*
Shelby’s digital proof might have been enough to get my curiosity going, but it hasn’t given me the superhuman strength to find Ash in person and ask him about us. Instead, I take the easy way out and pull up my text messages as I walk toward my dad’s four-wheeler.
“Shelby is working the tower,” I say, looking for Ash’s name in my contacts list. “What do you need me on tonight?”
“Races start in twenty minutes and I’m short on flaggers,” he says, reaching into the box strapped on the back of his four-wheeler. He hands me a yellow flag and grins. “Pick a corner and you’ll be set.”
I make a face but I take the flag and head off toward the track. Flagging isn’t the most glamorous of track jobs, but it does require a lot of attention and maybe that will help me take my mind off what I’m about to do.
When I reach the track, I pick a corner that’s unoccupied by another flagger. It’s also in the middle of the track, so I’ll still have a pretty good view from down here. I used to be apathetic about the whole sport, but now I’ve grown to like it a lot. I’ve been able to watch kids Teig’s age get better with each race, moving up to faster level classes and kicking butt when they used to suck. It’s fun to cheer on my friends, even if I should probably stay unbiased.
My phone weighs down my pack pocket, and with a few minutes left until the first moto starts, I look at the screen again. Ash’s name is no longer in my texts. I deleted our chat string months ago. Four and a half months ago, to be exact. Right after we broke up.
All of my self-preservation instincts are telling me to turn off the damn phone and hide it away. That I’m making a massive mistake trying to reach out to Ash again, especially after I was an absolute bitch to him earlier today. But memories of that picture in his bunk make me start a new text. His number is of course, still in my phone; I’d never had the willpower to delete him fully.
I panic over what to type, wasting too much time and before I know it, the races have begun. I wait until the first moto is completed and the starting gate is about to drop for second one, and I pull out my phone again.
Hey?
Dammit. Why did I send that? My phone sits in my back pocket, probably just as humiliated as I am that it had to send that text. Hey with a question mark? What? Oh my god, Hana. My cheeks burn, and I try like hell to focus on the race so I can be alert if someone crashes in my corner.
It takes three more motos for me to get the courage to check my phone again. The bikes are so loud I’d never be able to hear the text message beep, and that’s kind of a good thing. Right now, before I actually look at my phone, I can pretend I don’t have a message from Ash. I can pretend I never sent something so stupid. But with two seconds to spare before the next race, I force myself to check.
And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to see that he’d written back.
What’s up? Need anything?
The starting gate drops and I shove my phone back into my pocket. Dad would kill me if he saw me on my phone during a race. I can barely focus on the bikes zooming by, their back tire roosts pelting me with sand every few seconds. There isn’t much to analyze about Ash’s text. He’d asked if I needed anything, and isn’t that exactly the kind of thing he’d always say? Kind, considerate Ash.
I wonder if he’s waiting for a reply, or he’s already forgotten about me. Does he think it was weird getting a text from me after so long? The rest of the motos take an agonizingly slow time to pass, but finally it’s intermission, and Marty announces that we’ll break for twenty minutes.
I stab the wooden end of my yellow flag into the ground and grab my phone.
Okay, Hana. It’s now or never. Don’t be a coward, just say what’s on your mind.
My fingers shake as I type the words and parts of me wonder if Ash can see me right now from wherever he is. I glance over at the nearest set of bleachers but he’s not there. The tip of my tongue tastes like iron, and I realize I’ve been gnawing on the inside of my lip.
My heart pounds like it’s generating enough electricity to power the entire planet, and I force myself to send the text.
I saw that video of your bunk on the tour bus. Why was my photo on the wall?
My shoulders feel like they’re carrying fifty pound weights as I watch my words appear on the phone screen. They’re sent now, and there’s nothing I can do to take them back. The fear of whatever he might say next makes my vision blur around the edges. I force myself to take one step and then another, walking across a set of double jumps toward where Dad waits on his four wheeler with a cooler of sports drinks. I’m not even thirsty, but if I don’t focus on something, my heart might explode.
