"How confident are you?" Aron Michael asked, his gaze fixed on his son. They sat under the shade of a large umbrella, the pre-race tension of the paddock a low hum around them. Jackson took a slow sip of his juice, the picture of calm.
"I'm confident that I can win if I get a good start," Jackson replied, his voice even. He momentarily stopped drinking, meeting his father's eyes. "I have to."
"Good. That is the confidence you need," Aron said, a proud smile touching his lips as he reached out to ruffle his son's hair. Jackson instinctively pulled away, a faint blush on his cheeks, now at an age where such public displays of affection were becoming annoying.
