by Shey Stahl
Our fingers brush, my heart skips, my stomach tightens.
He grins, knowing the response and the action touches his eyes. “Thanks.”
I wait for the boys to be busy eating their hot dogs and smearing ketchup on each other—essentially occupied—to lean on Ridge’s shoulder, but careful not to touch him. “Did you talk to Austin?”
Ridge’s jaw tightens as he’s chewing. He waits until he’s done chewing, before he says, “No, not really.”
“Oh, he just made it seem like he had a conversation with you.”
Shrugging, he tosses the now empty container in a nearby garbage can. “I wouldn’t call that a conversation.”
“What was it?”
Another shrug. “Nothing.”
He’s closer now, our chests brushing and the kiss we shared heats my cheeks. The situation I’m in stings my eyes.
“Was it so easy for you to let me go?” I whisper, swallowing thickly, and lashes meet and tangle as my lids briefly close. I can’t believe I asked him that.
He turns his focus to Austin in the distance, waiting by his Jeep. “Is this what you want?” he wonders, instead of answering my question.
My lips part, a shaky exhale lost to the wind. “You mean me and you?”
I’m waiting for his reply, but he’s taking too long, and I notice Austin’s patience has run out and he’s approaching.
He studies my face, licks his lips as he searches for whatever it is he wants to say. And then he finds it. “I’m asking you what you want, Aly. Because I’m pretty sure you haven’t been asked what you want in years.”
I don’t get a chance to answer him. Austin’s standing near the boys, motioning for them to get up. “You guys ready?”
Grady uses his arm to wipe ketchup from his face, standing near Austin. “I am.”
Cash doesn’t have the same reaction. He crosses his arms and moves closer to Ridge. “I’m not going.”
After the other day, I don’t want to let them go with him, but I also don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. A parenting plan issued by the court says I have to allow him visitation. Sure, I think he’s unstable, but a judge might see it a different way.
I do know there’s only so many times he can let the boys down before they won’t take the disappointment anymore.
Ridge’s stare meets mine. Look at him. He wants to say so much to Austin he’s literally clenching his jaw to keep from saying anything.
Austin drops to his knees near Cash, but doesn’t touch him. “I’m sorry, bud. I didn’t mean to react that way the other day.”
Ridge walks away without a word, his retreat stiff and forced.
Austin’s honesty with them results in a pause, my denial to let them go with him dissolving on my tongue. Cash doesn’t budge, his brow furrowed, body tense.
My heart cracks inside as I watch the man who created these precious boys with me, filling their entire heart with a promise I hope he keeps.
Cash stares at him for the longest moment, silence suspended in the night. He glances at me. “Do I have to?”
I blink and force breath into my lungs. My throat constricts, and my eyes begin to fill. “You should go with your dad tonight. You haven’t seen him in a while.”
Cash swallows, his eyes flit to Ridge in the distance, then back to Austin. He doesn’t say anything to his father, but he nods.
I hate the part that comes next, but I know it has to happen. Austin leaves with my children, and for a night, I don’t get to tuck them in. I don’t get the last I love you of the night, the warmth of their bodies as they hug me goodnight and tell me to dream good thoughts or the ability to check on them.
He gets it, and he doesn’t understand the significance of it.
If you can believe it, the rest of the week goes by fairly smoothly. Cash doesn’t get in trouble once this week and sadly, I’m disappointed because I only see Ridge twice.
But. . . here we are, Saturday morning in St. Helen at the boy’s football game, to which Austin shows up with Brie tucked against his side.
Don’t they look cozy? Gag me. Please.
They’re sitting about four rows in front of us, not an inch of space between them. Brie has her hand on his back, playing with the hair on the back of his head like I used to.
A stabbing sensation hits my chest, and though I know I no longer have feelings for Austin, the fact that she’s doing that makes me want to shove my foot up her ass.
“I can’t believe he showed up with her,” Tori remarks, rolling her eyes, Ada climbing all over her like she’s some kind of jungle gym.
“I can.” I move my coffee out of the way of Ada, who’s trying to drink it now. Little mooch will take anything of yours and claim it as her own. Kinda like her mother. You don’t know how many pairs of shorts Tori stole from me when we were growing up. “He brought her to their first day of school. He has no shame.”
Tori’s eyes widen. “He’s such a dog.”
“So. . . he came over to the house the other day. . . after the last game and we got into it.”
“And?”
“He admitted to cheating on me with her before we were even married.”
Now her eyes really widen, her jaw falling slack. “What?”
“I know!” I whisper-shout. They are in front of us so I probably should keep my voice down, only I don’t really want to. Everyone in these bleachers thinks Austin is some kind of saint. If only they knew the half of it.
Tori’s stare burns into the back of Brie’s now jet-black hair. “What’s so great about her? You’re clearly better looking, better body. . . I just don’t get it. And who’s she trying to be with that black hair, Pricilla Presley?”
I smile. Now I remember what it’s like to have a friend to talk bad about other girls with. I’m all about anti-bullying and all that shit, but you fuck my husband, I’ll stab you in the fucking back. Actually, no, I won’t.
