But to me, Betty Jean was a badass name. My bike had taken its share of beatings and it still ran like a dream.
Or at least it used to.
I backed it down the small ramp and into the yard where I gassed it up and fiddled around with it until I had it idling happily. I gave it a slow test run around the property, and when everything seemed to still be in working order, I steered it down the driveway and loaded it into the back of my truck.
Betty Jean. That was a dependable name. I ran my hand along the cracked leather of the seat and the chipped plastic of the body before heading back to the shed.
In an old plastic storage container, I found my boots, my helmet, and the rest of my riding gear. I shoved everything in the passenger seat of my truck and after grabbing a bottle of water from my fridge, I headed out toward the off-road trail where I used to ride. There was a track nearby, but I wasn’t in the mood to do jumps and tricks today. I just wanted to lose myself in the ride. There were a few people who liked to ride ATV’s on the trail I chose, but it never used to be crowded. I hoped that nothing had changed since I’d been gone.
It was late afternoon by the time I parked. The sun was still baking as it hung in the sky, but the trees overhead promised enough shade to make the ride comfortable even if I was dressed head-to-toe in riding gear.
After hauling my bike out of the bed of the truck, I dressed quickly and then slid on the helmet. It smelled faintly like summer afternoons, the lemon-scented soap I used to religiously clean the helmet with, and gasoline. Not a bad smell, but a bittersweet one. The smell of my childhood.
I fastened the helmet and then slid on my gloves. Straddling the bike, I went through the familiar motions until a few confident flicks of my heel on the kick starter had old Betty Jean growling impatiently.
The vibration of my bike under me settled some of the nagging feelings in my gut. I pressed the gas and turned toward the trail, allowing the back wheel of the bike to spin out in a jaunty arc before placing my feet on the pegs and taking off down the trail. I splashed through mud puddles and sped down the familiar turns of the trail, feeling the negativity fade with each minute that passed. The sunlight dappled across me, the leaves swayed in the breeze I created, and the only sound was my breath and the hum of my bike.
To me, it always sounded like freedom.
***
The trail was starting to get dark as I made my way back to my truck. It wasn’t evening yet, but thanks to the tint of my visor and the canopy of thick trees overhead, it was darker than it should have been and it was getting difficult to see the obstacles in front of me. When I broke through the cover of trees, I was surprised to see another vehicle parked next to mine—a shiny new truck that made mine look like it had been cobbled together from random scraps. The truck was familiar, and so was the figure sitting on the tailgate.
My first thought at seeing Austin was that something was wrong. I threw on the brake as soon as I neared my truck, the back wheel fishtailing in a cloud of dust. I engaged the kick stand with a nudge of my boot and turned the engine off. I’d barely gotten the helmet off my head when I noticed that Austin had already closed the tailgate of his truck and was rounding the side of his vehicle to pull open the driver’s side door.
I finally came to my senses. “You’re leaving?”
He tossed the bottle of water he’d been holding inside the truck and turned his head to look at me. “Yup.”
“Is something wrong? Were you here to talk to me?” I asked in confusion.
He shook his head. “Nope.” He gripped the door frame as if to get inside the truck.
I tucked my helmet under my arm and propped it on my hip, frowning at him. “What were you doing here then?”
He’d already started to get into his seat, but stopped and turned back to face me. “What I’ve always done.”
I raised my eyebrows at him in question because I had no idea what he was talking about.
His hand was on the roof of the truck. He pushed off angrily and took a few steps toward me, the early evening sun bathing him in gold. “It’s not safe to go riding alone. If something happened to you, no one would know.”
His words caught me by surprise. He’d come to keep an eye on me? Sure, he’d always kept me company on rides when we were kids, but…but that was when we were best friends. When we were Frankie and Austin. What were we now? Neighbors? Enemies? Frenemies?
I didn’t know what we were anymore, but the fact that he’d shown up, even if he didn’t want to feel the obligation to do so, still made me feel grateful. I was thankful that there was something, a shred of our shared past, that still linked him to me. Maybe it was selfish to feel that way, but I couldn’t help but want it to be true no matter how unfair it was to Austin.
He turned back toward his open door, and I quickly got off my bike so I could follow him. I grabbed his arm, and he allowed me to turn him to face me.
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded once.
“And I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Dallas.” My fingers tightened on his arm. “I’m sorry about…everything.”
Austin’s jaw clenched and unclenched a few times as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. Or maybe he just couldn’t share them. “Don’t ride alone anymore,” he finally said. Then he pulled his arm out of my grip and got into his truck.
I returned to my bike and moved it out of the way, watching him the entire time as he backed his truck out of the spot and then headed down the road toward home. The fact that he’d come here, had known I was here and cared if I got hurt…I had to unzip my motocross jacket because I suddenly couldn’t breathe.
If this was how protective of me he was when he hated me, I could only imagine what he would have done if I had walked inside the Venetian all those years ago instead of walking away.
It was overwhelming…the heartache. The remorse. The undeniable truth that even though I hated the choice I made, it was the only thing I could have done to protect his future from his intense need to protect me. He would have given it all up and yet the greedy part of me wished I had let him.
