by Shey Stahl
“Tiller,” I whispered, kissing the side of his face when his hips moved again.
He didn’t say anything, but he moved back, his eyes catching mine. “I know.”
I squinted, watching the emotions on his face paint a picture I wasn’t familiar with. “You know what?”
“You want me to stop.” His voice shook, so vulnerable, so. . . broken. “Do you think of me, like this right now, when no one knows where we are or what we’re doing?”
“Yes. Always.” I struggled to keep my voice even.
He swallowed, sleepy eyes and messy hair, and then pressed his lips to my forehead. “You’re enough.”
We meet a lot of matches in our lives, but there’s only one that burns brighter than the rest, and the heat blisters your skin, reminding you their mark will be forever.
Do you get it now? Why I can’t simply just walk away from someone like him? So when she says, someone like him, she doesn’t understand the meaning.
“You don’t know anything about him.” I defend Tiller to everyone, because he’s been there, loyal, always willing to get me through, even in the middle of the night with messy brown hair and sleepy eyes.
“Apparently you didn’t either,” she points out, her voice rising in intensity. “Or did you know all along he was her dad?”
“I see what you’re doing. Just stop.”
She’s offended. “Stop what?”
“I’ve known you my whole life and you’re not the person you want the world to see. You’ve become this cold, money-hungry bitch, but deep down, down to your bones, you’re still the same Alexandra who used to hang around the track chasing the riders just like all the other girls.”
At first, she doesn’t say anything because she knows there’s truth to my words. And then she shakes her head, disappointed, deflecting her own issues onto me. “You’re using her to get closer to him. You have this unhealthy obsession with him, and now you’re trying to trap him with River in hopes he will finally give you what you want.”
My stomach twists. She doesn’t know. She has no idea. Pain radiates through my jaw, having been holding back my outburst for too long. “Oh my God. . . don’t you dare! Don’t you dare accuse me of using Ava’s death as an opportunity for any type of gain in my life! I would do anything to have Ava back, and I will never forgive you for accusing me of anything less.” I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point, or if it makes sense, but the words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Your perception of me is a manifestation you’ve created, Alexandra. It has nothing to do with me and everything you’ve ever said negative about me is a reflection on you and your insecurities.” With the raising of my voice, River appears at the door of the closet. “Amble, are you mad?” she asks innocently, her voice as fragile as her heart.
Alexandra wrinkles her nose at River. “Why is she still in the same dress she was wearing a week ago?”
I look down at River. She stares at the photograph on the wall, then her dress. “Because she won’t take it off and I’m not gonna force her into anything she doesn’t want do.”
Alexandra shakes her head, continuing her sorting as if I said nothing and it meant nothing. “Well, you’re gonna have to do something soon because she’s starting to smell.” She tosses a lime green sweater at my feet. “This looks like something you’d wear. If you want to look when I’m done sorting through her clothes, be my guest, but I doubt anything in here will be your style besides that.”
Picking up the sweater, I briefly contemplate choking her with the sleeves. Ripping the clothes from her hands, I grab them in handfuls against my chest. “Go away!” I whisper. “These are River’s. You can’t take her mother’s clothes from her. In fact—” I pause, and stand up, motioning around the room. “Everything inside this house is hers and you have no right to come in here and decide what she has to get rid of, if anything.”
Clearly taken back by my sudden strength for standing up to her, Alexandra stands. “Fine, you deal with it, Amberly. Since you’re suddenly so capable of dealing with all this, you take care of it. When the house sells, and it will, you can decide where you’re going to put everything.”
And then she walks out, leaving me, River, and Kona in the closet.
River stares at me. “She’s mean.”
“Don’t I know it.” I drop the clothes on the floor, then sit on the floor.
River moves toward me, then sits on my lap and picks up the green sweater off the floor. “Mama weared this.”
I nod, kissing her temple. She really does need a bath. “She did. It always looked pretty on her, didn’t it?”
