Credence

by Penelope Douglas

  Pretty sure the three best-looking guys in town live under my roof, but we’re going to Gent, is it? Whole new babe pool, as Noah would say.

  “What’s a pop-up race?”

  Jake glances over at me as he pulls through the crowd and veers toward a clearing on the left.

  Green hills rise up on both sides in front of me as the sun slowly slips behind, and the smoke from the bonfire stings my eyes. Firecrackers, remnants from the 4th of July probably, pop in the distance, and I inhale the scent of barbecue.

  “A good opportunity to network,” he replies. “It’s almost the off season. It’s just a bunch of racers, vendors, and sponsors getting in some last, good practice and making some money.”

  The truck bobs over the terrain of grass and dirt, and he finally hits the brake, putting the truck in Park.

  “What will I do here?” I ask him.

  “Keep your butt under our tent, that’s what.”

  He hops out, and I follow him to the back as he pulls the tailgate down.

  I frown but help him start to unload. Noah comes speeding up with Kaleb behind him, and I look away, taking the other end of the pop-up tent for Jake.

  How did Cici get a bloody nose? I need to talk to Jake about that. I’m living with Kaleb, and Jake doesn’t know how aggressive he got with me the other night. What if there’s more he doesn’t know?

  I look over my shoulder at Kaleb again, his jeans now mostly dry and a black T-shirt on. He pulls off his helmet and hangs it on the handlebar, ignoring the people calling to him and walking over to take a beer from the cooler.

  He doesn’t look at me before he turns around and disappears into the crowd.

  “Tiernan.”

  I turn my attention back to my uncle and continue walking.

  It only takes the two of us twenty minutes—no choice, because the boys ran off—before we have all the swag, gear, posters, and display set up. Jake positions the guys’ motorbikes on either end of the table, and I dig out the Bluetooth speaker we had while fishing and sync it to my phone, starting a playlist.

  Ratt’s “Nobody Rides for Free” pops on, and he laughs under his breath, tossing me a smile. Fitting, I guess.

  Pushing my rolled sleeves up, I grab some decals off the table and stand in front of the tent, handing them out to passersby. Jake glances at me, and I offer a half-smile as he heads over to talk to a couple looking at one of the bikes.

  I’m not sure why, but I kind of feel bad that Kaleb and Noah make him fight for every inch of help. I’m not one to take a parent’s side, but Jake going through what he went through to get here and build all this, he deserves a family.

  I guess I don’t like seeing him alone in everything.

  “I’m gonna go,” Noah says, coming under the tent and grabbing his helmet.

  He wears racing gear, black and orange pants and long-sleeved shirt with the number seventy-eight on the front and back. Is he racing?

  Seeing me, he pauses and grins. He sets the helmet back down and comes behind me, reaches around my waist, pulls up my shirt, and ties the two flaps high up. He knots it right under my breasts, my stomach bare, and then he winks at me with his cocky blue eyes. I scowl.

  “If you bare it, they will come,” he chants. “And by come, I mean—”

  I swat at him. Gross.

  He just laughs, walking away to grab his helmet, and I touch the knot, trying to loosen it to pull my shirt back down.

  But then a guy is suddenly in front of me.

  “Hey,” he says, holding out his hand for a complimentary Van der Berg decal.

  He smiles, and I twist my lips to the side as I hand him one.

  Oooookay.

  “Don’t talk to any sponsors,” I hear my uncle order.

  I turn to see Noah stuff something into his mouth from the cooler and walk away.

  “I might if I win,” he mumbles over his food.

  “If the bike wins,” Jake retorts, “be sure everyone knows who made it.”

  A few more people pass by me, pausing to take a decal.

  Noah charges past, out of the tent, and I hear the announcer come over the loudspeaker, sounding like the microphone is stuffed halfway down his throat.

  Engines rev, and the crowd rushes up the hill for a better view, I assume. I glance over my shoulder, my uncle seated on a chair with his face buried in the engine—or the carburetor or whatever it is—trying to act like that bolt actually needs to be tightened.

