Supercross Me (Motocross Me #2) (12 page)

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.

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.

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?