I don’t have it in me to kill another human being. I’d totally stick Cooter on her. “Me either. The only thing I can think of is that she gives it up any time of the day.”
Tori rolls her eyes. “That’ll change once she has a kid.”
“Truth.”
That’s exactly it too. It dawns on me right then, in the middle of my son’s football game, that Austin wanted freedom to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Brie has always been the party animal in our group of friends and never settled down with any guy. As far back as I can remember, she’s never had a steady boyfriend and is nearly twenty-seven years old.
It’s probably because she’s been having sex with my husband for just as long.
Tori nudges my ribs. “Um, I see the way Ridge’s been eyeing you lately. What’s up with that?”
My cheeks feel like they’re as hot as the sun. “Nothing. Why?”
“Um, bull crap. I’ve known you since you were born. I know when you’re lying.”
I don’t want to be discussing this. Pointing to the field, I smile coyly. “Shh, I’m trying to watch a game.”
“Ha. Now I know something’s going on.”
And then I think to myself, what is going on? Should there be?
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I know Ridge well enough to know he can certainly keep a secret. But. . . and this could be a big but. . . he’s still my kid’s teacher. That’s frowned upon. He could technically get fired if anyone was to find out we were messing around, I think. Were we messing around? Is one kiss really considered messing around?
See? I have absolutely no experience in any of this. I’m in over my head.
As the game ends, my thoughts become louder the closer I get to Ridge. He’s down on the sidelines with Henry and the boys, congratulating them because Cash scored three of the four touchdowns which makes for a nice walk to the car.
You remember the kiss last weekend. . . right? The one against the wall?
Guess who has yet to stop thinking about it?
This girl.
So—with that in mind—what do you think I’m thinking about when Ridge once again waits until I’m in the parking lot loading up the kids?
Nasty, dirty thoughts that involve us naked and my legs up around my ears like the porn I may or may not have watched in the last six months while putting my phone on private browsing.
Well that’s certainly detailed enough to be true, isn’t it?
Regardless, focus, Ridge is in front of me.
Amusement dances in his dark irises, as if he knows my thoughts are constantly in the gutter. He tips his head, looking inside the back of the van and waving to the boys, but then he notes in my ear, “There’s a lot more room in the back of your van than I thought.”
“The seats fold down too,” I breath, organizing the gear bags so they’re nice and neat and not strung all over the place. I fight the urge to slap my hand over my mouth after saying that. I glance at the boys.
They didn’t hear me, nor would they have understood anyway.
Ridge leans into the side of the van with his shoulder, ducking his head so he doesn’t hit it on the rear hatch. “Are you gonna bring the boys by the track today? It’s race night.”
Zipping up the bags, I glance over at him. “I’m beginning to think you like them better than me.”
“I think it’s a good thing they don’t know all the things I want to do to their mom.”
The way he watches me, his dark eyes undressing me, it makes me want to throw myself at him like all those shameless girls in high school did. Sorry, Tori, you’re one of them. Which, by the way, I do not hate my cousin for sleeping with Ridge. I’m jealous, but I don’t hate her because she didn’t do it to hurt me. They actually dated for a week.
I’m not sure where the thoughts come from, but I ask before I can take it back, “What kind of things?”
He reaches up and scratches the back of his head, then turns his hat around backward. His dark hair spills out from the front and loops around the snap of the trucker-style hat he’s wearing. “I can’t tell you. I’m more of a hands-on teacher. I like involving students.”
Alyson, your kids are in the car. You have to stop this now. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t.”
I close the back hatch. “Yes, I do. I’ll bring them by the track around two.”
“Wear something tight,” he tells me, watching me walk away.
“It’s been six months. . . it’s fucking tight.”
He groans and hangs his head. “You’ll pay for that later.”
“Two can play your little game, Ridge.”
What the fuck am I doing leading him on like this? I should know better. Leading Ridge Lucas on is like tossing stones at the devil and not expecting him to turn the motherfuckers into grenades and fire them right back at you. Metaphorically speaking of course.
For as long as I can remember, from March to October, my Saturday nights are usually spent at the track. Even after I had the boys, that’s the one thing I did with them on Saturday nights. They love it and eventually sweet-talked my mother, who ran the kitchen at the track, into letting them work the concessions with her.
It’s not like they do any hard labor. They hand people candy and chips when they order them. I too, worked the concession stands when I was a kid.
Believe it or not, it was my first job thanks to Mike. He hired me when I was sixteen.
Just like I believe in chores, I believe in kids understanding the value of having a job, showing up on time and doing your job right. Now if only I had a job, but that’s beside the point at the moment.
I’m onto something here. We’re there at the track around three, a little later than I had anticipated, but the gates don’t open until four so we’re technically still on time.
“Where’s Ridge?” Grady asks the very moment we step inside the gates of the fairgrounds where the track is.
“Probably around here somewhere,” I tell him. I close the gate behind us and lock it back up. There are about twenty people wandering around in the parking lot, and the pit lot is nearly completely full. In the distance, you can hear the hum of the engines, the smells of methanol and burnt rubber.
Cash breathes in deeply and smiles, a little bit. “When am I going to be old enough to start racing quarter midgets?”
