Believe in Forever (Jett Series Book 3)

by Amy Sparling

  She nods once and purses her lips. “You still haven’t given me any good present ideas, you little punk.”

  I sigh and roll my eyes, walking around her to get to the fridge. “Mom, I told you I don’t need anything.”

  “But what do you want?” She stares at me very seriously and I know it’s important to her, but I can’t think of anything.

  “Video games?” I say, cracking open the lid on a bottle of Gatorade. “Maybe clothes? You’re good at picking them out.”

  “You have tons of clothes and when do you ever have time to play video games?” Mom says, sitting at the kitchen island. She opens her laptop, probably going to Amazon or another online place she likes to shop. “Your dad wants one of those new smart watches,” she says, watching me intently.

  I scrunch my nose. “I’d break something like that. No thanks.”

  She groans. “What about money?”

  I shrug. “Money is always fine,” I say with a laugh. “Mom, I don’t need anything. Can’t you take some comfort in knowing that you raised a son who is content and happy with his life and doesn’t need anything else to make him happy?”

  She sighs, resting her chin in her hand. “You’ve had a shit ton of presents underneath that tree every year of your life,” she says. “I can’t just stop doing that. I’m your mom and mothers don’t understand the concept of not getting their kid anything for Christmas.”

  “How about I don’t get you anything either?” I say, giving her a smirk. She glares at me.

  “Oh hell no. I have a list a mile long,” she says, laughing as she points toward the fridge, where I see an actual list stuck to the side with a magnet. That must have appeared today because I haven’t seen it before. I make a mental note to take a picture of that with my phone next time Mom isn’t in here, but for now I shrug. “You don’t need anything, Mom. Your life is great.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna beat you,” she says playfully.

  I finish my Gatorade and toss the empty bottle in the recycle bin. Mom points at me as I walk away. “You better make a list yourself, or I’ll have to surprise you.”

  When Keanna calls later, I tell her about the conversation with my mom. “It’s just so annoying,” I say, gripping the phone but wishing I was holding her instead. “I don’t want any freaking presents, why can’t she just accept that?”

  “Jett,” Keanna says, her voice soft. “I know it bothers you but you have to look at it from her perspective. When you love someone, you want to give them gifts. It’s not like she’s doing this to be mean—obviously. It probably hurts her feelings that you don’t want anything. She wants to show how much she loves you and you can’t fault her for that.”

  I get the distinct feeling that her speech isn’t just about my mom’s feelings. I sigh into the phone. “You’re right. I’ll make her a list.”

  “She’ll like that,” Keanna says.

  I don’t say anything, but I vow to make Keanna a list, too. I hadn’t thought of Christmas and my birthday in that way before. If the people who love me want to do something nice for me, why would I stop them? My favorite part of this year will be showering Keanna with gifts, just like I did on her birthday last month. So yeah, I need to give them the same opportunity.

  I guess I’m even luckier than I realized.

  Chapter 7

  Now that I’m officially graduated, it feels both scary and exhilarating to be free from any kind of education until next August. Becca agreed with my plan to take time off and follow Jett around the country for his races, and in the fall I’ll start college, wherever that might be.

  I’ll probably pick a local college for now. My parents will be paying for it so I don’t exactly want to go crazy with applying to ridiculously expensive schools when all I want is a simple degree.

  But for now, who cares? I’m free and my life is awesome. I’m going to run with that for as long as I can. My full time is now working at The Track, starting today.

  We just opened and our first set of clients are already out on the track with Jace and Park. Jett is somewhere around here, cleaning his bike and getting things ready for the races this weekend. He’s been extra nervous lately, which isn’t like him. Normally he’s excited for the races, but maybe that’s because he’s always pretty confident he’ll win. I’ve heard enough from our clients and from Jace and Bayleigh lately to know that this weekend at Oakcreek is a big deal. Racers from all over the country have traveled down for it. Now Jett will be competing against all the Texans he already knows, plus a handful of racers he’s never seen before. Maybe some of them are faster than he is. Hopefully not.