I wished Austin would come back so I could tell him everything. I wanted to tell him that I regretted not staying in Vegas. I regretted not telling him the truth. I regretted that I never contacted him again.
As the dust from his departing vehicle finally settled and his taillights were long gone, one thought echoed through my mind.
I regret it all.
— FRANKIE —
11. WALKIE-TALKIE
Austin wasn’t around much the next week. He’d leave his house after his run in the morning and wouldn’t come back until late in the day. The fact that I knew this just proved how obsessed I’d become with him.
Sometimes, after I was done working on the house for the day and Drew had gone home, I’d get the urge to ride my dirt bike. I’d wait until I’d see Austin return and I’d make a lot of racket getting my bike out of the shed and loading it onto my truck. I never outright asked him to come, didn’t have the courage to do it and be rejected, but as I pulled out of my driveway, I’d see Austin’s truck pulling out of his driveway before following in the distance.
When I’d reach the parking area, he’d park his truck a few spots away and stay inside as I unloaded my bike and suited up. He never once acknowledged me, and didn’t bother to get out of his vehicle until I was gone. Then, an hour later, as soon as he saw me come back up the path safe and sound, he’d put away his comic book or whatever he was doing to entertain himself, and he’d get in his truck and leave without ever saying a word.
There was an odd sort of comfort that even though I was alone, I didn’t feel alone. His presence and unspoken urge to look out for me said more than simple words could have.
But his determination to look out for me caused a lingering sense of confusion. Yes, in every way I regretted my decision to leave Vegas four years ago and never look back, but at the same time, I also felt I didn’t
have any other choice. From Austin’s current devotion to my safety, despite being angry with me, it had crossed my mind more than once that if I’d told him the truth in Vegas that night, he would have done exactly as I’d feared. And if he had quit the show, he would be the one with regrets now, because Dallas would be gone, and he would have never had the chance to live his dream.
I’d much rather be the one bearing the burden of regrets. I had deceived and abandoned Austin, but at least he’d lived out his dream with Dallas, no matter how short the time had been. Maybe the show wasn’t worth the sacrifice that had been made, but the time he’d spent with Dallas certainly was.
As the days passed on, though, it was becoming harder for me to accept that I couldn’t stay in Buckley. I knew that I had to return home to Texas because my responsibilities there were not something I could just leave behind. Soon enough, Nana’s house would no longer be home.
No matter how much I wanted to fall back on easy habits, I had to sell the house. And once that happened, I wouldn’t be able to open the window anymore to hear Austin play. By the end of the summer, my old bedroom window would belong to someone else. For that reason, along with many others, I knew it was dangerous to allow myself to get close to Austin again. It wasn’t fair to either of us when I knew that I’d be leaving.
But it was also incredibly easy to fall into old habits and patterns. I’d been gone long enough to grow up and change, but so much was still the same. Like Ms. Rose. Despite how busy I was working with Drew each day, I made sure to go over to her house on Wednesdays for tea and coconut cake just like I had promised to. It was comforting, in the way that being around Nana had been comforting. My house had always been so full of people when I was growing up. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing that until I’d spent the afternoon with Ms. Rose, reminiscing about my childhood.
I knew that allowing myself to step back into the past and rekindle old relationships would just end up hurting me in the end when I had to sell the house and leave, but it was too hard to resist. Like when the sounds of Austin’s cello started coming from next door more and more often, I had no choice but to stop and listen.
On Saturday night, Austin was playing the cello with the window open. Even though it was hot enough to melt the paint off my walls, I had my window open too. He was playing “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin, and I had to smile at the way the rock song sounded at home on the strings under Austin’s fingers.
I sat by the window with the old fan angled on me, blowing the hot air around enough that it cooled my sweaty skin. My hair was twisted up into a knot on my head, and I was wearing a tank top and shorts, wishing I could strip down to my underwear.
The smart decision would be to close the window and let the AC cool me off, but then I wouldn’t be able to hear Austin play. And the fact that he had his window open even though his body was glistening with sweat made me believe that he wanted me to hear him. In a way, I felt he was talking to me in the only way he could right now. Whether it was our painful past, or the loss of Dallas, or Nana’s stroke, we both were having a hard time connecting with one another in any way but anger and frustration. But this…his music…had always been common ground.
When the song finished, his eyes lifted and immediately found me watching him. I reached for my walkie-talkie and held it up shaking it so he could see. Then I used it to point past him. He turned his head to the desk behind him and finally noticed his old walkie-talkie that I’d propped there.
Thanks to my stalking abilities every night as I listened to him play, I’d seen it laying on his desk, seemingly forgotten. Earlier today when he went out for a run, I went over and was surprised to find that my old key still worked. I went inside, replaced the batteries and left without causing further mischief. This was my peace offering. A piece of our history that felt safe.
Austin picked up the walkie-talkie, fiddled with the buttons on the front, and then gave me a wry look when it crackled to life.