She nods and then puts it on. It hangs off her shoulders, and she adjusts it many times, but it’s when she smells it and breathes in deep that the tears sting my eyes. It’s hard to process anything when someone you love dies. There’s too much emotion, too much trauma, too much uproot. It’s the days later, weeks, when there’s no one else around and you’re left in the quiet wake of the devastation. It’s when the real pain hits. The finality that they’re never coming back.
I don’t know when, or if, it’ll hit River. Or if it already has. Maybe she’s still too young, but then she sighs and lays her head back against my shoulder. “Is Mama and Daddy gone forever?”
Unbearable pain hits my chest, like a knife twisting. “Yes, honey, they are.”
And she doesn’t say anything else.
It was time River changed out of that dress and bathed. Hours later, after we dragged ourselves from the closet floor and Ava’s clothes, I’m standing in a clothing store. River’s looking at the dresses, laces, silks, ruffles, and still wearing her mother’s green cardigan sweater over the top of her dress.
She looks up at me, frowning. “I don’t wanna change my dress. I like it.”
I sigh and kneel next to her. “Okay, here’s the deal.” She stares at me, reaching for my hands to hold them. “Forget about your hair being green. . . you’re gonna be green soon if we don’t, one, shower tonight, and two, change your clothes.”
She lets go of my hands, her arms straight at her side and a scowl wrinkling her forehead. “No. I don’t want to.”
“Sorry, kiddo.” I pat her head, twisting her around to the rack of dresses. “We don’t have a choice. How about you pick a new one to wear. Something brand-new.”
“Why? I like this one. Mama bought it.”
There’s a defiant side to River, one I’ve seen many times in her young life and I always wondered who she got it from. It certainly wasn’t Cullen, a man of careful control and reserve. And it wasn’t Ava, the sweetest person you’d ever meet. My entire life with her, I’d never even heard Ava raise her voice. Knowing what I know now, I can see where it comes from. Tiller.
I want to tell her she doesn’t have to change, but I know she needs to. I want to say, “You need to change because I said so,” but I don’t because that’s not the right words. And my mother used to say that to me all the time, like it’d pacify anything she didn’t have an answer for.
“You’ve been such a good girl this last week, I just thought you might want to pick out something new.”
Her eyes brighten. “Like a toy?”
“You don’t have room for new toys.”
“I do too!”
Sighing, I stand up. “Okay, so you pick out a dress, take a bath tonight, and I’ll take you to get a toy tomorrow. How about that?”
I kid you not, she rolls her eyes at me and huffs out, “Fine.”
The store is empty apart from an elderly woman who moves slowly from one dress to the next, her hand trailing over the hangers as she skims through the rack feeling the different textures beneath her fingertips, the satin materials vastly smoother than her wrinkled skin.
River’s yet to make a decision. Probably because she’s only thinking about a toy now. She keeps looking though. She’s either disappointed at what she finds, or she’s remembering her mother taking her shopping for the dress splattered with bloo
d she’s still wearing and I feel horrible for asking her to change.
I’m pulled from my inner thoughts, voices in the distance. The three faces are immediately recognizable, one sparks a deeper emotion than the other.
Internally, my heart tugs with a gamut of emotions I don’t understand. Bella and her friend, smiling and laughing as they relay something to Cody, who follows behind them.
A sudden emotion surges, spreading like wildfire when I see Bella Ames. Every girl has one rival, and I can’t even say Bella’s a rival. She’s just someone who’s been in my life since I was young, and always a step ahead of me. Even with Tiller. Especially with Tiller. I’m sure you know, but I’ve loved Tiller for like, ever. Bella knew this and still pursued him.
And Cody. . . he’s the nicest guy you’d ever meet, so unlike Bella and Tiller.
Cody’s gaze travels around the store for a few seconds before it meets mine, his lips turning up into a smile, resulting in my own. “Hey, Amberly.”
As always, Cody’s smile is genuine, and I’m weirdly nervous, but not really because of him. Or maybe just a little. Cody likes me in a way I’ll never return, but it’s hard to tell someone your heart belongs to a boy who only wants to drown it.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My discomfort is mainly because of Bella.
