by Ginger Scott
“Hmmmmm, highly suspicious,” Cody says, pulling me over to his lap and wrapping his arms around me possessively. My heart is literally singing inside my body, and I can’t wait to see what Cody’s does over the next five minutes.
“Okay, are you ready?” I say, pointing the remote at the giant screen in front of us.
“I don’t know…am I? Don’t you need to, like…I don’t know, set this up?” he says, his hands suddenly sweaty along my arms, showing his nerves.
I smile and shake my head no. There’s nothing to say that he won’t see in the video, so I push play, and then tilt his chin away from me so he see’s everything from beginning to end. I don’t need to watch the video. I have it memorized—by heart. So instead I spend the next five minutes studying Cody’s eyes.
The first emotion is pride, and I know it’s because he sees my name as a project leader. He gives me a squeeze, and his smile grows a little. It grows a little more when he starts to see my early sketches, the renderings of Mac’s home, the Craftsman styles modernized, and he actually lets out a prideful laugh when my images fade into the 3-D rendering.
What’s filling the screen is the beginning of the story—like we’re taking a walk, on a journey. The further we move along the fictional neighborhood street, the more real it becomes, with people and cars added to the busy streets, and children out on sidewalks laughing and playing. Soon, the storefronts come into play, and Cody shifts in his seat. Part of me thinks he can sense what’s coming, and he’s nervous.
We go through the mock-up of the grocery store, dodge in and out of the barber, and pass through the patio of a café. Then slowly, the entire rendering starts to slide, shifting over actual video of the real neighborhood in Cleveland, drawings of building fronts locking into place over the shuttered spaces that are there now. The large one in the center is grayed out, its drawing blurry and vague on purpose. It’s the final piece of the puzzle, and, according to Jeff, it’s the closer for this whole deal—the lasting image that is going to leave everyone nodding yes and begging us to break ground sooner rather than later.
The pink of the sign flickers on, a cool effect one of the graphic artists added at the last minute, and when it does, I feel the blood actually drain from Cody’s body. Locked on his eyes, I wait for the rest to come into view—first the green windows of the bays, next the vehicles up on blocks, and finally the entire building. Jake’s glows in the center of the screen—the heartbeat of a vibrant neighborhood, one designed purely with the intent of taking something broken and forgotten and making it new again—the perfect homage.
Cody is motionless, but his grip on me is tight. I have to stand, so I kiss his cheek softly and nudge his arms to let me loose. He moves his eyes to stare at me while I stand, his mouth stuck in awe. I know he’ll be embarrassed about crying in front of Gabe and Jessie later, but for now, he lets the tears pool up, and he forces his lips into a tight smile, trying not to cry more than this. He’ll be glad to know that Gabe is doing the same thing when I tell him about it later.
My hands are shaking when I reach into my bag, and I’m flustered, not able to find the folder I’m looking for fast enough. When I finally do, I lift it out, and kiss it—then hold it tightly to my chest.
“You know, my boss has this theory,” I start, leaning back along Jeff’s desk for support for fear that my legs are going to give out at any moment from shaking so badly. “He says the garage is the heart of the project. And he’s kinda right, you know?”
I force myself to stand again and walk closer to Cody, kneeling down once I’m next to him, so I’m at his level while he’s sitting. “But I think the heart of this,” I say, gesturing to the screen, and then settling my gaze back on his eyes. “The reason any of this, any of us, are here at all…is right here,” I say, pressing my hand flat to Cody’s chest.
Cody holds my gaze, and I watch in wonder as the small crinkles form on either side of his eyes. The way he looks at me is from a dream—the one I had every night we were apart. The one I wished for at night as a teenager, and the one I convinced myself didn’t exist when Mac left. And I never want to be without it again.
“Charlie,” he breathes, but I kiss him quickly to stop him from saying more, and when I pull away I leave the folder in his lap. “What is this?” he laughs, flipping it open and thumbing through the dozens of documents, all stamped with his name and LLC.