  “You won’t watch?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, and I clench the decals in both my hands as I stare back out at the crowd. The dirt track runs past here, but the starting line is out of my view. Stars dot the midnight blue sky, and the glow from the stadium lights over the hill pulls at me.

  Is Kaleb watching him? Seems like someone should be.

  My legs itch with the need to set off with everyone else, but I stay planted.

  The track clears, and the announcer starts shouting over the loudspeaker. I know races usually start with a gate drop, but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hear a shot fired or something, too.

  After a moment, though, the crowd up on the hill starts cheering and moving around, and I know it’s started. The direction of their gaze changes, and I steel my spine and bob a little, desperate to see what’s happening.

  I throw a look at my uncle, searching for any reaction, but he’s deep in concentration as if that rear tire is the most important thing in the world.

  Someone should be watching Noah.

  Inching forward, I gauge the crowd on the hill, watching their bodies slowly moving to the left as their eyes follow the racers, and I shoot my gaze in that direction just in time to see a pack of dirt bikes racing around the bend. Dust kicks up on the track, their whirring getting louder the closer they get, and I step forward, watching them disappear behind a jump and quickly reappear, flying through the air before they disappear back down again.

  The ground vibrates under my feet, the noise of the crowd and the machines pulsing against my body, and I smile, shooting up on my tiptoes to look for Noah.

  Bikes zoom past, my stomach dropping to my feet as I tip my head back, seeing Noah catch air, his body in his orange and black pants and shirt leaning stick-rod straight over his handlebars before he comes down again. I laugh, my hand shooting to my head as I watch him race past in his helmet.

  I have a sudden urge to cup my hands around my mouth and cheer him on.

  But I stop midway and clap instead. He looks so good.

  He looks incredible. And he’s in first place.

  The same green bike I saw at the Van der Berg house a couple days ago trails, and I guess that’s Terrance Holcomb.

  Jerking my smile around, I see my uncle still engrossed in his work. How can he not watch this?

  Envy paralyzes me. Noah looks like he’s having so much fun.

  But I can’t stop myself anymore. Quickly, before Jake has a chance to stop me, I scurry over the dirt track after the bikes have passed and run up the green hill.

  I look around, seeing if Kaleb is anywhere close, but I don’t spot him.

  Joining the crowd at the top, I squeeze between two people in time to look down and see Noah speeding for the finish line head to head with Holcomb.

  He revs his engine, popping up on the rear wheel, and races over the finish line, just moments ahead of everyone else as he lands on both wheels again.

  The announcer’s voice booms, cheers go off, and I see Noah shoot his fist in the air.

  I clap softly, my heart racing too hard to do more. Good for him.

  I’m kind of jealous he’s so good at something like this. I’ve never been good at anything.

  Spinning around, I head back to the tent, the spectators dispersing and the music starting up again.

  Jake still busies himself working on something I’m sure is fine already, and I head over to the food stand next to our tent, grabbing some nachos and cheese.

  Taking a small bite, I app
roach my uncle. “Would you like some?”

  He meets my eyes but doesn’t look to see what I have. “No, thank you.”

  I watch him as I dip another chip in and out of the cheese. “He’s really good,” I tell him.

  He simply nods, going back to his work.

  I narrow my eyes. Jake isn’t like my father.

  But he is.

  Hannes wouldn’t have watched me, because he wouldn’t have cared. Jake refuses to support Noah in this. Why?

  Walking over, I’m about to set my food down and go back to handing out decals, but a crowd heads our way, people swarming Noah. I watch as he pulls off his shirt and throws it on our table, tossing me a cocky smile as he grabs my nachos away from me. He swipes up some cheese, dabs it on my nose, and then dives in, sucking it off as I growl.

  “Noah,” I chide, squirming away, but he just laughs.

  I was going to congratulate you. Never mind. I wipe the cheese and his spit off my nose.

  Stealing my chips, he walks over to his father. “You know, I can be a lot more use to Van der Berg Extreme if I’m on TV.”

