Ash is . . . well, he’s not here.
I look over and then back again, as if this tiny waiting room has any place for him to be hiding just out of sight. He’s gone. I look down at the seat next to mine, where Ash had held my hand last night, his thumb sliding over my palm as we waited and waited and waited.
He didn’t have to stay. I’m glad he didn’t. He should get on with his life.
An overwhelming sense of sadness slams into me, feelings of losing Ash and worrying about my dad all wrapped into one, until I can’t hold my head up anymore. I lean forward, letting my forehead sink into my hands. My palms fill with my tears, and I just sit here, letting the pain consume me.
How am I such a terrible person that I’m still worried about Ash even now? Even though my dad is in danger of dropping dead, my brain still turns to Ash. I drag in a ragged, blubbery breath and tell myself to get over it. Shove Ash into the furthest depths of my brain. I don’t get the luxury of worrying about him now. Family is more important, and Dad is on my mind and in my heart right now, not Ash.
I don’t even pay attention to the footsteps until they’re right in front of me, casting shadows on the floor between my legs, the place I’ve been staring as I hold my head in my hands.
“Hana,” Ash says softly, his knee moving to touch mine. It’s just knee-on-knee, but it feels strangely comforting. “You awake?”
I look up, wincing from the pain in my sore shoulders. I can feel the tears smeared all over my face so I try to wipe them off, but my hands are too wet and it’s all useless.
Ash stands there, wearing the same jeans and T-shirt from last night. His cheek has a jagged crease in it from where he must have fallen asleep on something. He offers me a gentle smile. “Hungry?”
He holds up a tray from the cafeteria. There’s orange juice and coffee, three plates of food, muffins, fruit. He shrugs his broken arm. “I didn’t know what Teig liked so I got a lot of stuff. Figured we could all share.”
If I say thank you, I might start crying. So I go for something lighthearted. “I don’t think you’re allowed to take those trays out of the cafeteria.”
He grins. “Do you know how much money my family has paid in medical bills to this hospital? I’ll take a damn tray if I want to.”
My lips curve upward, and I immediately hate myself for feeling any sort of happiness while Dad is in the other room. “Thanks for all of this, but you don’t have to stay.”
“I’m staying,” he says, setting the food down on an end table that he drags over in front of us. He takes his seat next to me, and his fingers wind their way into mine. “You can’t push me away right now.”
I swallow. “About last night . . .”
Ash shakes his head, tightens his grip on my hand. “Last night can wait. I’m here for as long as you are, Hana.”
“You don’t have to do this for me,” I say, shaking my head. “You have a life and people in it and—”
“You’re my life,” Ash says, peering into my eyes. “You are my people. And so is Mr. Fisher. Even if you were away at college or something, I’d still be here.” He glances toward Teig, who is sleeping. “This is my family. We’re all family.”
“The motocross family,” I murmur, gazing out into the distance. My eyes land on a painting of a western landscape, and I pause to reflect on those words. The motocross family is a powerful thing. Once you’re in it, you’re in it for life. My dad built this particular one from the ground up. He’d had a dream about a sport. He’d worked so hard to make it happen. Without my dad’s love of motocross and passion to make his dream a reality, I wouldn’t have Ash by my side right now.
Ash exhales and drags the table of food closer to us. He takes an orange juice and opens the plastic top. “I called Shelby. She’ll be here soon. Let’s just focus on getting your dad better and then we can talk about last night. I mean, if you want to.”
I nod and reach for a muffin. “I want to.”
We wake up Teig, and he joins us for a makeshift breakfast in the waiting room. There’s no one else in here all morning, and I take that as a good sign. All of the available doctors can spend their time solely on my dad. One of the doctors walks in the waiting room just as Shelby shows up.
She runs over and gives me a quick hug before taking a seat next to Ash.
“You’re the daughter?” the doctor asks me.
I nod and I’m trying entirely too hard to decipher some kind of hidden meaning in the middle-aged man’s features. If it’s bad news, he’ll tell me soon enough, right?
“Your dad had a massive heart attack,” he begins. My own heart contracts in response and everything seems to take too damn long. Spit it out, doctor. Is my dad alive?
Ash grabs my hand and pulls it into his lap. I barely register the movement when days ago that same gesture would have been the end of me. The doctor continues, first by offering me a sad smile. “We’ve put him in a medically induced coma so that his body can heal. He needs to be still and relaxed so that his heart is working just as needed and nothing more.”
“And he’ll be okay?” Ash says the words I’d been thinking.
The doctor nods. “I think he’ll make a recovery, yes.”
My relief is so great it comes out in a sob. Tears fill my eyes. “Thanks, doctor,” I manage to say. He says a few more doctor-medical things that I don’t really understand, but Ash nods along and asks some questions, too, so maybe he gets it. Maybe he can tell me about it later.
Finally, the doctor looks to me, his expression serious in a way that it wasn’t before. “Right now your main concern should be taking care of your mother. She’s refusing to eat or sleep, and she’s too worried for her own good. I’d like you go to back there and talk with her; try to get her to go home and get some rest.”
I nod. “Yes, sir. I’ll try.”