Ash texts back almost immediately.
How else would I have good dreams?
Chapter 22
The second half of the races seem to slip into a vortex of space-time where everything both moves really quickly and also takes a really long time. Ash and I text between every gate drop and although it’s just small, insignificant words between two sort-of friends, it makes me feel alive. After months of near radio silence, we are back to texting. This is a good thing.
Since I can’t text while flagging, each four or five lap moto stretches on for hours and hours in my mind, even though they are only a few minutes long. Each time the race is over, Ash has replied. He says he is helping Shelby in the tower, and I wonder if she knows he’s texting me. Has he told her anything? Can she tell he seems different?
Does he seem different while texting me?
It’s all too much. And it’s too soon to tell. I decide to enjoy this little moment, this little drop of happiness that’s started a ripple effect in the frozen lake that is my broken heart. Maybe these texts are the start of something new between Ash and me, a rekindling of the fire we’d once had. Or maybe they’re nothing more than friendship. I don’t want to know the answer just yet.
Whatever it is, I’m not sure I can handle it yet.
When the final moto crosses the finish line, I have to pee so bad that I can barely walk. I head to the new bathrooms, a small building with air conditioning and actual stalls instead of the porta-potties we used to have, and find that the line is about thirty women long. Oh, hell no.
I spin around and gaze out into the pits. Most people are packing up to leave while kids go stand in line to claim their trophies. The guys who just got off the last race are parking their bikes and taking off their helmets. A little red bike zooms by, and I notice the number, which makes my bladder very happy.
“Teig!” I call out, waving my arms as I run in front of him. He stops, peering at me through his helmet.
“Sup?”
“Can you take me home real quick? I have to pee really bad.”
“TMI, but yeah,” he says, scooting forward a little on his bike. I climb on the back and he zooms off, driving me across the little bridge and into our back yard.
“Thanks,” I say, slapping his helmet as I run toward the back door. I slip into the half bathroom at the back of the laundry room and close the door.
Dad’s voice carries from the kitchen, and I shut off the water before I’ve finished washing my hands. He sounds pissed, and that’s really out of character for him.
“. . . my damned job to do,” he says, his footsteps heavy on the tile floor.
“I’m just worried about you, hun!” Molly sounds ragged. “Jim, just stop and take a break. Shower and get to sleep. The staff can finish up at the track.”
“I’m not abandoning them for a little sleep,” Dad says, sounding more resigned than angry now. “I love you, but you need to calm down. I’m fine.”
“Your bloodwork wasn’t fine,” she says. I wipe off the remaining soap and water on a hand towel and lean into the hallway, listening in even though I probably shouldn’t. Molly continues, “You’re going to wear yourself too thin. You don’t have to be a hero, Jim. Please just slow down a little.”
“I’ll slow down after the Regionals next week,”
he says. I can hear him smacking a kiss on her, and I feel a little embarrassed for listening in. The rest of their conversation is too quiet to overhear, but by the end of it, I don’t think they’re fighting anymore.
My phone vibrates, and I lean against the bathroom door, that spark of excitement returning when I see Ash’s name on my screen.
Want to hang out tonight?
My heart does a little flip-flop. I tell him yes, and then I dance in the bathroom.
*
The track is nearly empty when I walk back over there. Marty has turned off half of the overhead lights and the rest are on a timer, probably set for an hour from now. Crickets chirp in the summer night air, and I watch as taillights head toward the main road. Teig and his friends are riding BMX bikes on the peewee track, and I find Ash’s truck where I’d seen it earlier. Shelby’s car is gone, but she’d texted me a few minutes ago saying goodnight, so I figured as much.
I walk up to the impressive silver rental truck, but despite all of its bells and whistles, I wish Ash’s old Mazda were here instead. That was the truck he’d had when I fell in love with him. This new one is more of a symbol of who he is now—a professional motocross racer—and then there’s me, just a beat up old Mazda.
