Taming Zach

by Amy Sparling

  I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes and trying to find a way to calm my nerves. I exhale, and then roll over on my bed, holding back a frustrated scream.

  My phone beeps, and I reach for it, my heart pounding. Is it another message from Zach? I’ve been ignoring him since the day he used me and left me. But for some sick reason I still get excited when he tries to reach out to me. I know he’s only doing it because he feels bad. He didn’t care about me. He probably thinks I’ll tell my dad and he’ll get banned from Hopewell Motocross Park, so he’s trying to suck up and apologize.

  Yeah, well screw him.

  The message isn’t from Zach, though. It’s an alert from Instagram. I have one new DM from Keanna Park.

  Why does that name sound so familiar? I click on the message.

  Hello! Is this the Bree who works at Hopewell MX Park?

  I stare at her message for a long time. Sometimes people contact me out of the blue asking questions about the track. But I can’t get her name out of my mind. I know I’ve heard it before. Her profile picture shows her as a beautiful girl about my age, with auburn hair and a pretty smile. She doesn’t look familiar though, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her around the track. I click on her profile.

  Mystery solved.

  She’s the future Keanna Adams. As in, Jett Adams, as in, the swoony-hot professional motocross racer that just about every girl at the track is in love with. He comes from motocross royalty since his dad was also a famous racer back in the day. Keanna is his girlfriend, and now I know she’s probably not messaging me to ask some innocent question about the track.

  Because the thing is, Jett Adams is also on Team Loco.

  I’ve already clicked on the stupid message, so she knows I’ve read it. I can’t just ignore it because that would be weird. I reply.

  Me: Yep, that’s me. Do you have a question about the track?

  Keanna: Not exactly. I had a question about something else. Could I call you?

  I stare at the screen. How do you say hell no in a polite way?

  Me: Sorry, I’m busy at the moment. You can message me though.

  Keanna: I’d really like to talk on the phone. It’s kind of important.

  I grit my teeth. No point in dancing around the truth. If she’s messaging me out of the blue it’s because she’s probably hanging out with Team Loco right now. Zach’s messages have gone ignored so he’s trying to get someone else to reach out to me.

  Me: Did Zach put you up to this?

  Keanna: Nope. But I do want to talk about him. :) Can I please call you?

  Me: Sorry, I’m not interested. Zach is a prick and I’m better off without him.

  My phone shows that Keanna is typing a reply. I hate myself for caring so much, but I sit up in bed and watch the screen while I wait for her next message. Minutes go by and still nothing. But it says she’s typing. Either it’s going to be some long diatribe begging me not to get Zach banned from the track because he used and left me, or she’s not sure what to say and keeps backspacing and starting over again.

  A loud banging sound makes me jump so hard I drop my phone. Someone is knocking on the door. Well, no, not knocking.

  They’re pounding as if the world is ending.

  Dad is still at work and Mama is probably asleep because cleaning so many houses makes her worn out. I jump up and run to the front door. “What’s going on?” Mama says sleepily. She shuffles out of her room.

  “Someone’s beating on the door,” I say, peaking out of the peephole.

  Luckily it’s not some psychopath. It’s just Jake, one of the other guys who works at the track. I unlock and open the door. “What’s going on?”

  There’s a horrifying look in his eyes. He’s covered in sweat and panting as if he ran over here from far away. “Call 911,” he says. “Hurry!”

  “Oh my God,” Mama says. “What’s going on?”

  “Hurry!” Jake says, pushing himself into our house. “My phone is dead. I need a phone. Where’s a phone?”

  I run back to my room and grab my phone. There’s a new message from Keanna and it is pretty long, but there’s no time for that now. I go to the call screen and type 911 and then hand it over.

  “It’s your dad,” Jake tells me as he presses the phone to his ear. “It’s bad.”

  Chapter 17

  I wake up in an unfamiliar place. It smells delicious though, like pancakes and coffee and syrup. I stretch out my limbs and yawn, and then quickly remember where I am. Jett’s house.