“Also, if there’s anything at home that you can help out with, that would really help your dad a lot. He’ll be here for several more days, and when he gets out, do everything you can to make his life as stress-free as possible. I’ll have counselors go over all of this with you, but for now, as far as pets, maintenance, general cleanliness…just see to it that the house is taken care of while he’s gone.”
I nod. “I will, thank you.”
“That’s a good point,” Ash says after the doctor has walked away. “I’ll mow your lawn for you while I’m in town. My mom will be happy to cook for you, too. Anything you need, we’ll help out.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” I say, breaking the promise I’d made to myself. I wasn’t supposed to fret about Ash anymore, but the truth is that he’s expected back in California tomorrow morning. And he can’t exactly mow yards when he’s not here.
There’s a shadow in his eyes but he tries to hide it. “I’ll fly back after the race.”
Shelby nods, and wraps me in another hug. If she’s noticed that Ash is holding my hand, she hasn’t said anything. “We’ll take care of you and Molly. It’ll all be okay.”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. It’ll be fine.
But I’m not worried about the stupid yard or dinners or even keeping the bills paid while dad’s gone.
I’m worried about the Regionals this weekend. About the fact that this one race alone will provide almost half of the track’s yearly income. Without Dad, how the hell are we going to pull that off?
Chapter 24
A few days later, Dad is out of the coma but still heavily medicated. The doctors are giving him a good prognosis, saying he should be able to come home in a week or so. He’ll probably need surgery later, but for now he’s alive. He’s been moved into a regular hospital room and out of intensive care. Without that wonderful news, I’m not sure how I’d be functioning. Molly has completely lost it. She’s been sitting next to Dad’s hospital bed every single day. And night. She hasn’t showered, and she’s only eaten a few things thanks to me practically force feeding her.
Luckily, Teig and I can manage on our own. We�
��ve ordered take out for lunch and gone to the Carter’s for dinner these last few days, but we’re managing. I spend most of my time at the track trying to keep things running smoothly, but I make sure to visit Dad every day. Teig has been really mature about the whole thing, and even though we’re both worried for Dad, he’s staying remarkably strong.
On Wednesday morning, Teig pours his Cheerios as if he’s scared about what will happen when he’s done.
“You okay?” I ask, grabbing a protein shake from the fridge and sitting next to him at the kitchen island. Our new routine is to eat breakfast and then head to the hospital for a few hours.
Teig makes this noncommittal movement with his head. “I was just thinking about how yesterday they said Dad probably wouldn’t be back home by next weekend.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too.” I down the protein shake and toss the bottle into the recycle bin. The bin’s almost full and I’m not really sure where to empty it. Molly normally takes care of that.
“Marty’s truck has been at the track every day this week,” Teig says. “I guess that means the Regionals are still on?”
“They have to go on. We can’t cancel it right now, not at the end of the series when everyone has already registered and stuff.”
Teig nods. “That’s what I was thinking but . . . can you and Marty run the whole thing? I don’t think Mom’s going to be back to reality any time soon.”
I sigh and resist the urge to ruffle my little brother’s hair and tell him it’ll all be perfectly fine. “We just have to hope that she will be okay. I’ll go talk to her today and remind her that the race is in a week. She’ll snap out of it.”
Teig frowns into his cereal. “I’ve never seen Mom like this.”
“Don’t be sad about it,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “That’s just true love. She cares about Dad so much that it’s turned her into a zombie.”
“That’s a weird way to love someone,” Teig says. “Do you love Ash like that?”
I stand up so quickly the barstool almost topples over. “And, that’s the end of this conversation,” I say. This time I do ruffle his hair. Maybe it’ll remind him that he’s a kid and has no business talking about love.
*
Some of Teig’s friends are driving in from Alabama to race in the Regionals this weekend, and they should be arriving some point today, so I let Teig stay home and wait for them. Honestly, he’s not missing anything since Dad is always sleeping and Molly is too busy fussing over him to bother acknowledging anyone else in the room anyway.
Marty waves me down as I’m leaving our driveway to head to the hospital. I can only visit dad for a few minutes today because I have waivers to copy and trophies to assemble. I stop and roll down my window, waiting for Marty to ride his four wheeler up to me.
“Jim still doing okay?” he asks, cutting the motor. “Dorothy is supposed to stop by and visit him after she talks to a few of the venders.”
I nod. “He’s doing okay. It’s Molly that we’re all worried about now.”
The wrinkles in Marty’s forehead deepen. “Listen, kid. Do you got a minute to stop by the track?”
“Sure, what’s going on?”
He starts up the four wheeler. “I’ll explain over there. Meet me at the tower.”
I know something is wrong when I drive up to the tower, and I’m pretty sure I know what it’s about. I guess I’ve just been hoping that Molly would snap out of it before the adults who run this place decided to talk to me about it.
Marty is sitting on the table part of a picnic bench, his feet on the long seat. I climb up next to him. The tense feeling in the air makes me think Marty might take off his baseball cap and hold it in his hands in some kind of mourning, but instead he just points out toward the track.
