by Shey Stahl
Then you have the idiots who sue you. Back when I was a kid, a race fan, who admitted he’d been drinking, fell through the bleachers in turn one. He sued and won a million dollars from our insurance company.
My point? Keeping it running isn’t going to be easy.
By the time the races do start, I’m kept fairly busy with complaints about ticket prices that haven’t changed in ten goddamn years, a drunk bastard who fell in the stands and then finally, I spot Aly and the boys in the concession stands.
Over the years, Aly has worked the concession stands since she was old enough to see over the counter. Her kids do the same.
There’s something off about her tonight though. Sadness seeps through her worried eyes when they land on mine.
I wink, wanting to offer her something, but her smile fades even more.
What the hell? What changed from us outside her van earlier today?
I approach, and she shakes her head as if she doesn’t want me to. I respect that and nod, walking way.
Nothing’s changed in this town in the last ten years, yet it has. Everything has.
It makes me sick to my stomach because I never wanted this life, this town. I didn’t want it. But here it is, a vision of what life would be like had I stayed, but I didn’t. I left and more importantly, left her. She has no obligation to let me in, and I certainly don’t deserve her, do I?
Do you notice the way my breathing goes harsh and the way my heart pounds in my ears?
What’s changed? She’s still his. Those boys. . . his.
I never thought I deserved it, or her, and maybe I was right. Or maybe it was her that didn’t deserve the life I forced her into choosing by leaving?
When the stands have cleared out and the track’s empty, I wander up to the stands, taking a seat not far from the flag stand. If there’s ever a place I feel closer to my dad, it’s here.
“Why did you leave this place to me?” I whisper into the night, knowing I won’t get a response, but hopeful it might shed some light on what the hell I’m doing here.
I’m not ready for this shit. It’s been a long couple days, and I swear I haven’t slept since I pulled into town. I’m physically and mentally exhausted.
With a beer in hand, I’m sitting in the bleachers looking over the track and the cushion built up over the night when Glen sits down behind me a few rows up.
Do you notice the tense shoulders? Mine, not his. I’m afraid of what he’s going to say to me. I usually am around Glen because he’s a man of few words, and the ones he does offer hold meaning.
“It was a good night” are the first words out of his mouth. “Wasn’t sure if Carson was going to pull that one off or not.”
I nod but say nothing. He shakes his head at my silence. It frustrates him about as much as it frustrates me that he let her marry Austin. Yep. I keep going back to that. Probably because I’m pissed at myself for letting it happen.
After a while, I do say something. “What the hell made him think I had any business running this shit?” I lift my beer, pointing to the track.
Glen reaches forward, into the six-pack he brought up here with him. “Because he knew you could handle it.”
I don’t believe him. I want to, but something tells me not to. “Do you?” I turn and raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t bullshit me either. Tell me the fucking truth.”
He sighs. “Honestly. . . yes. I do. But you have to want to do it.”
I consider it; he told the truth at least.
Raising an eyebrow, he looks over at me. “Do you?”
My frustration gets to me. “I don’t know. I feel. . . I don’t know what I feel. I don’t think I belong here. I think I’m complicating it more by not being able to stay away from Aly.”
He nods and finishes off his first beer, opening another. “Let me tell you something, Trouble.” He pauses, taking a drink. “Aly is a strong woman. Those boys mean the world to her and the last thing she’s going to do now is put them at risk of getting hurt. If you remember that, remember that she’s the girl you fell in love with, remember those boys don’t need bullshit, then it’ll all work out.”
“So you’re telling me to leave her alone?”
Glen chuckles and then crushes the tin can against the bleachers. I think that’s supposed to be my head if I hurt them. “Are you doing this just to get in my daughter’s pants?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. But then again, I do know. It’s never been about getting in her pants. Sure, it kind of has been, but it’s not anymore. At least I don’t think it is.
Fuck, are you as confused as I am?
Glen stands, stares down at me. “Do you have regrets?”
Heavy question.
I’m not sure how to answer it.
“I have mistakes.”
Glen considers this, thinks about that for a half a second and then stares at me. “Why do you hold on to the past with Aly?”
Hmm. Heavier.
His choice of words makes me grimace because of her.
Why do I hold onto her? I haven’t had a relationship. Ever. Haven’t wanted to. And I think it always comes back to her being the reason.
“I have no idea,” I say to him. “I guess I do because I want to.” I look out to the track. “I guess I’m holding out for my second chance with her. Hell, I still want to finish my first chance.”
He stands from his place and nods to the track. He’s not going to say anything. He doesn’t need to. I follow his stare, a thick blanket of fog moving into the infield. When you look at this place, it’s like time has left it alone. It’s what makes this place feel like home.
When I’m back in my trailer, I stand at the sink with the water running. When it’s cold enough, I splash the water over my face and then stare at my reflection in the window wondering what the fuck my problem is.
When I was in college, I read this quote by Plato in my philosophy class. “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”
Everyone’s afraid of the dark at some point in their life, but seeing yourself in the light is the real test.
I believe in child labor for a few reasons. I’ve had the boys doing chores around the house since they turned three and could listen to instructions. Well, listening is debatable, but as soon as they could open the dryer door and toss clothes in, it was time to put them to work.
