. One moment, he was pushing through a turn, the crowd's roar in his ears, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The next, there was nothing but fire, metal, and pain.

The first thing Ryan remembered when he woke up was the steady beep of machines, their rhythm unnerving in its regularity. He blinked his eyes open, disoriented by the sharp, sterile whiteness of the hospital room. His body felt like it had been torn apart, but the pain was a dull, constant ache — something that screamed he was alive, but in a way he hadn't quite expected.

A soft voice broke the stillness.

"Ry?" Erin asks carefully.

It was Erin, his older sister, her face etched with concern. She was sitting in a chair beside his bed, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, her eyes tired but relieved to see him awake.

"You're okay," she whispered, though it was clear she wasn't entirely sure of that herself.

Ryan blinked, trying to focus, his throat dry. "What... happened?"

"You don't remember?" Erin asked, her voice trembling just a little. "The crash? You hit the wall pretty hard. You've been out for a while."

The word crash hit him like a punch to the gut, and memories began to trickle back: the flash of headlights in his mirrors, the jarring impact, the twisting of metal and the explosion of sound.

"Is the car... gone?" Ryan croaked, trying to sit up, but the pain from his leg made him wince.

Erin reached out to steady him, her hand on his shoulder. "The car's totaled, Ry. But that's the least of it. You're going to be okay, though."

Ryan nodded, though he wasn't so sure. His mind was foggy, his body sluggish, and all he could think about was the season, the championship run — all of it felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

The door to the room opened then, and in stepped William Byron, Erin's husband and another NASCAR driver. Ryan didn't need to look to know who it was; William's calm presence filled the room the way it always did. He moved toward the bed, his eyes scanning Ryan as if checking for any signs of something more serious than what the doctors had already told him.

"How's he doing?" William asked, his voice steady but soft.

"He's awake," Erin answered, her voice filled with both relief and exhaustion. "The doctors say he's stable, but it's going to be a while before he's back on his feet."

Ryan tried to shake his head, but the dizziness made him stop. "Not sure if I'll ever be back," he muttered. "What if... what if I can't race again?"

William sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, his face soft but serious. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Right now, focus on getting better. One thing at a time."

Ryan closed his eyes, the weight of the words sinking in. But in that moment, he didn't feel the comfort he usually found in William's optimism. The reality of his situation was too stark. Racing had been everything to him — without it, who was he?

The next few hours passed in a blur of nurses, doctors, and well-wishing friends, but by the time evening rolled around, Ryan was alone in the room. Erin and William had gone home for the night, but they promised to be back first thing in the morning. For now, the silence was deafening. Ryan lay there, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts tangled and chaotic.

A few days later, Ryan found himself back at Erin and William's house in Concord, North Carolina. It was the last place he wanted to be, but at least it was familiar. It felt like a world away from the hospital room, but the ache in his leg and the nagging weight in his chest reminded him that his life had changed in an instant. Racing had always been his refuge, his escape from everything else. But now? Now, he didn't know where he fit.

Erin and William had made arrangements for him to recover at their house. They were both busy, but they checked on him regularly, making sure he had everything he needed. Still, there was only so much that could be done when his body refused to cooperate.

He sat on the couch, his leg propped up with pillows, the TV droning in the background. He wasn't watching it; his mind was too far away, lost in the endless swirl of questions. What came next? What could come next? Racing was gone, at least for the foreseeable future, and he couldn't quite imagine doing anything else. The doorbell rang, breaking the quiet. Ryan looked up, startled. He wasn't expecting anyone.

Erin stepped into the living room, a cup of coffee in hand. "You decent?" she asked with a small smile. "I've got something for you."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Something for me? What is it?"

Erin handed him a flyer. "There's a youth sports fundraiser this weekend. Nothing big, but I'm helping out, and I could really use your support. It's for a good cause."

Ryan glanced at the flyer, reading the words in a haze. He wasn't sure if he was ready to be out in the world yet. The thought of facing people, of answering their questions, felt too much to handle. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to act, what he was supposed to say.

"I don't know, Erin," Ryan said, the doubt evident in his voice. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that. I'm not even sure what I'd be doing there."

"It's just a few hours," Erin pressed, sitting down beside him. "It'll be low-key. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I just think it might help you get out of your head for a little while."

Ryan looked at her, the hesitation clear on his face. But Erin's expression was kind, filled with that quiet determination that had always been a part of her.

"You don't have to commit to anything," she said softly. "But it might be a good distraction. You've been cooped up in here long enough."

Ryan looked down at the flyer in his hands, his fingers running over the edges. He didn't want to face the world, but maybe, just maybe, this was the way to start moving forward. It wouldn't be racing, but it was something.

"Alright," he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. "I'll help. But just for a little while."

Erin's face lit up with a smile. "Good. That's all I'm asking."

As Erin left the room, Ryan stared down at the flyer again. He wasn't sure what he was walking into, or what this event would mean for him, but for the first time in days, a small spark of hope flickered inside him. Maybe, just maybe, this was a step toward something new. He wasn't ready to leave behind everything he'd known, but perhaps he didn't have to. Maybe he could find a way to move forward — even if it was just one step at a time.