The tailgate is down, but Ash isn’t around. I hesitate before pulling myself up and sitting on the back of it, legs dangling over the tailgate. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He wouldn’t ask to hang out with me and then mysteriously disappear. These are all logical thoughts, but my heart says otherwise, telling me to run before Ash has a chance to blow me off.
The rumble of a small dirt bike emerges from the peewee track. I notice the three-three-six on the number plate, and then I see the dreadlocks. I slide off Ash’s tailgate and watch him putt along on the small pit bike, driving it with his left hand stretched over to the throttle since his right one is in a sling. He grins at me as he approaches, then he jerks to a stop in front of me.
“Hey there,” he says, looking like a giant on the small bike.
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re gonna break your neck riding around like that.”
“This thing doesn’t go very fast,” he says, unaffected by my premonitions. “Besides, it actually hurts to walk a lot. Heavy steps make my arm hurt. Riding is better for me.”
“You expect me to believe that crap?”
He shrugs and gets off the small bike. “Maybe. So what do you want to do?”
His question goes unanswered because I’m suddenly mesmerized by the way he grabs the bike with his good hand and lifts it into the back of his truck. Then he climbs back there and grabs the tie down straps, hooking them to the bike’s handlebars so it won’t fall over. I get lost watching the muscles in his arm flex. When he finishes, he hops down and lifts the tailgate back into place.
“You hungry?”
I shake my head. “I had like, three things of nachos from Frank.”
He nods, his lips sliding to the side of his mouth. “Yeah, me too.” He takes out his phone and checks the time. The second the phone lights up, I think about the last time I saw his phone, when the girl’s picture was on the screen. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“It’s ten thirty on a Friday night,” Ash says, sliding the phone back in his pocket. “And we’re in Mixon, so that means there’s not a damn thing to do. Maybe I should have thought it out more before I asked if you wanted to do something.”
“What did Shelby say when you told her we were hanging out?” I ask.
He starts to gnaw on his thumbnail and then he stops. “Uh, nothing. I didn’t tell her.”
“Oh? Why not?”
His head lops to the side. “You know how she is. I didn’t want to get her hopes up if this ended up being nothing.”
Wow. There it is. I swallow the lump in my throat. The crickets seem to chirp louder to fill the silence. My feet shuffle until my back presses against his truck. “So, you think this might be something?” My voice is barely a whisper.
He nods, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath. His hands slide into his pockets. “You didn’t seem mad about that video of my bunk.”
I shake my head. “It was kind of cute. I thought you hated me.”
“Why would I hate you?” He takes a step forward and an invisible pull tugs at my stomach. He’s only inches away, but I want him even closer.
I stare at his shoes. “Because we broke up. Because my jealousy and insecurities ruined everything we had.”
His hand touches my chin, his fingertips as calloused as I remember. He lifts my head up so that I’m looking into his eyes, and those invisible strings that tie me to him are stretching impossibly thin. “I’ll never hate you, Hana,” he says, his voice like warm honey. “Even when you broke my heart, I couldn’t hate you.”
I exhale. My fingers shake as they reach up and cover his hand on my cheek. My eyes meet his, those dark blue windows into his soul. “I’m sorry for how things are,” I say, and it leaves me breathless. There is so much more to say, so many nights I spent missing him, wishing things were different. My heart aches for Ash Carter and these last few months have been hell. But I don’t say any of that, and he doesn’t say anything either. We just gaze into each other’s eyes, his hand on my face.
When did he get so close that I can smell is cologne? Feel his breath on my cheek?
“Things don’t have to be this way, Hana.”
I look up and his lips crash into mine. I freeze, unable to accept that this is really happening at first. And then I melt into him, my lips remembering his like they’ve found an old best friend. My hands slide around his neck, and I pull him close to me. His cast presses into my ribcage, but I don’t care. I revel in the way his body feels against mine, the way his mouth knows exactly how to kiss me. His lips are salty and they taste like Gatorade, and there’s a hint of exhaust fumes on his clothing.