  I make a fresh pot of coffee in the breakroom and fix myself a cup. The front door bell jangles, announcing the arrival of someone so I quickly press a plastic lid onto my coffee cup and rush up there.

  Becca’s grin is a mile wide and kind of makes her look like a creepy clown doll. I approach the front desk slowly, setting down my coffee while I eye her suspiciously.

  “Why do you look like you’re about to murder me and chop me into tiny pieces?”

  “Morbid, much?” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she brushes past me. “I am perfectly normal, thankyouverymuch.”

  I follow her into the breakroom and watch her make a cup of coffee. “What’s going on with you? Where have you been?”

  She shrugs. “Oh just maternity stuff . . .” She chuckles while stirring hazelnut creamer into her coffee. “One great thing about having a surrogate is that I can have all the caffeine I want.”

  It hits me then, and I feel bad for forgetting. “Bayleigh just had the ultrasound, right? How’d it go?”

  Becca grins and stirs her coffee like she’s the evil villain in a movie. “Can’t tell you,” she sing-songs.

  “You can’t tell me the sex of the baby but surely you can tell me how it went?” I ask.

  She breaks from her strict look and says, “Well, you’re right. The baby is healthy and perfect! But I can’t tell you if you’re getting a sister or brother until the party. I don’t even know myself.” She’s still sing-songing but I figure having your first baby is the only time it’s okay to wander around in a dreamlike haze.

  “I’m excited,” I say, giving her a hug.

  “So are you ready for the races this weekend?” Becca asks. She opens a browser on the work computer and pulls up a baby registry on Target, so she can add new items. That’s pretty much all she does lately.

  “Yeah, I think it’ll be fun to watch a race at somewhere other than here.” I pull my barstool next to hers so I can look at baby stuff over her shoulder.

  “Races are a lot different than practice,” Becca says, using a voice that sounds more mom-like than I’ve ever heard from her. “Now that Jett is in the public eye, he’s going to be the talk of the races. It’ll probably be hard on you at first.”

  My chest starts to ache. “What do you mean by that? It’s not like I’m the one racing.”

  She nods slowly and focuses on the computer. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to look at me because of what she’s about to tell me next. “It’s just hard on girlfriends. You’ll have to stay positive no matter what. If Jett loses, he’ll be pissed. He’ll act like someone you don’t even know.”

  I swallow. It’s hard picturing Jett acting any differently than his usual sweet self with a happy attitude. “He won’t lose,” I say, but even my voice sounds shaky. “He’s really good.”

  She smiles warmly at me and pats me on the arm. “Hopefully he’ll win. He’s definitely good enough.”

  The door jingles again and Bayleigh comes in, covered in that pregnancy glow that until now, I’d thought was just an old wives’ tale. “What are we talking about, ladies?”

  “I was warning Keanna on what to expect during the race this weekend,” Becca says.

  Bayleigh’s face shifts into a quick grimace. “Ah, yeah. This’ll be your first time watching him at a serious race.” She walks forward and puts both of her hands
on my shoulders, looking me in the eye. “Nothing is your fault. Got it?”

  “Huh?” I say, lifting an eyebrow.

  Bayleigh sighs and looks upward like she’s trying to get her words in order. “Jett doesn’t handle losing well. He might need space, or maybe a water bottle, or—” She throws her hands in the air. “Hell, I don’t know. He’s my kid and I don’t know. He’s never brought girls to the races with him before, so this is new territory.”

  I look from my mom to my second mom. “I think ya’ll are making a big deal out of nothing,” I say. “I’ve seen him ride tons of times. It’ll be okay.”

  The two best friends share a look and then turn to me. “We haven’t even started on the track girls.”

  “Track girls?” I set my phone on the desk.