My device buzzed with static right before Austin spoke. “What other surprises did you leave in here?” he asked, looking around his room warily.
“Nothing. I just wanted to talk.”
Even from across the yard, I could see Austin’s brow rise in disbelief. “You could have knocked on my door if you wanted to talk.”
“Would you have answered?”
He was quiet and leaned back in his chair, staring at the device in his hand. Finally, he pushed the button and answered. “Yes.”
Instead of making me feel better, the defeat in his voice made me feel a million times worse. As if he would have answered it against his will or better judgment. I sighed.
“That’s probably good since I have a key and would have come in anyway. How do you think those batteries ended up in your walkie-talkie?” He didn’t answer or seem particularly put out that I had been in his house. “But you should probably change the locks. The prank war isn’t over you know.”
The edge of his mouth lifted into a smile, and he looked up at me as he pressed the button and spoke. “If I remember correctly, it’s my turn anyway.”
The way he spoke sent a thrilled shiver skittering up my spine. I rallied all the sass and snark I could to prevent myself from melting into a puddle of lust on my floor.
“Your turn? There’s no such thing as turns when it comes to war,” I told him. “Or maybe you’re afraid because I’m the master of pranks. You think if you do nothing I’ll give up.”
I egged him on the way I always did with my brothers when I wanted them to do something they didn’t want to. The pranks between Austin and me were the only thing that had forced us to interact. And maybe it was insane to want him to retaliate, or maybe I felt I deserved punishment, but I didn’t want him to give up. I wanted him to fight back. To engage me.
Or maybe I wanted him to fight for me. Like these little pranks were a bridge to gap the distance that had grown between us. I was well aware that wanting any of that was completely unfair to even hope for, but I still wanted it. Anything, even his anger or annoyance, was better than his silence.
“Maybe I’m just giving you a chance to bow out gracefully,” he said. “Before things get vicious.” His voice held a tone of amusement, which was refreshing.
“Might I remind you that I grew up with three older brothers. Nothing you could do could even come close to what they were capable of,” I taunted him.
He dragged the bow across the strings of his cello in a long, drawn out sound that belonged on a horror movie soundtrack. “Don’t tempt me, Frankie.”
I bit back the response that immediately came to mind. I wanted to tell him that I knew exactly how to tempt him.
No flirting, I reminded myself.
I dropped my eyes, but even across the distance between our houses, I could feel the intensity of his gaze. I brought the walkie-talkie to my mouth and pressed the button.
“Do you want to go riding with me tomorrow on the trail so you don’t have to sit around in the heat waiting for me to come back?” It was the first time either of us had acknowledged the fact that he was following me to the trails every day for the sole purpose of making sure I was safe on my rides. I quickly looked up to see his reaction.
His eyes dropped back to the cello, and he continued to run the bow across the strings while he held the walkie-talkie in his other hand.
“I don’t have my bike anymore. Mom got rid of it years ago.” I could almost hear the yearning in his voice, as if grasping for a piece of our childhood so that he could hold on to something familiar between us when so much was different.
Although Austin never wanted to race or compete on his bike like I did, we used to ride together all the time. He was as good of a rider as I was, he just tended to take fewer risks on his bike.
But the good news? He didn’t say no. And that was almost a yes.
“Pauly’s bike is still in the shed. I’ll see if I can get it running tomorrow,” I offered.
Austin merely
nodded, neither accepting nor declining the offer. I’d take what I could get.
The silence between us descended again along with a sense of sadness. It used to feel comfortable to be quiet together, but now silence felt dangerous. As if all the secrets and pain we both felt were screaming to be set free. And once they were? This tentative relationship would probably be splintered for good.
“Will you play ‘May It Be’ for me?” I asked suddenly. We had both loved Lord of the Rings when we were in high school. The song “May It Be” was one of the first non-classical songs that Austin had tried to play on the cello. It was also one of those pieces that sounded hauntingly perfect when he played it alone.
He looked up slowly and then nodded, setting his walkie-talkie to the side. The bow hovered over the strings as his fingers found the beginning of the song. He pulled the cello close, and my soul ached, wishing it was me he was pulling close instead. I missed his arms, his hands, his everything.
I couldn’t believe I was jealous of a fucking instrument.
The first notes were so soft I could barely hear them, like a memory I couldn’t quite grasp. But then the bow and his fingers began to dance together and the song built in strength, the music forcing his body to sway to the emotion of the melody. I crossed my arms on the window sill and laid my head down, closing my eyes so that the only thing that filled me was the sound of the song.
It seemed to go on forever, and I kept hoping it would never stop. The rich music swelled and broke over and over again, eventually tumbling into soft notes that seemed to be scattered by the thin, gentle breeze of the night. The song faded until there was nothing but the twittering of summer bugs in the silence.
I didn’t lift my head or open my eyes. I promised myself if I just stayed still, it would all remain perfect.
The speaker of my walkie-talkie vibrated on the windowsill beside me, making a squawking sound like it was clearing its throat.
Hated (Hearts of Stone #3) Page 14
