Everyone was talking about Ash. I should have been proud of him, but mostly I was worried. It was selfish and embarrassing, and I couldn’t admit this traitorous feeling to a single soul, especially not Dad and Molly who were so excited to gush to all of the track visitors that their daughter was dating supercross superstar Ash Carter. But with every inch of fame my boyfriend garnered, I was becoming more and more worried. We were still a new couple after all—we’d only been dating for three months. Ash had flown away to another state, leaving me as the long distance girlfriend back home.
At first he’d fly back every Sunday and stay until Tuesday or Wednesday if we were lucky. But then his team started bitching about Ash missing training days, and Ash let it slip a few times that weekly flights were expensive, and now I hadn’t seen him in three weeks. So much for having a fairy tale first real relationship.
I sunk onto my mattress and stared at my phone. The last text I received from him was at noon, my time.
How’s your day going? I miss you <3
Shelby had hailed that text a freaking miracle. I’d been the one to bring Ash over to the dark side—the side that uses emojis. Until we started dating, he apparently refused to use them, calling them childish and weird. “Why would I ever need to send someone a tiny picture of a paperclip or the Eiffel tower?” he had said. And then, somehow, just a few days after we started dating, Ash got a new cell phone, and suddenly he was sending me a little heart at the end of some of his texts. That’s the only emoji he used, and he only sent it to me.
The feeling warmed my real heart as I stared at the cartoon image on my screen. My lips twisted upward as I laid back on my bed, holding my phone close to my chest. It was my only connection to the guy I cared about. I tried not to think about how after I’d replied to his text, telling him about my day, he’d never said anything else. Ash Carter was a busy guy, I guess.
I bit my lip and started typing another reply, knowing full well that I was breaking the cardinal rule of dating: texting twice. My stomach tightened as thoughts flew into my mind and grabbed onto my heart, refusing to get go. Did Ash just not care about me anymore? Was there some girl on tour with them that had his attention more than me?
When I tasted blood, I stopped gnawing on my lip and erased the text message before sending it. I called him, and while the phone rang, I tried to think of a reason why I was calling him besides the truth. I’m scared you’re over me, Ash.
Ash answered on the first ring. “Hey, there.”
As if by some kind of vocal magic, all of the worry and fear slipped right out of my heart. I felt renewed and alive, as if I’d never been worried in the first place. “Hey,” I said, exhaling. “What’s up?”
“Just watching this hilarious spectacle with some drunk guy.” The roar of background noise made it a little hard to piece together what he was saying, so I upped the volume on my phone. “Apparently the bartender cut him off and he wasn’t having that. Turns out two off-duty cops were sitting next to us and they handcuffed him and walked him outside, but he kicked over like, five chairs on his way out.”
“You’re at a bar?” I asked. Funny how my good feelings could disappear as quickly as they came.
“Yeah,” Ash said. “Well, it’s like, a Cajun restaurant thing, but we’re in the bar section.”
“You’re only nineteen. How did you get in?”
“No one questions the guy with dreadlocks and a beard,” he said with a laugh. “Plus, I’m with the rest of the guys on Team Yamaha, and they’re all old enough, so I guess I blended in.”
I sat up in bed. “You have a beard?”
“Yeah babe, did you not watch the race last night?”
Pressing my palm to my forehead, I tried to play it off. “Yes, well . . . I watched most of it. Then I fell asleep, but my supercross app told me you got second place.”
“Aww, babe,” he said. Something in his voice felt a lot like hurt, and guilt prickled through me. “They interviewed me on the podium for like, five minutes after the race. I mentioned you and everything.”
“Really?” I cursed under my breath and grabbed onto the comforter beneath me as if it were responsible for all of my idiocy. “I’m sorry. Dammit, I wish I had seen it.”
“I’m sure it’s on YouTube by now.” The rest of whatever he says gets cut off by a shrill girly voice screaming his name. “Um, hold on, Hana.”