  We have five days off until the next Team Loco race and I had nowhere to go. I don’t have an apartment anymore, and after my mom found out that I’d accepted my job back on Team Loco without telling Bree, she was pissed. She’d told me that Bree deserved an explanation. I know she’s right. God, I know she’s right. But I don’t want to go home because of how shitty I feel now. My mom will only make me feel worse. And being home will remind me that Bree isn’t talking to me. There’s no place in Hopewell for me now.

  Even Keanna and her magical thinking weren’t enough to make Bree talk to me again. After the races last night, Keanna had pulled me aside and asked how things were going. I guess she noticed that my social media accounts weren’t as busy as they used to be and she thought something was wrong. She was right. I spilled my guts like an idiot and told her everything. Then she got all excited and said we could totally fix the problem with Bree. She said all she’d have to do is talk to her. She’d explain things in the language that girls use to talk to each other and it’d all be fine. Keanna was pretty damn confident about it all.

  And yet, here we are a day later and Bree still hasn’t messaged me. So Keanna was wrong.

  She doesn’t get it. She met Jett when she was a teenager and they fell in love and stayed in love. Jett never screwed her over the way I screwed over Bree so she just doesn’t get it. She’ll never understand. Her life is this perfect fairy tale. She even lives next door to Jett, although I know they’re getting their own place soon. I’ve seen Jett looking up floor plans online and talking to the same contractor that built his parent’s house. He’s planning on buying the land next to them and building Keanna’s dream home for her.

  “You awake?” Jett says. He crawls out of his bed and runs his hands through his hair.

  I’m sleeping on the futon in his room. I sit up. “Yeah. You think there’s enough food for us?” I ask, motioning to the door where the smells of breakfast are wafting up here.

  “Of course,” Jett says, pulling on a shirt. “My mom makes a ton of food.”

  Mrs. Adams is pretty hot for a mom. She’s also younger than most of my friend’s moms. I avert my gaze though, because I’m not going to be the pervert who checks out my friend’s mom. I know that pisses him off. It would piss me off too if I were in his situation.

  Mrs. Adams has made a ton of food, just like Jett said she would. I join their happy family at the big dining table. Jace Adams was one of my idols when I was a kid, and it’s cool as shit to be in his home now. He has his little girl Brooke sitting in his lap since she doesn’t want to sit in her high chair. He feeds her bites of his food. It’s kind of cute and makes me think about kids for the first time. It’s never even crossed my mind if I wanted to have kids of my own. I guess I never thought about it.

  Jett’s whole family is something to be admired. They care about each other and they get along well and they’ve got each other’s backs. They own a motocross track which is right next door. I can’t imagine how badass that would be. I never pictured myself having kids, but I can definitely picture myself running my own track. I know the owner of Hopewell Motocross Park is getting old, and maybe he’ll retire someday. Maybe he’ll want to sell the track.

  I eat my French toast and let my imagination run away with me. I picture buying the track from him and then marrying Bree and we could live there together running our own track just like Jace does with his wife. We could have kids. We could raise them in motocross. Maybe I’d have a kid wh
o goes on to live out my legacy.

  Jett’s mom bursts out into laughter, taking me out of my daydream. I look over and see that she’s laughing at her daughter, who has decided to dunk her chubby toddler fingers into the syrup and then press it to her dad’s face.

  “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” Jace tells her, kissing the top of her head. He stabs his fork into scrambled eggs and takes a bite.

  “You want me to hold her while you wash that off?” Mrs. Adams says.

  “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. I’m sure there will be more where that came from.”

  Brooke giggles and claps her hands in delight. She’s a really cute kid. I bet Bree would love her.

  Jett leans over to me. “Sorry,” he says. “My parents have gotten very lame since the baby was born.”

  “I heard that!” Mrs. Adams says. She throws a plastic toddler fork at him. “We are not lame. We’re cool as hell.”

