Tempt

by Joya Ryan

  I exhale hard and look at my sister. A sister who is on the other side of the bar ignoring me and completely uninterested in the fact that I’m sitting here. She has been on her damn phone for the past fifteen minutes, texting or some shit. She doesn’t look up to refill my Coke.

  “Pouting isn’t a good look for you,” she says, still not looking at me.

  “I’m not pouting. But as long as we’re offering unsolicited comments, your service sucks.”

  She laughs but keeps texting. “You’re my brother. You drink free soda all day and leave me air for a tip. Forgive me if I don’t bring my A-game to you.”

  I smile and grip my glass. The condensation rolling down it.

  “You nervous for tonight?” Mic asks.

  Yes, but not for the race. For this feeling of unease. I know it’s you. It’s this hole in my chest that got used to your warmth and now it’s gone. It’s for the best, I remind myself for the millionth time. But it’s cold and hollow and sucks.

  Makes me crave a hit.

  A hit of you.

  That goodness. That raw, uncut sweetness that only you have. It’s like breathing fresh air and life with every breath I take of your hair, your skin.

  Yeah, I’m jonesing bad.

  Not pouting…

  I glance around, Mic’s bar is empty. A few locals are on the other side of the bar and at one table. Afternoon hours can be slow around here and I’m grateful for it. Mic apparently is too because she walks to the back, taking her phone with her.

  The bell rings with a customer but she doesn’t turn around. Just continues heading to the kitchen.

  I glance over my shoulder.

  You.

  You’re walking in, fast and concerned and pissed.

  I can’t help but wonder if Mic texted you. Because she’s surprisingly absent and you seem to have gotten tipped off to my whereabouts.

  “You’re here,” you say, lifting your arms slightly only to drop them at your sides. Your palms slap your bare outer thighs where your cutoff jean shorts don’t cover. I love those shorts. They are officially a staple of our summer together. How many times have I peeled them down your legs? Ripped them open and shoved inside of you? Gripped your hips and felt the waistline against my palms, wishing I could touch more?

  I say nothing. Just wait until your swaying red hair stops from your huffy stomping and you come to face me.

  Your eyes are bright and fierce. “What has happened to you? Two days and I hear nothing from you?”

  I look at my Coke. “You knew this was bad from the start and we ran our course.” The words hurt to say. But I have to say them. It’s better than me asking about your scholarship applications or the “nice young man” you were with. I can’t take it right now.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  I look at you. Tears line your lower lashes. My chest caves in. That’s all it takes, baby. You are all it takes.

  I love you.

  God damn it, I love you so much it’s killing me inside.

  I open my mouth to tell you. I reach out my hand to touch you—

  “My grandma is freaking out, Coe,” you say.

  I drop my hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Did you take them?” you ask.

  “Take what?”

  “Her pain pills? She’s missing some.”

  My brows rise while the rest of me goes limp. I can feel my face drain until it’s white.

  “What?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around what you’re saying. “She’s missing pills and you think I took them?”

  You lift your hands again, only higher this time.

  “What else can I think?” you say sharply. “She says you came through the house like you were hunting. And I count her pills every few days. She is missing some. Is that what you were looking for? This whole time?”

  I frown. My heart shatters like a cheap mirror hit against asphalt. You think I’m still using? Think I could steal from you and your grandma? And you have no idea that in this godforsaken world the only drug I want—need—is you.

  I can’t blame you; I’ve given you no reason to think otherwise of me the last couple days. I also can’t deny this fucking hurts bad. This is why I could never claim you. Because I break your heart. Because I’ll always be a junkie and you’ll always be a good girl with a better future than anything I could give you.

  We’re done here.

  We have to be.

  And I have to make that clear, for both of us.

  “I didn’t take any of your grandma’s pills,” I say firmly. I turn back to my Coke.

  You shove me. “Talk to me,” you say. “Coe, I’m standing right in front of you and you’re still avoiding me.”

  I stay quiet. Keep my eyes on my drink.

  I love you, Shay.

  I’m sorry.

  I think this, but say none of it.

  Tears are in your throat when you say, “You tell me I’m the young one? You’re the one acting like a child. You can’t even face me.”