All of the weeks without him, all of the missing and aching for him, it all disappears as we make out against the back of his truck. Every inch of my body is on fire, and when he pulls away just a little bit, it makes my insides hurt.
Ash grins and reaches behind his neck to unfasten the sling around his arm. He shrugs it off and tosses it across the bed of his truck, then stretches out his broken arm at the elbow and wraps it around me. “That’s better,” he says against my lips. I smile and slide my finger into his belt loop, pulling him closer to me.
“I missed this,” I say between kissing.
“I missed you,” he says, letting his forehead rest against mine.
I’m almost afraid to say the words but I know I have to. “Does this mean something is happening between us?”
His mouth opens but we’re interrupted by a shrill noise. He pulls away, his brows drawing together. “Did you hear that?”
I nod. “It sounded like a scream.”
We look around at the deserted track. Teig and his friends left a long time ago. There are no other cars left in the parking lot. The scream sounds again, and now that we’re paying attention it’s louder than ever. My heart goes cold. The sound is coming from my house.
A siren wail pierces the air a few seconds later. The red and amber lights can be seen through the trees as an ambulance speeds down the county road in front of the track. My heart is racing and my throat goes dry. Everyone has gone home. Why is an ambulance here?
But it’s not coming to the track. It drives straight past, slowing at the next driveway over. My house.
“Oh god,” I choke. Tears fill my eyes and I look over at Ash, who is just as horrified as I am. My legs fly into action and I run toward the bridge. Ash calls my name, says something about taking his truck, but I don’t really hear it. My feet pound into the grass and sprint across the bridge, where the cries and shouts are louder now. I recognize the voice and know that Molly is okay. Then I hear Teig shouting something to the EMTs, and I know that he is also okay.
I reach the back door and throw it open, nearly crashing into a paramedic as I barge into the
house. Molly looks like an escaped lunatic, her eyes wide and her hair a mess. Teig gnaws on his bottom lip, his hands clenching and releasing at his sides.
I realize now that there is only one voice I haven’t heard yet. One person who isn’t pacing and freaking out in the living room.
Dad.
Chapter 23
The CICU. A different part of the hospital, but on the same floor as the trauma ICU where they treated Shawn last year. It doesn’t matter where it is, coming here once is too many times. I think it’s officially morning, but there are no windows in here, and I can’t be bothered to find one.
After the ambulance arrived to take Dad to the hospital, Molly clearly wasn’t in her right mind, and she dove into her own car before Ash could stop her. She didn’t even make it out of the driveway. In her panicked state, she backed straight off the driveway and into the concrete pillars on either side of the ditch. Her car is toast. It’s still sitting there halfway in the ditch, a problem for some other day.
After seeing my dad get hauled away on a stretcher, the paramedics claiming it was probably a heart attack, strangely I had been in a much better place than Molly. I was scared out of my mind, no doubt, but I had to be strong for her and Teig.
Teig cried. Molly wailed.
Ash drove us all to the hospital.
And now we’re still here, some random collection of hours later.
The scene is all too familiar. The same plastic covered chairs with uncomfortable wooden armrests, some stupid talk show playing on a television that doesn’t have a remote control. The beeps and shuffles and sounds of being in a hospital. Constant foot traffic of people who have their own things to worry about. No one cares why anyone else is here, and you all just want to go home.
Molly has permission to sleep in an armchair next to Dad’s bed in the CICU, but I don’t think the hospital staff could have stopped her from doing that if they were supposed to. The rest of us are waiting outside in the family waiting room. Teig is asleep on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the chair where he’s bunched up his jacket to make a pillow on the seat in front of him. I’m sitting in the next chair, my shoulder acting as a pillow. I hadn’t slept much, but I did doze off a little at some point.
Supercross Me (Motocross Me #2) Page 13