The sound muffled on his end of the phone, but that girl’s voice didn’t go away. Likely, it was one of his many admirers. My throat felt dry as the seconds ticked on. Finally, he came back on the phone. “Sorry about that. I should probably go; it’s busy and loud here.”
“Yeah, okay.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out, wishing that I were more important to my boyfriend than the girls in some bar in another state. “Bye.”
Hanging up without waiting on his reply was bitchy, but it also felt good. He was having fun, and I needed to have fun, too. Shelby was out with Jake, as evidenced by her Facebook picture of them together at mini golf in the next town over., so I texted my only other friend in the area, a girl named Alyson who often sang the national anthem at the track.
Hey, do you want to hang out tonight?
She replied quickly. Come to Trey’s house off cty rd 80. Party!
I wasn’t known for being a party girl. But tonight, with my underage boyfriend at a bar with girls screaming his name, I figured I’d make an exception.
*
Trey Fletcher’s house was easy to find. Even though I’d never been there before, I’d heard about his parent’s mansion on the outskirts of Mixon. It was the only home on the entire county road, and it could be seen from half a mile away. Even in the dark. Trey was a local motocross racer who wasn’t very good, especially after he turned twenty-one because he chose to dedicate his talents to drinking instead of riding. He’d only managed to become somewhat well known in the motocross community because his dad was super rich. I only knew him from the track, and we weren’t exactly friends, but he’d know me if he saw me. Of course, since my dad owns the track, everyone knows me as Jim’s daughter.
Nerves had me gripping the steering wheel of my truck as I guided it into the Fletcher’s long gravel driveway. I hadn’t talked to the party host himself, and now suddenly it seemed like I should have waited for an invitation before just taking Alyson’s word for it and showing up. At some point the gravel turned into concrete, and it made a circle around a large fountain in the middle of the driveway. Past the circle was a field where everyone else was parking.
I chose a spot that seemed close enough to the driveway that no one could later block me in and checked my reflection in the tiny mirror on my visor. “Ash is partying, so you can party,” I told myself. And then I leaned back, dropping my head against the headrest because I felt stupid for talking to myself out loud.
Ironically, I showed up to this lame thing as a way to spite Ash and his new partying ways, but more than anything, I wished he were here. To avoid walking in alone, I texted Alyson, and she said she’d meet me on the front steps.
Only when I got there, no one was waiting for me. I waited around a few minutes and sent another text. When she never replied, I rang the doorbell and told myself I wasn’t nervous. Music boomed from the other side of the massive double door entrance to Trey’s house, and still, no one opened it to let me in. Maybe they couldn’t hear me and maybe I should have just let myself into this three story colonial mansion in the middle of nowhere.
Instead, I turned around and walked back toward my truck. My phone rang, only it wasn’t Alyson. It was Ash.
“Hello?” I said, trying to sound like I was having a blast, wasn’t thinking about him, and was totally unaffected by our earlier conversation. I’m not sure it came out that way.
“Hey, babe.’ Ash’s voice was soft, and the background noise was quiet. “I just wanted to make up for the talk we had earlier.”
“Oh?” I said, feeling heat rush into my cheeks.
“Yeah, you called to talk to me, and we didn’t get to talk at all. I feel shitty about it. Some forty-year-old drunk lady rushed up to me saying she knew me from the supercross races and wanted an autograph. I have decided that I am not a fan of hanging around bars with the guys. They’re all here to pick up girls, and I am definitely not.”
I felt myself melt into his honeyed voice, and as I leaned my back against the tailgate on my truck, I wished more than ever that he were here with me. “It’s fine,” I said. “Thanks, though. That kind of caught me off-guard. I’m still getting used to the idea of people knowing who you are.”
“Me too. You have no idea.” He let out a long breath and I could imagine his dark skin, eyes closed and shoulders sinking as he sighed. He’d always do that when he was frustrated about something. “So what are you up to?”