“It’s a gift. And I can’t take full credit for it,” I say, nestling into his side on his lap again while he continues to look through the papers. “I made a call early this morning, while you were still sleeping, and Trevor emailed these to me. It’s your property documents, only one slight tweak. He had your LLC all set up, so he just changed it. All you need to do to apply for a lease with request-to-own is file these papers with the company listed on the back the second the city approves the project. And they’ll be expecting your call.”
Calling Trevor this morning was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, even harder than admitting my feelings for Cody in the first place. I didn’t expect him to answer, and when he did, I expected him to hang up the moment I started talking. But he didn’t, and I think it’s because it was for Cody.
I can see the conflict on Cody’s face as he closes the folder again and looks at the blank cover along his lap. I’m quick to squeeze his hand so he’ll look at me again, partly because I still worry that if he thinks about it too much, he’ll feel guilty about betraying Trevor. But I know when we lock eyes that he’s in this as much as I am.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he says, leaning his forehead against mine and closing his eyes.
“You found me,” I say, my words meaning so much more than they do at the surface. “You found me, and I found myself.”
THE END
Epilogue
Cody’s point of view:
“Cody, I’ve got this covered. Get your ass in the truck and over to the arena. You’re going to be late,” Gabe says, pushing me away from the ’72 Shelby we’ve been elbows deep in since Tuesday.
“Okay, I know, I know. You’ve got my cell?” I say, wiping the oil from my hands and digging in my pocket for the keys.
“Yes, I’ve got your cell. And yes…I’ll call you if anything goes wrong. Like, I suddenly forget how to turn on a fucking car or change a set of brake pads,” Gabe ribs me.
He’s right—he’s been working on cars longer than I have. It’s just that I haven’t left the shop for an entire day since the moment we officially opened a year ago. I keep waiting for Charlie to yell at me about going to work all the time, but she never does. She just smiles—like a goddamned angel. It’s that smile that makes me come home every day at five, no matter what.
She even smiled when I told her what I was doing at the pits. And when I told her I had a sponsor, and I was going to compete again. The only time she didn’t smile was when she woke up last night from a nightmare. She wouldn’t say what it was, but I know she’s afraid to see me ride again. She never goes to practices, and I invite her all the time.
But she’s going to be there today.
I’ve been a fucking head case over this. Everything’s been great at practice, but I can’t shake this feeling like something’s going to go wrong the moment I jump in competition. It would be the dumbest way to lose everything I’ve fought so hard for, but I can’t back away from it. It’s like a dare, staring me in the face, taunting me—maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie, I don’t know. But I just know that I need to show the world, maybe show myself, that I can do this still, and be the best, despite my fucking leg.
Everything on me hurts like hell, but I push through it anyway. Even the drive to the arena is hard, but by the time I pull into my spot for loading, my pain is dulled. It’s all Charlie. She talks to Mac when things get tough, so I talk to her—even when she’s not around. She’s caught me before, and I think she knows what I’m doing, but I keep it my secret. Like I have two versions of her—the one I hold at night, and the one
in my head that guides me—and they’re both fucking perfect!
“Hey, loser. You’re late,” Jessie says, her legs kicking back and forth on the loading dock. I rush around to unhook the trailer gate and roll off my bike.
“I know. She here?” I say, a little winded already. I’m not ready for this, I’m in terrible shape. Fuck! What am I thinking?
“She’s here. She’s not totally sure she can watch you do this, but she’s here,” I hear Charlie’s voice behind me, and I’m rushed with instant calm.
She’s wearing one of my hoodies, and a pair of skinny jeans, her feet shoved into the same Uggs she wore on our very first date. I love those boots, and I love the woman in them. I let Jessie take over filing the entry papers and checking out my gages while I kiss Charlie until I can feel her lips curl into a smile against me. It’s like a challenge to me, every time I kiss her.
“Piece of cake,” I say, winking at her when I pull away. “Just stay by Jessie. She’ll hold your hand if you get nervous.”