I think I told you this, but my brother is a big-time sprint car racer. If you’ve never seen one of them, they’re an open wheel car with a wing on the top. Well, Cash, he thinks Uncle Tyler is pretty much the coolest person on the planet and wants to be just like him. My boys idolize my brother. I mean, I get it. He’s a badass racer in a sprint car. If you’ve never seen a sprint car, they scream mean. And if you’ve never heard the sound of a sprint car running wide open on a half-mile dirt track, you’re not living if you ask me.
Austin doesn’t want Cash racing though. Naturally, because Austin was never interested in racing, his sons can’t be. It sucks, really. There’s nothing worse than your kids wanting to do something, and one parent is against it.
“We’ll talk about it again soon, bud.” I ruffle his hair as we walk toward the ticket booth where I’m working tonight. I’ll be helping in the concession stand with Tori and my mom later tonight, but I promised my dad I’d do tickets first.
As you can see, it’s a family affair here at the speedway. Even though Mike owned the track, my family has always been heavily involved.
Cash stops walking. “Am I going to be able to or is dad never going to allow it?”
“I don’t know. We’re not talking about this tonight.”
His precious yet defiant eyes find mine. “That means no.”
I smack the side of his head lightly. “Lose the attitude, little man.”
Cash hates to be bullshitted. Grady, he’ll go along with whatever you tell him to do. He’s that kid that if you said, let’s go jump off a bridge, he’d be terrified, but he’d do it regardless of the consequences because you asked him to.
Cash, he wants to know why, and then why leads to another why and all the details. What bridge? How high is it? What’s the probability of breaking a bone?
Every. Single. Detail.
Even after you’ve talked until you’re blue in the face about everything that can or might happen, he’s still not convinced. He once asked me to draw him a map to the grocery store because he wanted to know the exact streets it took to get there so he could count the steps. We literally live three blocks from the only grocery store in town.
Can you tell we’re a lot alike? Maybe in different ways, but I see a lot of me in his actions.
And don’t, under any circumstances, tell Cash maybe. To any question he asks. He’ll blow up on you and say, “Maybe is not an answer. Just say no.”
He’s the weirdest kid I know, and I love him for it.
Keeping step with me through the entrance, Cash shakes his head. “I don’t understand why he’ll let me play football and not race.”
I spot my dad when we’re near the ticket booth. The boys do too and go running after him. “Papa!”
“Hey, guys! ’Bout time you got here.”
I smile when he picks them both up. I have no idea how he does it. I can’t even carry them to bed anymore. I nod to the ticket booth when I realize it’s locked. “Do you have the keys?”
Dad shakes his head. “No, Ridge does.”
“Oh, okay.” My heart thuds in my ears. Damn you, heart, stop that. “Where is he?”
“I think he’s in his trailer.”
Trailer? Oh, right. He’s living in a trailer in the pits. I knew I hadn’t forgotten that, but it still surprised me he lived in a trailer. Yet then again, it didn’t, and it suited him just fine. Ridge was never into fancy things. He never had nice cars, clothes. . . those sort of things just didn’t matter to him.
Look at his motorcycle. It looks like a pile of shit. Sure, he says it’s vintage but still, hunk of junk if you ask me and you can smell the rich exhaust coming from it a mile away.
&nb
sp; Did I mention he looks sexy as hell on it though?
That’s the thing, all that—the simplicity, the motorcycle, the trailer—it all adds to the appeal of the “rebel without a cause” thing he has about him.
Grady raises his hand. “Can I go to his trailer? I’ll go get the keys.”
Cash’s eyes widen. “I want to, too.”
Uh, no, if anyone is getting the keys, it will be me.
“No, you guys go with Papa. Is Ridge coming back with them?” I ask, looking at the ticket booth and then my dad, the boys hanging on his arms.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” He turns around, taking the kids toward Mom. “Go get them.”
Damn it. I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to go find him and then before you know it, I’m going to kiss him again, or he’ll kiss me.
So I go find him. Don’t laugh. You would too after that kiss.
His trailer isn’t actually a trailer at all. It’s a Class C motorhome, but not one of those over the top ones. Again with the modesty.
I knock, maybe a little too lightly, and of course, he doesn’t answer. Biting my lip, I contemplate what to do and glance down at my phone. Gates open in forty-five minutes, and if I’m going to be somewhat prepared, I need to get things organized in there.
I knock again.
No answer.
I try the door handle and pull it toward me.
It opens.
Do I step inside? Do I close it? Do I go in, grab the keys and run?
No. . . really, I’m asking you because I’m standing there like an idiot wondering what the fuck to do.
All right, I’ll go in and see if he’s at least in there. There’s certainly no harm in that, right? The door is unlocked. Isn’t that a standard definition of go ahead, come inside?
With a good amount of hesitation, I take a step inside and immediately—or maybe not—regret it because guess who’s just getting out of the shower?
Ridge.
He pauses and closes the shower door. He’s still dripping wet with a towel around his waist.
I nearly faint.
And the motherfucker drops the towel, and I have to reach for the counter with one hand. You would too. Hello, naked man before me.