  “Yeah, and then what?” Jake looks up at his son. “What do you think you’re going to do after your fifteen minutes are up or an injury sends you home in a wheelchair?”

  Noah scoffs, shaking his head. “Were you even watching?” he says. “I won! I beat them all. I’m good, and I love it.”

  “Motocross racing—”

  “Isn’t a career,” Noah finished snidely, sounding like he’d had this conversation a hundred times already. “And keeping us chained up on the peak isn’t a life. You should deal with that.”

  He spins around, shoving my nachos back at me, and stalks off again, circling the waist of some young woman, both of them disappearing into the crowd.

  I risk a glance at Jake, seeing his jaw flex as he yanks the socket wrench counter-clockwise like it’s his kid’s mouth he’s tightening shut instead of a bolt.

  So that’s it.

  It isn’t hard to see what Jake loves and values about living his life on his terms, away from the horror of our family.

  But Noah’s hungry for something else. He’s not lazy, careless, or uninspired. He’s unhappy.

  Setting down my tray, I walk up and lean on the table where Jake works.

  “Is he right?” I ask, hearing the man on the loudspeaker announce another race. “Are you hiding up here?”

  He tosses me a look and then rises to reach around the machine, fiddling with something.

  “Pull your shirt down,” he grumbles.

  I arch an eyebrow, fighting to hold back a smile.

  He tosses the tool and leans down on the table, letting out a sigh.

  “Goddamn kids…” He shakes his head.

  He looks over at me, giving me a sad smile. He might not want Noah to be hurt like he was, but if Jake knows anything, it’s that our parents don’t always know what’s best. I mean, who’s to say Flora would’ve been a happily-ever-after for him?

  But he would’ve ran with her anyway, because we want what we want. Noah will do the same.

  “Hey,” someone says.

  I turn and see Cici Diggins walking into the tent with her hands in her jean pockets as she eyes me.

  I still. Neither of our interactions have been particularly pleasant. What does she want?

  My uncle moves away, off to dig in the truck bed for something, and I look back at Cici, her nose showing no sign that it was bleeding earlier today.

  “Hi,” I finally answer.

  She holds her hand out. “Cici.”

  We shake. “Tiernan.”

  I guess we haven’t been properly introduced.

  “Are you okay?” I gesture to her nose.

  But she just breathes out a laugh. “I’m the only one who hurts me.”

  I release her hand, not sure what that means.

  I glance over my shoulder. Jake opens the truck door, digging in the glove box for something.

  “So, you wanna dance?”

  I jerk back around, looking at her. What?

  People move around the bonfire, the song drifting out of the big speakers propped up in truck beds around the lot. But the song is slow. They’re all close.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  But she just grabs my hand anyway and drags me over to the bonfire. I stumble to keep up, trying to pull out of her hand.

  “Hey, stop,” I bark.

  I don’t dance well.

  Turning around, she takes my waist and pulls me in, and I shove her off, but she’s too quick. She grabs the knot my shirt is tied in and jerks me into her, my damn neck nearly getting whiplash.

  I bare my teeth, feeling my stomach rub against hers where her white tank has ridden up.

  “It’s okay.” She smirks down at me. “I know you’re straight.”

  She moves, swaying her hips and grinding on me a little, and my heart is pounding out of my damn chest as my feet shift to keep myself from falling.

  “Yeah, how do you know?”

  “You’re saying there’s a chance you’re not?” she asks, teasing me.

  I roll my eyes.

  “You shouldn’t be,” she says. “I’m a lot safer than a guy. At least, I can’t get you pregnant.”

  I can’t help it. A laugh escapes, and I relax a little.

  But not too much.

  “Why don’t you cut the act?” I tell her. “You’re doing this to get Kaleb’s attention.”

  A little girl-on-girl action, which he’ll certainly notice, because she’s trying it with someone who lives in his house.

  I take a glance around. He’s probably not even here anyway. I haven’t seen him since he parked his bike. Probably hitched a ride home with someone else.

  She drops her hands to my waist and comes in, her nose nearly brushing mine.