“They’ve already knocked down those two tabletops in the back,” he says, signaling to where the two massive jumps used to be. “And the whoops are flattened for now. They’re supposed to make them twice as tall for the Regionals.”
“At least the Regionals doesn’t get as many track changes as the Nationals did,” I say. “That was a freaking nightmare.”
“Not as many changes, no, but it’s the same track design crew that Jim hired for the Nationals last year. That’s probably why they’ve been so gracious this week, still working and all . . . They like Jim.”
It’s coming. Whatever Marty is going to drop on me, he’s about to do it. “Listen, Hana. I’ve been taking care of all operations since Jim went in the hospital, and I’m happy to, believe me. But I can’t sign the checks and these guys haven’t been paid at all. They’re threatening to pull out if they don’t get something soon.”
I draw in a deep breath. “Like how soon?”
Marty’s lips flatten together. “Today.”
“Oh,” I say with a little nod. “Is that the only problem?”’
“Well, yes, but we can’t do anything without payments. Fuel for the generators and tractors is expensive, and the electricity and internet bill are sitting on Jim’s desk in the tower, unpaid still. We’re short-staffed, but we can handle this. Even without Molly, as long as you, Shelby, and Ash are here, we should be fine.”
I bite my lip, not wanting to disappoint him or give him yet another thing to worry about, but he will find out eventually. “Actually, Ash won’t be here. He flew back to California this morning. He he’s getting his cast off and then racing on Saturday.”
“Damn,” Marty says, shaking his head. “His arm healed that quickly?”
I shrug. “It was only a small fracture. If he doesn’t race Saturday then he’ll screw up his racing season for good. He has to place at least third to stay at the top. Anyhow, he’s gone.”
Gone, meaning he’d left for the airport this morning without even saying goodbye. It’s not that dramatic, not really. I’d talked to him last night, told him good luck and goodbye. He was leaving at four in the morning, so I didn’t need an official goodbye phone call or anything. Besides, we still never talked about us, or the lack of us, or the beginning of a new us. Whatever was going on between Ash Carter and Hana Fisher was still a mystery because there just wasn’t time to talk about it.
Now, with dad stuck in the hospital and Molly practically comatose herself, Marty is counting on me to make things right. He throws an arm around my shoulders and gives me a friendly squeeze. “I don’t mean to put this pressure on you, kid, but you have to get Molly back here today. Hell, get her to sign a few checks, and I’ll do the rest. But we have to do something or this show can’t go on.”
“Wait,” I say, looking up. “We just need to sign the checks, right? You’ve got everything else under control?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Marty rubs his chin. “Pay the contractors, pay the flaggers and the work crew, set up for the races, show the media where to go . . . it’s a lot, but I guess I could handle it with you and the rest of our crew. But, we really need the checks, yeah.”
I inhale the warm morning air and burst into a smile. “I can definitely help with all that. I’ll try to get Molly back here, but it probably won’t happen. Besides, we don’t need her,” I say, glancing up at the score tower next to us. “A couple of months ago, Dad put me on the track’s bank account.”
“He did?” Marty says, his expression brightening.
I nod. “Yeah. I remember going to the bank with him. That means I can write the checks.”
Marty throws his head back as if he’s thanking the heavens. “Well then! The show must go on! Your dad is going to be very proud of you.”
Chapter 25
And just when it seemed as if this whole awful situation might possibly be somewhat under control, all the little comforts I had been allowed to feel were taken away again. Last night, Dad took a turn for the worse. It was something about fluid around his heart—I never got the details through Molly’s sobbing—and they moved him back into the ICU after he’d finally gotten his own room on a normal, non-life-thr
eatening floor. Because of the Regionals happening this weekend, Molly doesn’t want anyone to know that Dad’s condition has worsened. She doesn’t want them to worry or freak out or spread the news to the media.
So she, Teig, and I had sat in Dad’s ICU room until four in the morning. I’ve never prayed as hard as I did last night. I’ve also never known a person could cry so much and for so long that their eyelids would swell as if they’d been stung by a bee. Molly’s eyes looked like that. They probably still do. She’s a total mess.
But at four-fifteen, I carefully stood up from my fake leather hospital chair and extracted my arm from Molly’s. Teig was asleep in her lap like a five-foot-nine-inch baby, his feet propped up on Dad’s hospital bed. I found a doctor in the hallway and he explained to me that my dad would most likely be okay. He’d need some rehab and surgery, but they didn’t expect anything fatal to come of this.
“Of course, I can’t make any promises in these early stages,” he said.
That was all I needed to feel okay about leaving. If Dad dies, me being there isn’t going to stop it. If he lives, I’ll see him after the races, and again, my presence won’t do anything to change the outcome. The track needs me there, to make sure that we are still open for business, and that we earn the money from this Regionals race that we need to survive.
All I can do is hope for the best, and then work my ass off to make it happen.
I stare at the coffee maker in our kitchen, watching it brew a pot of French roast. Coffee has never been my thing, but it’s seven in the morning and I slept for exactly forty-five minutes. If it takes half a bag of sugar to make the dark liquid drinkable, then that’s what I’ll do. Something needs to keep me awake today.
Supercross Me (Motocross Me #2) Page 14
