Supercross Me (Motocross Me #2) (8 page)

“What the hell happened?” I ask.

Lincoln’s expression falls as he watches me with concern.

Shelby starts crying and my stomach drops. “Shelby, are you okay? Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“No,” she says between sobs. “It’s not me. It’s Ash.”

“What about Ash?” I ask, pressing the phone hard to my ear as if that’ll somehow make her talk faster.

“He’s had an accident.”

Though Shelby’s first reaction anytime something happens to her family is to freak out like the world is ending, it soon becomes clear that Ash is okay. He’d broken his arm, dislocated his shoulder, and suffered a mild concussion while racing in Florida. Another guy had crashed on the whoops, and Ash couldn’t get out of the way in time. His head had slammed straight into the inch of dirt covering the stadium’s concrete floor. I figured that Ash’s condition wasn’t life or death since she wasn’t praying as fiercely as she did when Shawn got hurt, but it takes me about an hour of sitting with Shelby in her living room to coax all of that information out of her. Her parents took the first flight to Fort Lauderdale and left Shelby home with her little brother.

I sleep on Shelby’s couch for three days so I can help out with Shawn and make sure Shelby actually eats each day. She’s so distraught you’d think Ash had been kidnapped by terrorists or something. Dad even lets me work half-days at the track so I can spend more time comforting her. After a week, Ash has been cleared from the hospital, and her parents rent a car to drive him back home. His dad said Ash wouldn’t be able to race for a few more weeks, but Team Yamaha isn’t mad about it. They want him to rest and come back fully healed. The trip from Florida to Mixon will take two days, so since I’ve done everything a good friend can do, and I think avoiding Ash is probably best, I decide to head home early.

“Are you seriously leaving?” Shelby asks while I throw some of my things back into my backpack. She’s sitting on the couch, curled up in a blanket like she has been for the entire day. We’ve been watching movies and playing board games with Shawn. “They’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m leaving,” I say, shoving my pajama pants into the bag and struggling to zip it closed. “My work here is done.”

Shelby throws the blanket off her legs and leans forward, lines appearing across her forehead. “You can’t leave now! We all need to be here to support Ash. Mom said he’s pretty depressed that he’s forced to quit riding for a few weeks.”

Forced to quit riding his new girlfriend, more like.

“You guys can handle it, I’m sure.” I stand and throw the bag over my shoulder. Outside, the rumble of an engine makes my heart speed up, but I glance out of the window and see with relief that it’s just a passing car, not the Carters getting home early.

“Hana, stop.” Shelby puts herself in front of me, blocking my exit. “You can’t leave. You’re his friend.”

I push her to the side, slowly but firmly. “No. I’m his ex-girlfriend. There’s a huge difference.”

Shelby grinds her teeth together. The way the sunlight hits her face through the window highlights the dark circles under her eyes. For just a second I can almost picture Ash, see his features staring at me in her own expression. I blink the thought away. Shelby folds her arms across her chest. “So you can be here when I need you, but not when my brother needs you?”

“He doesn’t need me, Shelby. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t.”

“He does need you. He might be your ex, but he’s still your friend and I know you still care about each other.”

“Look Shell,” I say, trying not to get angry when she’s so upset. “If Ash were dying or something, then yeah, I’d be here. But it’s just a minor injury. He’ll be fine without me.”

I pull open the door and Shelby says one more thing, her voice low. “He would be there if you were hurt.”

I snort. “Something tells me his new girlfriend wouldn’t allow that.”

*

Even though Ash has only been home for a week and a half, it feels like months since I last hung out with Shelby. She’s made attempts to get me to come over, but I know Ash is there, and that is so not happening. I don’t want to see him all broken up. I don’t want to feel sorry for him or tell him I hope he gets better. That’s his new girlfriend’s job, not mine.

After that one day of epic bad decision making, I haven’t been back online at all. I haven’t checked Ash’s social media profiles or even my own. I just don’t care. I can’t risk seeing something I don’t want to see anymore. Maybe I’ll get online one day, but it won’t be anytime soon. 