I glanced back toward the Fletcher Manor, noticing another truck pull up and park in the circle part of the driveway. I had no business being at a party with people I barely knew, and I wanted to stay up for a while talking to Ash, so I bent the truth a little bit. “Nothing. Just missing you.”
“Aww,” he said, his voice sounding sleepy. “I miss you like crazy, Hana.”
Two guys got out of the truck while three other guys climbed out of the truck bed, cartons of beer in their hands. I recognized all of them from the motocross track, although most of them were older than me. I turned to get in my truck and head home when one of them noticed me standing there.
He waved, and my heart raced, but I couldn’t hear any of it. One of the guys was advancing toward me.
“Hey, there!” he called out, stumbling as he made his way around the concrete fountain. He juggled a carton of beer in his arms, and something told me he’d already opened it. “You’re Jim’s daughter, right? Are you single?”
“Who is that?” Ash asked.
“It’s nobody.” I grabbed for my door handle but dammit, the truck was locked. I fumbled for my keys, but it was too late. I’d lied to Ash and now he got to hear it all in real time. I gave a little half-wave back and tried to book it to the door where I could close myself in the silence of the Chevy’s cab. That didn’t happen. Ash started telling me some story about the hotel’s room service just as the guy—I think his name was Gee, and I was pretty sure his dirt bike number was two-twenty-two—slapped a hand on the shiny red paint of my tailgate. “Hey, gorgeous! Don’t leave just yet! Come back to the party. Beer’s on me.”
“Party, huh?” Ash’s voice made my blood turn to ice. “Guess I’ll let you go.”
The call ended and I stared at the screen, glowing bright in the dark. “Sup?” Gee said, his grin tinged with the effects of alcohol.
“I’m not single,” I said, unlocking my truck and climbing inside without another word.
At least, I hoped I wasn’t.
Chapter 12
One freaking dinner. That’s all I got before Ash left town again without so much as a goodbye. I shouldn’t have expected it—I hardly ever got a goodbye from him now. Not unless I happened to be hanging out with Shelby when he was heading back to the airport. I hate how seeing him brings out all of these emotions in me, visceral and painful parts of my heart that I’ve tried so hard to forget about.
Every time he shows up, I fall completely in love with him again. And every time he leaves, my heart breaks all over again. It’s like some kind of screwed up time machine of back and forth cycles that will never end. The worst part is that I can’t tell anyone about it. Shelby wouldn’t know how to help me since the guy in question is her brother, and she’s my only friend.
I have to forget about him. Again. Right now.
It’s the one of the last Fridays before a normal race, so I decide to throw myself into my job in an effort to forget about Ash. From signing in riders to hanging signs and refilling the cups at the concession stand, I am constantly looking for something to do with my hands. I need to stay busy, focused on my job. I even left my phone back in my room because the last thing I needed to do was constantly wonder if every beep or phantom vibration was a text from Ash apologizing for not getting a chance to tell me goodbye.
I climb up the metal stairs that lead to the score tower, my arms full of new reams of copier paper. I’d noticed that our printer only had a few pages left and had taken it upon myself to drive to the nearest office supply store to restock. I stop at the top of the stairs when I think I hear my name. I turn around.
“Hey, Hana!”
I follow the voice and find Lincoln peering up at me from a few yards away. I almost don’t recognize him because his shock of black hair has been covered by a baseball cap. He waves at me when I see him. “You busy?”
I gesture toward the paper in my hands. “Kind of.”
“I mean after that.”
Before I can answer, a little kid on a tiny dirt bike rolls up, jolting to a stop in front him. The kid’s gloved hand points at something and Lincoln kneels down, examining the bike. I kick open the door and set down the stacks of paper and then step back outside to see what he wanted. He’s still talking to the kid, sitting on his knees so he’s on his level. I watch as his hands move around, probably telling him some kind of advice for riding judging by the way his hand moves through the air like a dirt bike. He says something and the kid nods, then he grabs the back of the kid’s helmet and gives it a little shake.