“Hey, Cody,” I say, peeking up at him when I open my eyes, acknowledging his presence.
He smiles, a soft upturn of lips. “I heard. . . .” His voice trails off, and then he adds, “And I’m sorry.”
I’m tired of hearing that phrase and wish I’ll never hear it again.
“Thank you,” I voice as he leans against a rack, watching me, and then River. “Is that her daughter?”
I nod, my suddenly heavy heart aching, my eyes stinging and landing on the girl next to him. I wonder why Cody’s here with Bella, when I’ve only ever seen her around Tiller, hanging on his every word at the track. And if she’s not near Tiller, she’s with other riders. She’s a ProHo (a girl who only goes after professional riders) at best, and that’s giving her a lot of credit if you ask me.
Her too light gray eyes assess me and my hair for longer than I enjoy. She does this any time we unintentionally cross paths. It’s like she’s looking for something, a fault, a memory, I’m not sure. And I’m unsure of her, unable to get a clear read on who she really is. She’s either very straightforward or she’s hiding from a lot.
Blinking like someone snapped their fingers in her face, Bella seems to find her words. “God, I’m so sorry, Amberly. I can’t imagine losing my sister.”
The bleach in her hair runs deeper than her roots. I wonder if she realizes what she said. Being an only child, she doesn’t have a sister. And then her smile wanes just a little. “How are you holding up?”
“It’s okay.” I find myself saying the right words, too, even though I don’t feel the truth behind them. “I’m doing fine.”
Am I though? I think I’m just going through the motions for the sake of River.
A throat clears. “Will you be at After Dark tonight?” Cody interrupts, my own voice instantly dying in my throat. “We’re heading out here soon. Bella just had to pick up her dry cleaning across the street.”
And yet it still doesn’t make sense why they’re here, in the kids clothing section of Nordstrom’s, but whatever. I don’t bother asking because I’m not sure I care to know the answer.
“No, I’m off for the next couple of weeks,” I answer, checking my watch for good measure, like I have somewhere to be. Anything to get out of this awkward situation. But I’m not wearing a watch so it looks like I’m checking out my wrist. “Kaylee’s filling in for me.”
Cody’s expression grows sincere. “That makes sense,” he replies, holding my gaze for a beat too long. Cody is Parker O’Neil’s mechanic. Parker is one of the riders on the After Dark tour. I can’t say anything bad about him, and he’s so unlike Tiller that I find myself drawn to him, but then again, he’s not the sin I crave.
With brief goodbyes and an awkward silence, they leave shortly afterwards, the relief instantaneous as I slouch. There’s no one left in the store but me and River, and for the first time today, the silence is a comfort. It’s like the caressing of gentle hands and love-filled words whispered against skin. I feel Ava’s presence again and smile down at the girl holding my hand.
You got this, Amberly.
Do I? I wish I could talk to her and ask her what in the world she had been thinking, but then again, maybe she didn’t mean go to Tiller right away. Maybe she meant wait a while and then slowly introduce them?
I guess I could have gone that route, but I desperately wanted to know why Tiller hadn’t told me he slept with Ava.
I know one thing. I’m so tired. The hurt from Tiller’s dismissal of River is lingering on my heart, pulling and twisting the beats in his direction. I know Ava wanted her to know him, but he doesn’t want to know her, a concept I will never understand, but live undoubtedly. My father doesn’t know anything about me. For all he knows, I still live at home and am just never there.
Plagued with thoughts I don’t understand, I can’t breathe in this store, surrounded by beauty I don’t feel inside. The need to get some fresh air is too strong. “Whatta say we go out for ice cream and then finish dress shopping later?”
River smiles, a little wider than before. “Yeah.”
Her smile reminds me of Ava and Tiller both, and I realize there’s a lot in my life I do wrong, some with shame. And I may not be strong against some, but I’m always brave for a little girl who’s part of me, even if not by birth.
Tell me something, and don’t hold back. Am I a scumbag for not wanting her to know me?