  Bayleigh nods. “My friend Hana’s dad owns Mixon Motocross Park and she had one hell of a time dealing with those moto skanks when we were young.” She rolls her eyes and Becca nods adamantly. “Jett is famous now—well, more famous than he’s ever been—and the girls will be flocking around him like seagulls to a bag of Cheetos. Don’t let them get to you.”

  I shrug it off because I’m pretty sure they’re both making way too big of a deal out of this.

  “So,” I say, smiling and changing the subject. “Do you have any ideas on what to get Jett for his birthday and/or Christmas?”

  Bayleigh laughs out loud. “Oh honey, if I knew that, I’d be using those ideas for myself.”

  “Still nothing on his wish list, huh?” Becca says, shaking her head. “That boy is stubborn.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say at the exact same time as Bayleigh saying the same thing. We look at each other and laugh.

  “Oh, I like you,” Bayleigh says, putting an arm around me. “You fit in just fine around here.”

  Chapter 8

  Saturday morning feels like the beginning of the rest of my life. On another hand, it could also feel like the start of a short-lived dream that’s about to crash and burn. I shake my head and pull on my clothes, telling myself not to think like that. It’s four in the morning and we’re about to head out to Oakcreek which is a couple of hours away. My first Team Loco race. I stare at myself in the mirror, my hair is all disheveled but my eyes are fierce.

  Don’t let it go to your head.

  That’s my dad’s famous line, the one he’s been telling me nonstop since I got my internship. The worst thing a young racer can do is get a small amount of recognition and then throw it all away thinking they’re suddenly famous. I am not famous. I’m barely even worthy of news.

  For now.

  We all pile into Dad’s truck and soon, Mom and Keanna are passed out in the large backseat.

  “Girls,” Dad says with a snort. He readjusts his rear-view mirror and then focuses back on the drive.

  My nerves keep me company on the long drive and by the time we arrive, unload the bikes, and get all the gear out, I’m basically no longer a human being, but just a human-shaped bundle of nervous energy. I force myself to eat and drink but I don’t want to. My stomach is in knots.

  Mom and Dad set up the pop-up canopy and fold out chairs and Mom insists on helping even though Dad keeps telling her pregnant ass to sit down and relax.

  I’m sitting in a chair, snapping up the buckles on my boots when Keanna returns from the concession stand, holding two cups of coffee.

  “That was like the longest walk of my life,” she says, handing me a cup. She lifts her foot and wiggles her white sparkly flip-flop. “You should have told me to wear better shoes.”

  “You wouldn’t have listened,” I say, grinning as I sip from my coffee. It’s too hot, but she’s put just the right amount of sugar and cream in it, so it’ll be perfect in a few minutes.

  Keanna glances around, watching the other riders unpack and get set up in the pit area. We’ve parked near the finish line jump, right between an older guy racing in the over forty age group and a little kid racing in the peewees. I know my friends are around here somewhere, but I haven’t sought them out yet. I prefer this kind of pit area when I’m at the races. As a kid, we’d park next to my friends but it’s hard to concentrate like that. I’d rather be surrounded by strangers who don’t bother me. That way I can keep my head focused on the race.

  “This place is awesome,” Keanna says. She sips from her coffee and then recoils at the temperature and sets it on the back of Dad’s tailgate for safe-keeping. “It’s huge.”

  “That’s because it’s a real race track,” I say. My boots are buckled and I’ve got everything but my jersey, neck brace, and helmet on. Those things can wait until before I go ride. “The Track is just a practice facility so it’s smaller. We don’t need room for parking or race fans or anything.”

  She nods, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her cut-off jean shorts. “It’s cool. I like it.”

  “Maybe we’ll own a race track someday,” I say, sipping from my coffee. I’d had a protein shake a few minutes ago, but this really hits the spot.

  “I thought we were going to own The Track?” she says.

  I shrug. “We could do both.”

  Her whole face lights up and she drags a chair over to me, sitting so that her bare knee touches my gear-covered one.

