“Then when I finally try to pick those pieces back up and move on with what little pride I have left, you come back with a pair of white gloves on and promise to take better care of those pieces the second time around. So tell me Nixon, would you be stupid enough to trust that person with the white gloves and riding boots on the second time around?”
I stop my rant and look down at him, watching him strain to keep his head off the ground while he looks at me. He opens his mouth to answer me, but as soon as my brows lift waiting to hear what he has to say, he closes it and drops the back of his head onto the ground, closing his eyes.
I nod to no one, noting that Nixon has finally realized just how much he hurt me.
“Goodbye Nixon. By the way, that was a classy move, flaunting the one person who tried to take me out of the race in front of me. Enjoy Jail Bait Jen,” I say sarcastically and walk back to my trailer to try and keep my focus on this heat.
* *
I’m at the starting gate, double checking all of my gear and singing Big Balls by AC/DC, the song Jack was playing before we finished at the trailer, in my head while I do so. When everything is checked I look left, nodding to the rider next to me. She reciprocates and I turn my head to my right to do the same. That’s when I notice that Jen Caruso is lined up next to me. I nod to be courteous, but she narrows her eyes at me behind her goggles and then slowly shakes her head at me.
What the fuck ever.
With my eyes still trained on hers, I lean forward and give my idling engine a quick rev, the sounds rumbling through me and letting Jen know I plan to kick her ass on this track.
Then I see a flash of color out of my peripheral vision that has me shifting my gaze over to the side of the stands. Nixon is sitting on the bench, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at us lined up at the gate. I’m not sure if he’s looking at Jen or me, but he looks dejected and just plain sad.
On one hand I know I shouldn’t care. He tossed me aside and then tried to change the rules of breaking up. He thought that he could hurt me and then just pick me up and dust me off like things would go back to the way they were, and that pisses me off.
But on the other hand I really liked Nixon. I might have even loved him. He treated me like I was different than any other woman he had ever met before. He handled me with the utmost care when we were alone. In public was a completely different story. With that thought, my mind snaps back to the present.
I have to look away from him and get my head back in the game before I do something stupid. Like get-off-my-bike-and-run-to-him-in-the-stands stupid.
I hear the beeps, signaling the countdown to the gate drop and clear my mind of anything other than the moves I need to make to win this heat.
When the gate drops I gun it and jump into the lead with Jen close on my heels. I stay in the lead for three laps, the white board that Adam holds up indicates that my time is getting better each lap, before Jen guns it harder than I do on a table top jump and pulls into first place. I stay on her back tire as close as I can without hitting her because, unlike her, I don’t want to make her crash. I want to win this fair and square.
Ten laps in with two to go, Jen is still leading but I’m close behind. We come around a turn, which she takes wide, and I cut in close beating her around the turn. I am now in the lead and I feel a small smile spread across my face.
This feels so good. This release of tension is even better than sex, but only by a little bit.
Through the last two laps Jen tries everything she can to pull ahead, but I keep the lead and cross the checkered flag first. I take the table top jump one last time and whip while in the air, turning my bike to the side before righting it and landing with my fist in the air in victory.
Adam and Jack speed on foot toward me, wrapping me in hugs as soon as they make it to my side.
“Great race Em. You kicked ass,” Adam yells.
“You did good, sweetie. Nice, clean race,” Jack says much quieter than Adam’s tone. I smile at both of them and dismount my bike, letting them deal with it while I go shake hands with some of the other girls in the race. Jen is nowhere to be seen.
When I make it back to my trailer I decide to change out of my suit and into a pair of shorts and a tank top before I have to go do my sponsored duties and sign autographs. When I come out of my changing room, Jen is standing directly across from me, leaning against Nixon’s trailer.
“Good race Jen,” I say, trying to be nice.
Jen must not take it this way because she pushes off the trailer and takes a few steps closer to me, trying to be threatening but really looking like a high school girl stomping her feet in a tiff.
She stops about a foot away from me and scowls before speaking.
“That turn in was a cheap move, Black. You cheated,” she whines out.
What? She can’t be serious right now, can she? The same girl who chopped at me while we were in mid air and caused me to live in my own stink for weeks on end is accusing me of cheating?
Wow.
“How can it be cheating if it was a clean move, Jen? I’ve seen you use the same exact move, along with every single other rider out there to get ahead. You’re just pissed because I won but second place is still okay. You’ll get another chance to smell my exhaust when you come in second at the finals,” I smirk as I watch anger turn into fury.
She takes a menacing step in my direction and before I can process what she’s really doing, her hand comes up and thunders across my cheek. My head moves slightly to the side with the momentum but it wasn’t that forceful of a hit.
I turn my eyes back to hers and prepare myself for a fight but as soon as I take a step toward her I realize she might be underage. I don’t want to go to jail for assault of a minor.
“How old are you, Jen?” I ask. My question must have thrown her because weird look passes across her features and her whole body jerks back like I zapped her.
“I’m nineteen, why?” she answers.
Awesome sauce, fight on.