I’ll give you a minute to decide, but I’m pretty sure your answer might be somewhere along the lines of, “Fuck yeah you are.”
Maybe I should stop asking questions I know the answers to.
Do you see that guy at the table? Not the one selectively picking anything red out of his Bloody Mary I’m not sure why he ordered. The fucking thing is made from tomato juice. It’s red in color. That’s Shade. He’s fucking strange and it quite possibly pickier than a toddler with his food.
I’m talking about the one with the green Mohawk and the fuck-you-for-looking-at-me glare. Do you think I’m pleased to be out to dinner with these fools?
Not. One. Bit.
“I’ll have a cranberry juice,” Scarlet says to the waitress standing in front of our table. We’re in LA, having dinner before After Dark round two and they basically handcuffed me to the table and haven’t let me out of their sight.
“Why in the hell would you order cranberry juice?” I stare at Scarlet, lifting one eyebrow and smirk. “Do you have a bladder infection?”
Her eyes lift to mine, then my hair, and finally descend to my wicked smile. I’m smiling because I know she’s about to lie. “No, jerk. I like cranberry juice.”
“Bullshit.” I slap the menu on the table, slouching to one side. “No one does. It tastes like a tart nut sac.”
Scarlet laughs out loud and then slaps her hand over her mouth. “When was the last time you tasted a nut sac?”
I shrug.
“I have a theory on Tiller,” Shade pipes up. He shoves the bacon slice from his Bloody Mary in his mouth. He chews it, then waits a moment. Everyone stares at him like they’re trying to find excuses as to why I am this way. It’s useless. I don’t know why they try, but they almost always do.
My interest piques. “Yeah, what’s that?”
Shade looks at Scarlet, then Ricky, grinning. “He is the only one who wasn’t breastfed of the three of us.”
“If anything, that makes me the normal one since I didn’t suck on the titties of a crack whore.”
“Yeah, like you haven’t since then though,” Shade adds quietly.
Beside me, Camden elbows me. “Are you actually competing tonight?”
I wink at him. “Guess you’re gonna have to wait and see, C
am-man.”
“Fifty says he bails,” Roan goads, thinking he’s funny.
I kick him under the table.
He shoots me a scowl. “That was my shin, motherfucka.”
“Yeah, well, I meant to hit your nut sac.”
Camden tosses a fry on his plate. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”
I don’t know why I agreed to let him come tonight. Oh, right. . . it wasn’t me who invited him. It was Scarlet, because she thought if he was with us, I wouldn’t make a scene. Little does she know I don’t give a fuck who’s in attendance.
“Nah.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders, squeezing him to my side. “We’re golden.”
Scarlet reaches across the table for the ketchup, giving me that look. The warning. “You better not bail on us.”
I watch her as she dumps half the bottle of ketchup on her plate, wondering if she’s having ketchup with a side of fries. “Have I ever let you down?”
Roan coughs, and Scarlet laughs and rolls her eyes, blurting out, “Like hundreds of examples come to mind.”
“Not the point.”
“What is?” she wonders.
I shrug and take the plate of nachos the waitress brings over to us. “I don’t remember.”
With a table full of ignorant fucks, Ricky nudges me next. “You’re going. I’m serious. After the land dispute we just got out from under, we do not need another lawsuit.”
He’s referring to the property lawsuit Camden’s dad filed against us about a year ago for the use of our track at the house. Having a track on private land in the state of California requires a conditional use permit and a limited hours of operation. We didn’t give a shit about any of that and rode when we felt like it. Sure, we filed one after that, but we didn’t exactly abide by the rules of limited hours of operation. Jerad dropped the lawsuit, but it cost an assload of money to fight with them as long as we did.
“You keep this up and Honda. . . all our sponsors are going to cut you off,” he adds.
“Good. Do it. I don’t want to deal with them anyway.”
The only thing I enjoy more than pissing off sponsors is pissing off officials. The uptight motherfuckers of mainstream motocross hate me. Can’t say I blame them.