“More like she’ll slap me,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes at Jessie.
“She’s right, I’ll slap her,” Jessie jokes, and then goes right back to my paperwork.
I pat Charlie on the ass as I pull on my helmet and flip it on my head to go inside for my round. She nods once and takes a deep breath before wishing me good luck. It’s a pretty big event for my first stint back on the tour. My name bought me some clout, and part of me wishes I was somewhere in some West Coast suburb with a few teenagers for my first big ride out.
MTV’s covering my ride, which is cool…I guess? All the attention has my palms sweating. I down at least three energy drinks while I sit in the dirt on my bike, just waiting. I have to pee. I can’t believe this, I’m minutes away from scaring the shit out of myself over some crazy dream, and I have to piss.
They’re calling my name. I have to go, and all I want to do is hop off this bike and run to the blue Port-o-potty 100 feet away. The whole thing has me chuckling, but there’s no use dwelling on it. I’ll have to hold it—I can piss in about 45 seconds.
I pound my fist with one of my old riding buddies and flip the front down on my helmet. I hate wearing these things; everything in here is so fucking small. I swear I think I always hold my breath the entire time, all the way until I slide my helmet off again.
I cruise by the front row before I rev my engine enough to loop around and climb the hill. I know I’ll never spot Charlie here amid the hundreds of family members that sit in this section, so I look for Jessie’s purple hair. That lame-ass dye job has saved me more than once—if I could, I’d make her sit on my car so I could find it in a crowded parking lot.
I’m about to give up when I see the flash of purple, and I notice her hands waving for my attention. Charlie is clinging to her arm, her face buried in her shoulder, so I stop at the side for just a few seconds to pull her away and kiss her in front of the arena full of people.
When I pull away, she’s smiling again, her eyes blinking rapidly with embarrassment, because they just showed her face on the big screen. I kiss my thumb, and then press it to her lips one more time; she giggles. I carry that with me as I ride the rest of the way up the hill.
Once I’m at the top, all sound fades away, and everything looks just like home—I’m right back at the pits, only the lighting is better. I’ve done this—every single thing I have planned for today—at least 100 times over the last month. My nerves are like ice, and my bike feels like it’s just an extension of me. I can feel everything, but I also feel nothing. No pain. My leg is meaningless up here as I look down at the line of dirt and the giant gap between both sides.
I’m ready to fly. I know my grin is cocky as I open up the throttle, and when I feel the speed building as I rush down the ramp, and back up again, my body is overcome with the most amazing calm. The ground is rough, but my arms take every bump and melt it away until suddenly, there’s nothing.
It’s the same sensation you get when you’re a child, finally learning how to swing your way to be even with the bar of the swing set. That little bit of slack—the moment when the chains go limp, and you’re actually free falling, nothing there to hold you. Yeah. That’s what I’m feeling right now—and it’s fucking glorious!
My first trick is simple, just a single flip on the bike. I land it clean, and I can hear the crowd roaring. I hope Charlie’s seeing this, because it’s all for her. Thinking about her only makes me push myself harder, and I make the turn for the next ramp and rev the bike for more speed.
God, I’ve missed that sound—the way it echoes off the building walls, off the crowd sitting in the stands. The next two hills are smaller, so I play with them a little, pulling my legs up and swinging my body to the side not once, but twice.
Damn, that felt good. It was easy. Like I just did this yesterday.
I manage to glance at the clock, and I still have 20 seconds left. I can pull off two more big jumps if I go for it now. I haven’t told Charlie about any of this, but Jessie knows. She was worried, but that’s her job. She’s like my sister after all.
When I’m back at the top, my body feels invincible. My heart is actually beating outside my chest, the adrenaline burning through my veins, and I go full speed down and up again, this time, twisting the bike totally to its side and kicking my legs in the opposite direction. My mom used to hate it when I did this trick. Dad made her come out to watch when I was learning, but she always left after this one. I wonder if Charlie made it through?