  “Damn straight,” Jace says.

  I laugh. Yeah, they’re not exactly cool anymore, but they have something that most people would envy. A loving relationship, a badass house, and a great family.

  I know I don’t deserve any of that but it doesn’t stop me from daydreaming. I think the best way to settle down would be to do it with a motocross girl and to stay in the motocross world. There’s no better place to live.

  Again, I think about Hopewell and wonder if old man Grant has any plans for it after he gets too old to keep running the place. I don’t think he has any kids, so I doubt anyone is going to inherit it. Maybe he’ll sell it to me.

  “You wanna go ride?” Jett asks when we’re finished with breakfast.

  “Hell yeah.”

  We don’t have our Team Loco bikes since those stay with the team, but Jett has several personal bikes and they’re all professional grade. We suit up and take a couple for a ride.

  The motocross park that Jett’s dad owns is called The Track. It’s a fitting name, but it’s also kind of funny. It’s like they couldn’t think of anything else to call it so they just called it what it is.

  All of my frustrations with life seem to disappear when I’m riding. Racing may be my passion, but there’s something great about just riding on an open track without the pressure of the checkered flag or the stress of having an audience.

  We ride for an hour, never getting off the track. Jett chases me and then I chase him and we push each other to go faster and hone our skills. But it’s not as aggressive as during a real race because we don’t want to do something stupid and get injured.

  I pull over to get some water and that’s when I notice the girl sitting on the bleachers. She’s the only spectator out here. She waves at me and I ride my bike over there, then pull off my helmet.

  On the track, Jett flies by and does a no-handed jump to show off for his girlfriend.

  “Any news?” I ask her.

  Keanna frowns. “No. I sent her this long message last night and I thought for sure that it would change her mind. It says she read it but she never replied.”

  My heart tightens but I shrug my shoulders like it’s no big deal. “Told you it wouldn’t work. Life isn’t some happy love fairy tale.”

  Keanna gives me a look. “I never said it was, Zach. Life can be really hard.”

  There’s something in her eyes that tells me she’s dealt with a life that was hard. Now I feel bad for what I said.

  “Sorry. I know you’re just trying to help.”

  “She might just need time to think about it,” Keanna says. “I’ll let you know if she writes back to me.”

  “Thanks.”

  The rumble of an approaching dirt bike signals that Jett finally got off the track. He parks his bike next to mine and hops off, leaving his helmet on the bike’s handlebars. “Hey beautiful,” he says, jogging up the bleachers to where his girlfriend sits. He leans over and kisses her. She smiles up at him.

  Ugh.

  The last thing I want to see right now is a happy couple in love. No freaking thanks. I crank up my bike and get back on the track. But feeling the power of the bike beneath me doesn’t do much to erase the thoughts that are swirling around in my head. I shouldn’t have let Keanna talk to Bree. The only person who should talk to her is me. I fucked this up and I have to make it right. If there’s still a chance for making things right.

  After lunch, Jett and I hit up the gym. They also have a gym on site at The Track. It’s a state of the art facility too, and I’m once again jealous of Jett’s badass life.

  We blast the music and hit the weights and I pour all of this pain into working out. I try not to think about Bree, but she’s the only thing on my mind. I hurt her. I hurt myself. I should have never taken her to that hotel. I should have been honest with her. Hell, I should have listened to Tommy and stayed far away in the first place. This summer was not about finding my dream girl. It was supposed to be about motocross and I went and fucked it all up.

  I stare at my phone and I want to text her so bad. I want to call her. I want to hop on a plane and fly to Tennessee and confess my love for her.

  Whoa. Did I just think the word love? I am in way over my head.

  I set my phone down and lay back on the weight bench. I’ll never get over her if I keep thinking about calling her.

  “Hey, Zach?” Keanna says over the loud music. I don’t even know when she got here but now she’s walking toward me.