Here’s why I do it. Responsibility. I wanted them to be accountable, unlike their father, and by having them do a certain chore around the house, it’s teaching them work comes before play.
So with my chore-mentality in mind, Sunday morning I have the boys wash my minivan while I supervise, eh, drink coffee and hose it down because you can’t trust boys with water.
“You missed a spot,” I tell Cash, whose job is to wash the wheels.
He stands up straight, scowling at me in his board shorts and no shirt. “I did not.”
“Uh, yes you did.” I point to the black spots on the wheel. “Right there.”
Turning, he bends down and looks closer. “Mom, that’s where you’ve hit curbs.”
I kneel to examine them. Well shit, he’s right. I ruffle his hair. “Whoops, my bad.”
“My bad,” he mocks, laughing like he’s gotten away with something.
God, he’s a shithead. Sometimes I wonder if Grady got all the niceness in the womb and Cash was, I don’t know. . . left without oxygen and in turn it made him mean?
I spray him with the hose. “Boy, what’d you say?”
He’s shocked. Naturally. I did just spray him with ice-cold water, and then his eyes snap to mine, and he grins, wickedly. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Guess who just wore an entire bucket of soap?
This girl.
While that starts a water fight, Grady comes to my defense, and it’s him and me against Cash until Ridge jogs by. Just you know, jogs by like it’s no big deal and I’m lying in the middle of m
y lawn. Wearing a white tank top.
You can guess the expression on my face, eh, horrified, but can you guess the expression on his?
Pure. Fucking. Amusement.
Instead of making a dirty comment, he points to my neighbor who’s glaring at him. “He still doesn’t like me, does he?”
I glance at Mr. Ferris next, who’s watering his plants while giving Ridge the stink eye. “You killed his dog.”
Ridge reaches out his hand, the boys looking at him like he’s their hero. “That was like ten years ago and he ran out in front of me.”
I take his hand and stand up, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the nips that are proudly on display. “Uh-huh.”
Ridge’s eyes lick my entire body from head to toe, slow and taunting, then land on my face. He leans in and whispers, “I maintain my innocence.”
“How’d you know we lived here?” Cash asks, smiling so wide at Ridge it makes my heart want to burst. Cash is smiling. I want to take a picture because it doesn’t happen often.
Ridge shrugs, pulling back, his posture straightening, so lean, so perfect. Fuck, he’s so pretty.
He reaches forward to ruffle Cash’s wet hair. “Lucky guess, bud.” When he notices his hand is now covered in water, he runs it down his thigh, and I silently hope his shorts come off with the motion.
They don’t. Sadly.
“We were washing Mom’s car,” Grady tells him, holding up a soapy wash mitt. The water rushes from him when he squeezes it, suds covering his feet.
Ridge laughs, and his amusement looks genuine. “I see that. Need help?”
“Yes!” they both yell.
“Are you stalking me?” I ask when he steps foot in the driveway near the back of the van, reaching for the hose in my hand. I saw Ridge last night, but I was kind of mean, hadn’t wanted to talk to him after that fight with Austin. So this little visit surprises me, and then again, it doesn’t. He’s goddamn determined, isn’t he?
A ghost of a smile passes over his beautiful plushy lips. “Nah, more like tracking your scent.”
“That’s creepy.”
“It kinda was, wasn’t it?” He shrugs and laughs, Ruby, my red-haired stray cat is at his feet rubbing against his leg. I’m jealous of a kitty. If only he was rubbing my kitty.
Ew, Aly, no. Don’t say kitty.
Ridge lifts his eyes to mine and sends me another relaxed smile. “Plans for today?”
“Not really.”
“I actually went for a run this morning to find you.” He glances down at the cat, then at me, squinting into the sunlight as he brings the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Think the boys would want to help around the track?”
Did you see the shirt move? Did you notice the way my nipples hardened? Probably not. I was quick to cover them up.
“I think you did that on purpose.”
He throws his head back. “I totally did. About the track. . . do you think they’d like that?”
“What exactly do you want them doing? They’re just kids. I can’t imagine there’s a lot around there they could do.”
“Easy stuff. Running the tractor, repairing fences, picking up trash, maybe running the back hoe, that sort of thing.” He’s smiling by the end, and I know he’s teasing, but I also know he wants to involve them. His way of getting Cash to lighten up is to spend some time with him. I like that. In fact, I think it’d be good for him to have something to do aside from sports that remind him of his dad.
But then again, is spending more time with Ridge a good idea?
The way he’s watching me, with his dark irises undressing me, it makes me want to throw myself at him. Oh, what the hell. Live a little, ya control freak.
I nod to the boys. “I’m sure they would. Ask them.”
“Okay. I will.” Winking at me, he turns to the boys. “Hey, dudes, wanna get dirty today?”
Their eyes go wide like he’d just asked if they wanted sugar. “Uh, yeah!” Grady yells, tossing the wash mitt aside.
Cash stands there, waiting.
“Uh, no.” Ridge points to the mitt Grady dropped. “Pick that up. Let’s finish your mom’s car first.”