There’s no time to ride by and check for her. Not if I want to do one more. So I speed by quickly, my mind imagining her there, hearing her voice in my ears as I ride by. She’d think I’m fucking nuts, I swear, if she knew how often I pretended to talk to her.
I get up to the top in seconds, and I know I have to go for it now if I want to make this last move count. I take a deep breath in and power forward, pushing the bike as fast as it will go, until I’m flying again, away from it all.
Here it is—this is the moment. I let go from the bars, and I turn with the bike, both of us 200 pounds, gliding through the air with no hope for safety—only my best jump and fate. It only takes a second, but that’s enough. I hear her voice in my head, see her face, her smile, feel her—it passes through my heart all at once. That little inkling that tells me I’m being stupid and careless.
“Jesus, Cody. Put your hands back on the fucking bars,” I say to myself. And I do. I grip them, and my feet find their place, and I land the bike cleanly, but with enough force to slide it to the side until I come to a stop.
I went too far. That was too far—and I think I might have just lost her. I swear, if she’s still here, if Charlie is still in the building, I’ll never attempt this fucking trick again. The crowd is literally screaming the roof off the arena, and the flashes are everywhere. I’m running through the loose dirt, trying to get to the stands, trying to find my girl, but this goddamned helmet is blinding me.
I hate this fucking thing. I finally unsnap it and fling it from my head, tossing it to the ground along with the goggles. Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?
The purple flashes through the throngs of cameras and VIP sponsors along the wall, and I push my way through to get to it. When I see her there, her arms wrapped around Jessie’s bicep like she’s clinging for her life in the middle of a hurricane, my heart stops.
I will never attempt that jump again. Ever.
There are actual tears in her eyes when she finally looks up from Jessie’s arm. I reach for her and lift her over the wall to cradle her. “I know baby. I know, I’m sorry. I got carried away, but I’ll never do that again. I shouldn’t have made you watch,” I say, hugging her closely and pressing my lips to her ear. “God, I’m sorry, Charlie.”
She’s clutching my jacket, and I can feel the wetness of her tears along my neck. That was such a selfish prick thing to do, and I can’t believe I made her watch it.
Her grip finally loosens, and when she moves her h
ead back to look at me, I reach up with my hand and smooth the hair away that’s matted to her face. All I can do is give her my stupid smile—the one that says, “I’m a total fuck-up, but you love me anyway.” But before I do, she starts laughing, almost uncontrollably.
“That was beautiful, Cody,” she says. “You were amazing!”
“Yeah? You…you thought that was…amazing?” I say, still waiting for the other, bigger shoe to drop.
But it doesn’t. She just nods up and down, with verve. And then kisses me again, the same kiss we started 60 seconds ago. The crowds are closing in on us, and there are a dozen people battling for my time and attention. But I’m only giving it to one—everyone else will have to wait.
“You really…liked that?” I say, sliding my hands along her frame, down to her waist.
“Ooooooh, I don’t know that I would go that far. I didn’t like any of that, and I’m pretty sure I need to watch your next run from a trailer somewhere. Somewhere far away, and with a bathroom,” she smiles. “But I would never ask you to stop. You’re too good. You were meant for this.”
I kiss her again, this time longer and deeper, and I don’t give a rip who’s watching. I hear the people around us start to actually, “Oooooh,” and I think one of them is Jessie. They can oooooh all they want. And the people who suddenly find me relevant again, well…they can wait. Because I know, despite what Charlie said, there’s only one thing on this earth that I’m meant for—and she’s right here in my arms.
Acknowledgements
I am enormously proud of this story, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading it. There are several people who I want and need to thank, but the biggest credit goes to the amazing members of the reading and blogging community who have spent time reading my words, sharing their opinions and encouraging others to read my books. The book blogging community is rich with wonderful people—people with no vested interest other than the goal of encouraging reading and fostering support for authors. I know I am where I am today because of them. Please, if you are able, take the time to visit their sites, comment on their reviews and share in the experience—they play an important role in the literary community, and I am incredibly grateful for them.