  “You look hot,” I say, leaning back and admiring the view. She’s wearing a plain black tank top but it dips low and shows off her awesome boobs. She’s also wearing a hoodie since it’s a little chilly before noon. Her hair is piled up in a messy bun on top of her head, little strands of it falling all over the place. I want to reach up and brush the hair off her neck, then drag my tongue across it.

  Shit, Jett. Head in the game. Head in the game.

  “What was that look for?” she asks, her adorable eyebrows pulling together.

  I shrug. “Just telling myself to stop thinking about how hot you are so my racing won’t be affected.”

  She rolls her eyes but her cheeks turn a glorious shade of pink. “You’re dumb.”

  “Dumb and in love,” I say, tilting my head back and downing the coffee.

  Dad rolls out my bike and sets it up on the stand. It’s all clean and gorgeous—in a non-weird way—and I’m instantly in love.

  “How are you feeling?” Dad asks.

  “Great.” I slide my hand down the leather seat. In the distance, the track announcer is telling us when practice will start. Bikes crank up from all over the pits, the different sized engines making a rumbling melody in the air.

  Keanna walks over and touches the black numbers on the front of my bike. “Twenty-four?”

  “Yep,” I say, pulling the bike off the stand and crawling on. I motion for Dad to bring me my helmet. “Team Loco let me pick my number but if I go pro, it’ll change.”

  Her face lights up in recognition. “Your birthday.”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  “I like it,” she says, stepping back as I crank up the bike. The motor roars and I hold my helmet on top of the gas tank, motioning for her to come closer.

  She leans over and I kiss her, trying not to get all caught up in how much I love this girl. Head in the game and all that.

  “So this is just practice?” she says, gazing out over the track.

  “Yep. So don’t judge me. The best way to ride the practice session is to go nice and slow, get a feel for the track and pick the best lines.”

  “I would never judge you,” she says, grinning as she throws her arms around me. My helmet is so bulky I can’t really hug her back. She peers into my eyes. “Be careful.”

  I press my gloved hand up to my helmet and blow her a kiss. “Always.”

  Chapter 9

  A real motocross race is almost nothing like being at The Track back at home. There, it’s always busy and the air is a steady roar of dirt bike motors, but here, it’s a well-organized circus. Hundreds, if not thousands of people are here and they’re just the spectators. There’s a ton of races ranging from little kids to guys that are over fifty years old. They
even call that race “the over fifty” class.

  It’s crazy how busy it is, with people going all over the place and bikes riding in between everyone. I’m in awe. This is a huge race—some kind of regional race that attracts people from several states over. I hadn’t been nervous for Jett’s ability to win until this very moment.

  Bayleigh closes the truck door and walks up to me, her lip-glossed lips turned upwards. She’s wearing a boho sundress and sandals, her hair pulled in a messy ponytail that looks cute on her.

  “Want to head to the bleachers?” she asks, pointing toward the set of bleachers just in front of us. They’re facing the finish line jump as well and they’re twice as big as the ones we have at The Track.

  “Sure,” I say, taking my empty coffee cup to toss in one of the big blue trash cans set up around the pit area.

  Bayleigh is stopped by two different women on our short walk to the bleachers. They both want to rave and squawk about her baby bump. Both make the same adoring face when Bayleigh tells them she’s being a surrogate for her best friend. It is a pretty noble thing she’s doing. I know it’s a little dorky, but I feel cool by comparison just hanging out with her. Bayleigh knows everyone here, from moms to racers to little kids and old people. She smiles and waves and calls them all by name.

  Finally, we get to the bleachers and climb about halfway up, taking a seat in the middle. The starting line is toward the right, forty gates all next to each other with a break in the middle for the guy who drops the lever to start the race.

  Jett is already there, in the third line from the middle. Jace stands next to him, kicking at the dirt at the front of the gate. A lot of racers or their mechanics are doing the same thing to their own lines, so I guess it’s some way to help him get a better start.

  A cool breeze temporarily relieves the scorching morning air and I grin, feeling my hair blow all over the place. I’ll need to fix this messy bun soon.