“I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to jail for hurting a minor before I kicked your ass. Now that I know you’re of age, let’s go,” I call and flick my hands, inviting her to make the first move.
She does, taking another step toward me with her open palm raised. What Jen isn’t expecting is that my father made me take self defense and boxing lessons when I was younger so I could defend myself around the guys on the dirt tracks if needed.
My hands are balled into fists and ready to strike when she gets close enough.
Like lightening my blow strikes, hitting her right cheek bone with enough force to knock her ass into the dirt. She shakes her head, as if clearing it, and shoots me a look of surprise, like she didn’t think I would punch her.
She thought wrong.
Jen stands and quickly moves, a screech escaping her mouth as she barrels for me. She reaches me and quickly grabs a huge handful of hair, pulling it hard enough to kink my head to the side. I am trying to land fists anywhere I can, her stomach, her collarbone, even her ribs while she keeps smacking and scratching at my face and chest with her free hand.
Then she takes a cheap shot, kicking me in my unprotected shin with her stiff riding boots. I scream in pain, but instead of giving up, I take a page out of her How to Fight like a Whiny Bitch handbook. I grab a huge handful of her blonde hair and pull as hard as I can, internally smiling when I feel some of it detach from the scalp.
With both of us leaning our bodies in the same direction, our angle and momentum throws us both into the dirt. Jen and I are now rolling around trying to gain the upper hand on each other and both screaming like someone is dying.
When I finally get my body saddled on top of hers, I feel two large hands wrap around my waist and pull me away.
My arms and legs are flailing mid air, hoping that whoever has a hold of me lets go so I can get back to kicking this little bitch’s ass.
“Sugar, relax. Just breathe,” Nixon whispers into my
ear. My body starts to sag against his after a minute, my adrenaline starting to wear off.
When Jen stands up and stomps toward us, Nixon lets go of me and speeds toward her, wrapping his arms around her lower waist and lifting her into the air. She must see the look of shock on my face from Nixon’s hold and she takes full advantage, winding her legs around his waist and wrapping her arms around his neck, smiling like a snake at me the entire time.
Okay, well at least I know where Nixon stands when it comes to us. All that shit about him not being able to picture a life without me was all a lie.
My entire body feels numb. While Nixon is whispering into Jen’s ear, his back still turned to me as I walk away. I can’t even be breathing the same air as Nixon King right now.
When I am about thirty yards away from our trailers I hear Nixon yell my name loudly, like he was expecting me to be waiting for him to finish whispering sweet nothings into Jen’s ear.
Fuck Nixon King, I tell myself as I try to keep my ripped and dirty tank top in place.
I run as fast as I can, which is a bit difficult with shooting pain and a huge lump surfacing on my shin, to the ladies restroom where I lock myself in a stall and cry for at least ten minutes.
Chapter 30
I had one week before the finals came and I made sure to spend every weekday morning on my track. If the Black Bear people asked me to come to their indoor track to train so they could keep track of my lap times, I did, but they knew that I had an outdoor track at my house, so they mostly let me ride at home.
Today is Saturday and there is a promotion junket that Black Bear has all of its riders attending for some new four wheeling races that they were sponsoring. I normally love going to these junkets because I get to see a lot of friends that I’ve raced with and basically grown up with, but today I just couldn’t muster up the energy to be happy.
I chose to wear an old dress that belonged to my mother in hopes that it would make me feel a bit better. The spaghetti strapped ivory tea dress with green leaves stitched in would show off my full sleeve of brightly colored flowers well. I pair it with some pale green heels and leave my hair down, choosing wavy curls.
I have a car come pick me up because I know that there will be drinking at this particular junket, and more than that, I know Nixon will be here so I will absolutely be drinking tonight.
After walking in alone and answering stupid questions about how I was feeling about the final race of the season to three reporters in a row, I walk in and am immediately met by Harlow.
“Hey Emmie, you look beautiful,” she says through a smile.
“Thanks Harlow, you look great too,” I tell her, eyeing the white Black Bear t-shirt and skinny jeans that she’s paired with a pair of hot pink Chucks.
“I didn’t think we were supposed to dress up for this thing,” she whispers and looks around at how everyone else is dressed.
“Oh no, we didn’t have to dress up. I just like wearing dresses whenever I get the chance.”
Harlow nods. “Well, let’s make this night fun and get trashed. What do you say, Emmie Black?”
I feel the first genuine smile I’ve had in weeks spread across my face. It’s so nice to have a good friend.
“I say that’s the best idea anyone has had all night, Harlow Carter.”
We link arms and make our way through the crowds of people toward the bar set up in the back of the room. Once there, we grab our drinks and survey the crowd.
I don’t see Nixon anywhere, not that I am looking for him or anything. I keep telling myself that I just need to find him so that I can stay on the opposite side of the room.
Harlow and I are met by a few more friends, two that I’ve been riding with since I was just starting out on the pro circuit, and we shoot the shit while the crowds begin to thicken. Pretty soon the arena is filled with thousands of people, most of them in jeans and a t-shirt, some in suits and dresses.
A flash of white to my right catches my eye, so I turn my head to find Nixon standing on the other side of the room his eyes locked directly on me.