I can’t help but smile. When the kid rides away, Lincoln looks back up and catches my eye. Even from the distance, I can see him smiling too.
“What is it?” I call out, resting my hands on the railing.
He looks around and then shakes his head. “I don’t want to yell it.”
Oh.
OH.
He’s going to ask me out. I’ve never been more sure of anything. And as I watch him walk the pathway toward the stairs, I’m not sure if I should run away or dive head first into the adventure of dating a new person. It’s been a few months, after all. If Ash had wanted me back, he could have said something when he was here. It doesn’t matter what I want. If Ash is happy moving on, then I really have no choice.
I’m still running through a list of pros and cons in my head when Lincoln scales the stairs and suddenly we’re face to face. “Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” I say.
“So there’s this party next weekend,” he says quickly, almost as if he’d rehearsed it. “I was hoping you’d want to come with me. It’s on Friday so we won’t miss any race stuff.”
There it is. The first step in moving on from your ex-boyfriend—getting a new boyfriend.
“What kind of party?” I ask, like some kind of total idiot. It’s a party in Mixon. There’s only one kind of party in Mixon.
He rolls his shoulders, and I find myself thinking he’s cute, especially when he’s nervous. “You know, just a house party at Mike Garcia’s. His parents are chill and he has like, three foosball tables and usually a bonfire.”
I nod. I’ve heard of Mike’s parties, but since he’s one of the few guys in town who doesn’t ride dirt bikes, I don’t know him. Lincoln shoves his hands in his pockets. “So what do you think? Wanna go?”
“Can I think about it?” I ask. The moment the words are out of my mouth I feel like a gigantic ass. Lincoln flinches in this infinitesimal way, but I can see it, and I know I just hurt his feelings. He’s asking me out to a party, not some romantic candlelit dinner for two, and I can’t even give him a straight answer.
“Sure Hana,” he says. “Not a problem.”
*
Dad watches me from the sidelines as I struggle to lift an old tire, tugging it out from its place around a utility pole. The poles and trees that dot the motocross track are wrapped in old rubber tires, a slit cut into them so they can be fitted around it. It’s a safety precaution in case someone crashes their bike—the rubber protects them and the pole. Five old dry-rotted tires need replacing and I’ve offered to do it.
My dad seemed to think it was too much work for a girl like me, but
I’d insisted, and now he’s watching me, arms crossed with an amused look on his face. I huff out my frustration and bend my fingers around the splitting old rubber and pull as hard as I can. Finally, it snaps off, and I lug it to the ground away from the pile of new tires.
I can do this. I have to do this. Because anything less than backbreaking labor will make me think of Ash. I heft the new tire up, slotted side toward the pole, and shove it on. It goes on so much easier than the old one came off, and I’m feeling a little more motivated to prove my dad wrong now. The second tire is just as much of a pain in the ass, but after about thirty minutes and a gallon of sweat, I have replaced all five tires around the pole.
I stand back, dry my hands on my jean shorts and admire my work, feeling like some kind of Amazon woman. I can do anything I set my mind to. Even get over Ash.
Teig finds me cooling off in the score tower an hour later. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” I ask, keeping my face pressed toward the air conditioning unit.
“It’s a half day because of standardized testing,” he says, grabbing one of the rolling chairs from the score desk and spinning it around. “You want to go home and see if Mom will make us a sandwich?”
“Aren’t you old enough to make your own sandwich?” I ask into the cold air.
“You know Mom’s are better than anything we can make ourselves,” he says. “She makes her sandwiches with maternal magic.”
I turn, letting the air hit the back of my neck. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s true,” he says, lifting a brow that makes him look strangely older.
I nod. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
“So I heard Lincoln asked you out,” Teig says as we walk over the little bridge that connects the track to our back yard.
I hold in a groan. “And how is that any of your business?”
“You’re my sister,” he says, pointing to his index finger. He points to the next finger. “And Lincoln is my friend.”
Supercross Me (Motocross Me #2) Page 7