  You’re half right. I won’t face you. Because I’ve already let this go too far. Leave, Shay. Before I ruin you further.

  Your red hair is bright in my peripheral view.

  “Please,” you whisper. “Say something.”

  I clench my jaw. There’s so much I want to say, but I know better. I gave the truth. I didn’t and wouldn’t break your trust or fall off the wagon. But I have to let you go. For good.

  I stay silent.

  You nod.

  You say nothing more, just turn and walk out. The sound of your boots leaving me and your tears will forever be burned into my memory and I fucking hate myself for both.

  Chapter 11

  I’ve never felt a race to be so pointless before. I’m in my car, the crowd is massive. A decent-sized stadium lining an oval dirt track is lit up brightly. This event brings in money for Mojave. Brings in people and opportunity. Which is good, I guess.

  I should be focused on winning. Be in my zone.

  I’m not.

  The engines are loud and the moonlight is bright. Ungodly bright. There’s not a cloud in the sky and with the hint of dust in the air, I know that this marks the end of summer. For me at least. And for you. Our time is up, and I have nothing to show for it except the last glimpse of your tears.

  I love night races. But not tonight. The track is bright, but the air is getting thicker, dustier as the great state of Nevada begins to kick up wind.

  All I want is you.

  I can feel my breath against my helmet. The thing is heavy and covers my entire face except my eyes. My heartbeat is in my ears. The adrenaline is going, but not like before you. Because I lost you.

  I stayed silent and lost you for it. You asked me to say something, and I didn’t. I should have said the truth. Should have told you how I feel. Should have kicked my pride and explained I’d never use or steal from you.

  No matter how many times in the past few hours I’ve convinced myself it was the right thing, I’ve never felt such an ache in my gut before.

  I’m going to lose tonight, Shay.

  I can feel it.

  Because I don’t care the way I used to. My focus is for shit. I need you. Need a hit of you. Anything. But I’m a junkie and you can’t believe me. Can I really be surprised? I’m a fucking moron for acting the way I have. You’re right. I am a damn child.

  And now you’re gone and I’m in the car. Strapped and ready to go. I’m in my pit area. No crew really needed for this short of a race. This isn’t NASCAR, baby. This is the Wild West dirt track shit that gets you big money one night at a time and the lucky ones make a bigger name and bigger sponsors to do this for a living. I’ll never be in a clean car on a pristine track.

  That’s okay.

  I know where I belong.

  So, why do I feel empty when I should feel the most fulfilled? Racing has been the one high spot in my life since drugs. No pun intended.

 
Then you came along.

  I guess you’ve always been there.

  And I fucking choked.

  Choked on my insecurity. Choked on my words. Now I’ll be that junkie you never trusted that you thought stole pills and I’ll remember your skin and lips and all the things I never said.

  I close my eyes. Rev the engine. Try to let the hum of the car calm me.

  It doesn’t.

  Tap, tap, tap sounds on my window.

  I look to my left.

  Your sweet face is staring at me. Mic is next to you. She got you into the pit area because only she and Trade have the VIP access to get on the track or in the pit this close.

  My pulse catches in my throat, my heart stops beating. Your eyes are locked on mine and I can’t take a damn breath. My skin pricks with heat, then flushes with cold.

  I roll my window down.

  “Just shut up and listen,” you yell over the loud engines and stirred up dust. “I love you! I know you didn’t take the pills. I never thought you did. My grandma, she got confused on her doses. I just…I didn’t know what to think when you left and I didn’t see you for two days. I miss you, Coe. I miss what we have. Even when you’re an asshole.”

  I smile. Your red hair is whipping around your face and you’re trying to hold it down, crouching so you’re looking straight through my driver window.

  You frown.

  “I can’t tell what you think because your face is covered with a helmet, but if you stay silent again, I’m going to crawl in there and kick your ass. You hear me?”

  I take my helmet off and toss it aside. I reach out to cup your face and kiss you hard.

  “I love you too,” I say loudly over the noise.

  You smile against my mouth.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I want to make things work. I want to be good enough.”

  “You need to stop with that. We’ll be great if you just allow us to be who we are.”

  The announcer comes over the speakers and I’ve got to get to my spot.