  I sit up. She looks concerned and her phone is in her hand and now all I’m thinking about is Bree. Maybe Bree wrote her back. Maybe it’s bad news.

  She turns down the music and walks over to me. Jett looks over from where he’s lifting weights. “Everything okay?” he says.

  “I don’t know,” Keanna says. “Something happened at Hopewell.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Bree?”

  “No,” Keanna says, shaking her head. “It’s not about her. She hasn’t replied to me yet, but I just saw on the Hopewell Motocross page… There’s been some kind of accident.” She turns her phone toward me. “Did you know him?”

  All the air rushes out of my lungs as I stare at the Facebook post on the Hopewell Motocross Page.

  Hopewell will be closed today. Our groundskeeper Josh Grayson has been critically injured. Please keep him and his family in your prayers.

  Chapter 18

  The smell of this hospital makes me want to throw up. There’s something about all the sterile, stark white, medical crap that I just hate. I hate it all. I can’t stand being here surrounded by the sounds of the machines that are keeping my dad alive.

  I hate that my dad is here.

  He was working on the tractor when the jack that had it hoisted up in the air cracked and broke. Dad heard the sound fast enough to try to get out, but he wasn’t fast enough. The tractor fell and crushed his lower half. I’ve been told by every doctor here that if my dad had been any slower, the tractor would have killed him. Crushed his head or his chest instead of his legs. You can live without legs. You can’t live without a chest.

  I’m having a hard time seeing the “good” in how things turned out. My dad is critically injured. When he got here they rushed him into surgery where he got pins and screws put in his pelvis. His leg bones have been pieced back together and they’re monitoring for internal bleeding. So far, so good. But my dad is old. Older people have a harder time getting better.

  Because of the immense amount of pain, they have him sedated. It’s hard to look at him lying there all ashen in the hospital bed and not feel like he might be dead. The steady rise and fall of his chest is the only thing that lets me know he’s still in there, still fighting.

  Last night the doctors pulled Mama and me aside and told us that if Dad’s bones healed properly that he could be walking as soon as one year from now. The doctor said it like it was a good thing. Like twelve months of being off work is going to be just fine and dandy for this family. Yeah, well, it’s not.

  Not to mention the fact that Mama and I will need to take care of hi
m once he gets to come home. Don’t get me wrong, I would do anything for my dad, but that means we’ll have less time to work if we’re caring for my dad. Less work means less money.

  I stand up from the cold plastic hospital chair and begin pacing the room again. I keep trying to sit still and just be here for my dad, but I can’t. I’m so stressed over the future and worried for my dad that I just can’t think straight.

  Mama walks back into the hospital room carrying two hot coffees. She hasn’t slept or showered in the two days since this happened and she looks like it. Dark circles ring her eyes as she hands me one of the coffees. “You should sit down, hija,” she says softly. “You’re going to pace a hole in the floor.”

  I take a sip of coffee and glance back at my sleeping dad. Mama puts a hand on my shoulder. “Bree, take a breath. It’ll be okay.”

  We’ve been doing this, going back and forth on who is freaking out. The first twenty-four hours I was pretty much in shock but Mama was crying and freaking out. I comforted her and told her it’d be okay. I took her down to the hospital’s gift shop as a distraction when Dad was in surgery. Then she felt better when he got out and the doctors told us he should be able to walk again someday.

  That’s when I freaked out and she comforted me. But Mama doesn’t realize that my freak outs are different from hers. Yeah, I’m worried about Dad and I hate that he’s going through this, but I can’t stop thinking about the future. Money. Bills.

  Our mobile home is free because Dad is the groundskeeper of the track. Even though we’ve lived there all my life, it’s still not our house. We never made payments on it. The house is a perk for dad’s job. Now that he won’t be able to do the job, are we going to get evicted?

  I briefly consider trying to do his job myself but I don’t know anything about driving tractors or heavy machinery or constructing a new dirt bike track from blueprints. It’s all way over my head.