A man who follows through with commitments. Who knew they existed.
I gave in.
Um, no, not like you’re thinking, but still completely possible. I let the boys come to the track to hang out with Ridge, but I came too. No way was I letting them hang out with him during the day without me. For many reasons.
Because of Austin and what he said to me yesterday. The things that still hurt. There’s a pain in me, so deep it hurts, and it’s all I feel. I am that pain, an open wound fueled by betrayal with no way to stop the bleeding, no matter how much pressure I put on the wound.
I spent some time with my mom that afternoon while the boys went with Ridge and my dad. Around four, I go looking for them knowing they needed to eat some dinner soon.
Crossing the street to the fairgrounds, I enter the track through the pit entrance. Ridge was right—he needed some help around the track—but not as much as he thinks he does.
Preparing a track for a big event like the Outlaws takes all week leading up to the event, and that’s just the racing surface. The venue itself is another story. With our dry weather, you have to water the track daily and work it just the same. Though Ridge claims he doesn’t know anything about running a track, with the help of my dad, he knows. He just doesn’t want to take any credit for it.
And whether he wants to admit it or not, Mike rubbed off on Ridge over the years. Despite being away from the track for so long, Ridge’s incredibly business savvy and meticulous about the track and its conditions.
Ridge’s near the flag stand, scraping clay off the walls. He notices me and winks. Probably because I’m wearing a dress and sandals. I don’t know why I didn’t wear jeans or something a little bit more appropriate.
Standing, he brushes red chunks from his black jeans. “Wanna get dirty?”
He looks delicious. I can say that about a man, can’t I? Look at him. Dark hair all over the place, dark eyes on mine, waiting to see what I’m going to say, anticipating it’s going to be something dirty.
My suspicion narrows. “Are you doing this for them. . . or to get in my pants?”
Ridge’s eyes jerk to mine, a beaming smile present. “Both.”
My eyes drift to the boys climbing on and off the tractor, pretending they’re driving it, my dad beside them, showing them how everything works on it. “Ridge, please don’t hurt them. They’ve been hurt enough. They don’t need another man promising them something he can’t deliver.”
Leaning into the catch fence, he hooks his hands in the links, his head dropping forward. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and then he lifts his head but doesn’t look at me, his face showing signs of frustration. He squints into the sun as he asks, “Are you talking about them, or you?”
I can’t hide anything from him. Never have been able to.
In reality, I’m talking about all three of us. I look to the thick veins running along his bare forearms, remembering the way he hovered over me in the car, waiting on my response. “Them,” I lie.
Bending down, he takes a handful of the clay in his hand and makes a fist, checking the moisture content. “I don’t think that’s the truth.”
It’s not.
I take a deep breath, attempting to push the thoughts down. I don’t say anything more. At least not until we’re walking away from the track and behind the grandstand next to the concessions stands.
That’s when Ridge pulls me aside, between the two buildings and out of sight. He waits, until I look at him before saying, “You can tell yourself all you want that I don’t get to you, but you and I both know I do.”
“You do, Ridge. That’s the problem. Where’s this going?” I’m asking him the same questions I did in the car that night. “I’m a single mother with two kids who by the way, adore you. And you’re you. . . carefree.
Slutty.” He frowns when I add that part, but I had to. He’s clearly had experience. Lots of it. “You’re probably just passing through town. And that’s fine too. It’s your life. But this, between us, what happens if we. . . you know. . . .” I let my voice trail off.
“We get off,” he teases, watching me with rapt attention.
Ridge twists his body toward me and guiding me back against the wall, the warmth of his breath hitting my face. “Let me ask you something, Aly.” His fingers brush under my chin. “Did Austin make you feel this way?”
He watches me carefully, looking for my truth and I know my answer, but I want him to find out for himself. So I remain quiet, waiting to see what he’s going to do next.
“Did your body crave him the way you burn for me?” He smiles, his dirty words so fucking hot I actually sigh. Don’t think he doesn’t notice either. “Did he make your heart pound and your pussy wet?”
His words, his touch, they ignite a tingle to the one place that hasn’t seen action in a while. Between my legs.
His words sound like a growl when he says, “Don’t lie, honey.”
Goddamn him! “I’m. . . I. . . I’m being serious. What does all this mean?”
“I am too,” he says firmly. I allow myself to drown in his face and those so dark eyes, even if it’s only for a second. “There’s nothing wrong with having fun.”
“I’m a twenty-six-year-old single mother with two kids. I don’t have time for fun anymore.”
He shakes his head, his lips pinching in frustration. “Maybe that’s your problem.”
“So now I have a problem? God, you sound like Austin now. Everything is my fault.”
He looks at me for a long time without saying a word, and I think he’s going to walk away. I’m being mean to him. He doesn’t back down, the words becoming his breaking point. “Come on, Aly. Christ.” He pauses, the smallest flicker of his lashes, long and dark, and blows out a breath like he’s really trying here. He moves closer and what follows is slow and whispered, as if to make the meaning last. His lips curve at the corners, but the smile isn’t one of amusement. He’s serious. “I’m not Austin.”