  “Okay,” I agree and kick my car into gear. “Let’s be who we are.”

  I kiss you one more time, wink, then put on my helmet.

  “I’ll be waiting for you after the race. Win or lose, I’m going to be here,” you say.

  That heat returns to my chest and an ease settles through my veins. You’re going to wait for me. Win or lose…we can make this work. All of this.

  I take off toward the starting line; knowing you love me, knowing you’re here with me, I feel stronger. Like we can tackle anything.

  You are the high I’ve been craving. The adrenaline that keeps me going.

  God damn it, I love you.

  And I’m going to win.

  Because I refuse to lose, to go against who either of us is anymore. You’re bright; I’m dirty. We’ll find the middle ground. Because going without isn’t an option for me anymore.

  I need you.

  And somehow, I’ll make you proud.

  I hit the starting line, the announcer comes on.

  In 3…2…1…

  Race!

  Epilogue

  “So, what is the theory of relativity then, if not just speed and observation?” An old man in a sweater vest drones on and on and, my God, how do you stay awake in these classes?

  The lecture hall is massive. Like a dome stadium with hundreds of students sitting, listening to this one guy at the bottom behind the podium.

  I lean against the doorway. You’re five rows down from where I’m standing at the entrance. Jesus, you look beautiful. Your hair falls over your shoulder as you scribble wildly at your notebook, as if transcribing every single word Father Time down there is saying.

  The clock hits twelve and everyone packs up. You grab your bag, shove your notebook in it, and start coming up the few stairs toward me. Your eyes lift and you see me. A wide smile breaks your face you let out a happy giggle and run.

  Run toward me.

  For me.

  I open my arms.

  Nothing has ever felt better than holding you.

  “I’ve missed you!” you say and litter my face with kisses. I smile and pick you up, walking us out into the hall. Students flood the area but don’t pay attention to us. We’re in our world, baby.

  “You saw me three days ago,” I say.

  “Yeah, but I still miss you.”

  I put you down and cup your face. I kiss you long and deep. “Mmm, I’ve missed you too.”

  “You ready for a great weekend?” you ask and take my hand as we walk out of the science building.

  “Does it involve seeing you naked?”

  “Yep! And reruns of Seinfeld. We’ll do nothing but snack, watch TV, relax and…you know…” you give me a sexy little grin. I can’t help but grab your ass as we walk.

  “Oh, I know. And that sounds perfect.”

  We head toward the street where my truck is parked. Living ten minutes from your school is nice because, in no time, we’re standing at the front door of our little house. A two-bedroom tiny place, but it’s all ours.

  “Everything okay in Mojave?” you ask.

  “Yes, everyone is good. I checked in on your grandma and she really likes her nurse. She’s at the house every day.”

  “Good, I feel bad I can only get there two weekends a month.”

  “Don’t feel bad, baby. You’re working hard and your grandma knows that.”

  You nod. “At least we have your place to go to when you need to practice or stay. I’m grateful for that.”

  I nod. I’m grateful for a lot of things, and they all start and stop with you. We have a place in Mojave and a place in Vegas. We’re making it work and being ourselves.

  I got a few more sponsors after that last summer race and money is also good. We can take care of your grandma, get you to school, and life is pretty fucking great.

  I have you.

  All of you.

  I unlock the front door and you kiss me before we enter.

  “I can’t wait to see you race on the big track next month,” you say against my mouth.

  The Las Vegas Invitational.

  After I won at the end of summer, I thought I would be flying high on that fact. But it was seeing you, cheering and waving and waiting for me when I got out of the car. It was running to you, hugging you, sharing the joy—the victory with you—that made me high.

  “How did I get so lucky?” I ask.

  “You’re an amazing racer,” you say.

  “No,” I kiss your chin. “I mean with you.”

  You smile. I pick you up and walk into our little home, you holding onto me and kissing my neck with every step.

  “I love you, Coe,” you say against my skin.

  I kick the front door shut behind me. “I love you, too, baby. Forever.”

  “Forever,” you agree.

  And that word sticks to my chest, making that spot only you live in warm up. I walk you to our bedroom and lay you down. It’s going to be a great weekend.

  It’s going to be a great life.

  The End