  I don’t know why, but I stand my ground, unflinching.

  “It takes a lot more than this to get his attention,” she threatens in a low voice. “Are you available later?”

  I look away, knowing exactly what she’s hinting at.

  I shake my head clear. I’m not letting Kaleb pop my cherry in a threesome. I’m not letting Kaleb do anything ever again, in fact.

  “You heard the fight in the cave,” she whispers in my ear. “You were eavesdropping.”

  Was I?

  “You followed us,” she taunts, “because you want him, too. You were jealous.”

  I quirk a smile, swaying to the music as I slide my arms up and around her neck.

  Enough.

  I lean into her ear. “I didn’t even know you were back there,” I whisper. “I was hiding, because I was touching myself in the water.”

  She bursts out in a snort, bringing her head up and looking at me, incredulous.

  My face flushes, and I’m not sure why I just told her that, but I don’t really care, either. I don’t like games, and I certainly won’t play hers.

  “Seriously?” she asks, almost with an impressed look on her face. “Aren’t you kind of famous? I could go on Twitter and tell everyone what you’re telling me now.”

  You could anyway. Whether it’s true or not.

  Stunts like that won’t get her what she wants anyway. I’m not in her way.

  “People do what they want.” I squeeze her hips, dancing. “So I don’t care. About anything. Your behavior is none of my business.”

  Then, I flash my gaze over her shoulder and see him.

  Kaleb.

  He stands in the distance, beyond the crowd—alone—and leaning against a tree trunk. He stares at me as he raises a bottle of beer to his lips and takes a drink, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

  And despite the knot coiling in my stomach every time he looks at me, my heart pumps hot blood through my body, filling me with the promise of anticipation.

  The promise of something about to happen.

  I can’t stop myself. “And in a few weeks,” I tell her, “I won’t even know what’s happ
ening online anyway, because I’ll be locked away on the peak for months and months...” I pause and then continue for added effect, “and months.”

  With him, I don’t say out loud, but the words hang in the air.

  I want it to sound like a threat, even if it’s an empty one. She doesn’t need to know Kaleb scares me or treats me worse than the animals he hunts. At least they’re of value to him.

  Rising back up, I look her in the eye, knowing that from November through April, I’ll have the upper hand. If I wanted it. Do you really want to piss me off?

  “I dare you,” she threatens.

  “I’m not sure I’ll have to do anything.”

  And I dart my eyes behind her, gesturing to Kaleb’s dark greens that hold us in a trance like there’s no one or nothing else at the party. She follows my gaze, seeing him watching us, and even though my threat is baseless, my last sentence isn’t.

  He came after me once already, after all.

  Suddenly, a hand grips my upper arm and yanks me, and I suck in a breath, looking up at my uncle.

  “Everything with a dick is watching you two,” Jake growls, looking down at me.

  Watching? Huh?

  It takes a moment, but I start moving my eyes around the bonfire, seeing people looking at Cici and me, especially a few groups of guys on the outskirts of the circle grinning and whispering to each other.

  I glare up at him, working my arm free. “Would you have stopped us if I were dancing with a guy?”

  “If you had been dancing with a man like that in public, I would’ve taken you over my knee.”

  He casts a quick look at Cici and then back down to me. “We’re going home.”

  Taking my hand, he pulls me along, back toward the tent.

  What the hell? I might care if I do something that reflects poorly on him, but I wasn’t doing anything wrong. So a few guys got their rocks off watching a couple of girls dancing. I honestly wasn’t even trying to dance well, so caught up in our conversation as I was.

  He pushes through the crowd, and my wrist burns. I pull away, yanking free, and stomp past him toward the truck. Opening the back door, I climb in behind the driver’s seat and slam the door.

  They can pack up the tent themselves.

  I shake my head.

  That’s the second time I’ve gotten yelled at for drawing attention I didn’t ask for. This possessive obsession with protecting my innocence is ridiculous. Just because they’re “experienced” doesn’t mean they’re any more mature or wise. I would even debate they’re less so. That’s been pretty clear since I arrived.