At just a glance he looks like his normal, sex on a stick self, but I can see even through a crowd of people that he looks sad and, if the dark lines under his eyes are any indication, he isn’t sleeping well.
A vibration against my left breast jolts me out of my staring contest with Nixon. My phone, which I shoved in my bra because I didn’t want to bring a purse, is buzzing. I pull it out and see that Brandon is calling me.
That’s weird, Brandon doesn’t ever call me.
“Hello?”
“Emmie, oh God, you need to get to Great Haven Hospital as soon as you can,” he says breathlessly.
“What? Why?”
“It’s your dad, Em. He had a heart attack here at the shop an hour or so ago. It was a bad one,” he whispers.
My mind goes blank for a second while I focus all my energy into not collapsing in a heap on the floor.
“Em, you okay?” Harlow asks, wrapping her hand around my arm and bringing me back to the present.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Brandon,” I mutter into my phone and then end the call, trying to find the number for my driver so he can come pick me up.
“My dad had a heart attack and he’s in the hospital. I need to get my car here now so I can get to him,” I tell Harlow while focusing on my phone like it’s the only thing keeping me from passing out.
“Emmie, the line to drop people off is probably at least a mile long. It will take your driver forever to make his way through that and pick you up.”
Shit, I hadn’t thought about that. I look up at her with tears barely keeping themselves in my eyes as I think of what I should do. Harlow answers for me.
“Honey, my two stroke is right outside, just to the left of the entrance. It’s a black and white zebra striped kick start Yamaha. Take it and then text me the number to your driver and I’ll take that. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll just call Ryan to come get me.”
The tears will no longer stay in my eyes. I wrap my arms tightly around her shoulders and mutter a quick “thank you” into her ear before I turn and shove my way through the crowd to get out.
When I make it to her bike, which thankfully stands out against the hundreds of other dirt bikes in the parking lot, I shove her helmet on and tuck my dress in around my legs so I can ride.
I kick start the bike and focus on safe driving through the streets to the hospital. I’m not in protective gear and the tops of my feet are getting beat to shit every time I have to shift gears with my heels on, but it won’t do dad any good if I show up on a stretcher because I was speeding and got into an accident.
It takes everything I have not to zip through traffic like an idiot in an attempt to get to dad, but I finally make it in one piece.
I park the bike in the closest spot I can find by the E.R. and run as fast as my green high heeled feet would take me.
“I’m looking for my father Mark Black. Please help me,” I quiver out to the nurse at the desk.
She begins typing on her computer and then looks back at me with sympathetic eyes.
“He’s in surgery right now and I’m not sure how long it’s going to take. If you could have a seat, we’ll let you know when he’s out.”
“Is he okay? Why is he in surgery?” I whisper, ignoring the tears streaming down my face.
She shakes her head and gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry I can’t give you any information at this time. A doctor will be out here soon to explain things to you. Please have a seat.” She waves her hand toward the stiff looking chairs propped against the wall that are facing a muted television.
My body is getting closer to the chairs, but I can’t feel myself moving. I lower myself into a blue metal chair and look to the linoleum covered floor trying to think positive thoughts but failing miserably.
I lost my mom just over sixteen years ago and it just about killed both my father and me. I can’t lose him now. He’s the only fa
mily I have left. I have no aunts or uncles since both of my parents were only children, all of my grandparents are gone, no siblings to depend on. Not even a boyfriend to lean on.
Just then a pair of gray Vans appears on the floor in front of me. My eyes travel up the loose fitting jeans that are riding dangerously low on a pair of cut hips. A white button up shirt with the arms rolled up to the elbows covers a broad and muscular chest.
I finally make it to the face, finding a square jaw dusted with stubble, a sharp nose with a bump at the bone between his light brown sympathetic looking eyes, and longer hair standing straight up on top of his head, looking tousled and sexy.
“Nixon,” I whisper through my tears.
He bends so that he’s kneeling in front of me. “Sugar.”
I throw my arms around his neck and bury my face into his neck while I sob. I know that he and I are not on the best terms right now and he broke my heart in the worst way, but I really need someone at this moment.
He runs his hand up and down my back while whispering comforting words in my ear about how my dad will be fine and we’ll get through this.
I’m not sure if he’s talking about my dad being in the hospital or if he’s talking about he and I, but at the moment I don’t care. I just want my dad to be alright.
* *
Two hours later and I still haven’t heard anything from the doctors. The nurse sitting behind the desk gives me a dirty look every time I stand up because I’ve cussed her out one too many times about the doctors taking their sweet ass time to come talk to me.
“Mark Black family?” I hear from across the room. I shoot out of the hard chair and rush through the waiting area toward the man in the white coat standing by the E.R. doors. He’s older looking, his white hair missing from the top of his head, and dark circles showing through his wire rimmed glasses.
“I’m Mark’s daughter, Emmie,” I mutter, trying to hold back the tears I’d just barely gotten under control. I feel Nixon’s arm wrap around my shoulder and a bit of my anxiety eases.
Down & Dirty Page 21