For now, I focus solely on my work, coming in early each day and staying as late as possible unless I’m hanging out with Lincoln, in which case I’ll rush home and shower. We’ve been on three more dates since the brunch date. He held my hand in his truck on the way home from dinner last night. I’m still wondering how I feel about that. I mean, I like him, but I still don’t have the butterflies.

I’m wondering if the butterflies come naturally for every guy or just for your first love? Am I doomed to never feel them again now that Ash and I are over? I draw in a deep breath and crank up the radio in the score tower. Dad and Marty are off working on the track, and I’m in here alone, copying sign in wavers and registration forms. I used to find this type of work boring, but now I’m glad for something to do. Staying busy is the key to forgetting things that hurt.

Two hands cover my eyes. I squeal, but I’m in the score tower, so there are only so many people that would be in here trying to sneak up on me. It’s probably not a murderer.

“Guess who?” a voice whispers in my ear. Chills tingle down my neck at the close proximity. Where those . . . butterflies? I reach up and grab his hands, pulling them down.

“I don’t know, probably some weirdo,” I say, turning around.

Lincoln frowns and pretends to be offended. “You’ve certainly been spending a lot of time with this weirdo.”

I shrug and grab the stack of warm papers from the copier. “I’m just doing my civic duty. Being kind to weirdos and all that. It’s like community service.”

“Is that so?” He says the words slowly, his hands grabbing the papers from mine. He sets them on a table and then—before I realize what’s happening—he grabs my waist and holds me in front of him. He’s so close and so tall, I have to look practically straight up to see him.

“Yeah,” I mumble, not really remembering the question he asked me.

His hands are warm on my sides, his gaze playful but full of desire. “You wanna hang out later?” he says, his toes inching a little closer to mine.

My heart races and I find myself focusing on the feeling, hoping and wishing for the flutter, the feeling that the world has slipped out from under my feet. But all I feel is nervous. He is too close, and I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

I swallow and stretch my neck. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s Friday, so Mike is having another party,” Lincoln says. His hands slide up my sides and grip my shoulders. “So we could hit that up. Unless you want to be alone . . .”

A loud knock on the door startles both of us. I rush over to it, so grateful for the distraction. I swing open the door, and Shelby greets me, panting.

“So . . . many . . . stairs,” she says, grabbing onto the metal railing for support. She clutches her chest. “I am so out of shape.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

She waves a lazy hand behind her. “The UPS guy is here and he has a package, but he will only let a Fisher sign for it. Your dad’s on the track, so I came to get you.”

Lincoln follows us as we head back down the stairs and then the long gravel driveway to where a guy waits with a tablet and a box at his feet.

“He was kind of a jerk,” Shelby says as we make our way over. “Must be having a bad day.”

The short journey to the brown truck takes us past the bleachers, and I see the one person I’d rather avoid. I immediately wish I hadn’t. I’m pretty sure he saw me too, even though he’s talking on his phone. Ash, with his black shorts and arm in a sling, looking hot as ever.

“You didn’t tell me
he
was here,” I whisper to Shelby.

“He’s been here all day,” she says back, not even trying to hide our conversation. I glance back and to my horror, Lincoln has slipped away from us and is walking over to say hello to Ash. Awkward.

The UPS guy accepts my chicken scratch signature and hands me the box. It’s about three feet tall and one foot wide, and although it’s not heavy, it’s awkward hefting it up and walking back with it.

“You should say hi,” Shelby says, her tone as carefully chosen as if she were talking to a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. A dirt bike zooms by us, kicking up a film of dirt in its wake.

“I don’t know if I want to,” I say, giving her an honest look of worry. “It’s just hard now that…”

“Now that what?” Shelby says.

Dammit. I haven’t talked to her about the pictures of the girl online. I couldn’t ever find the time or energy to say the words aloud, and although I’m sure she’s seen the photos too, she knows better than to mention it around me. I draw in a deep breath, juggle the box in my arms trying to get a better grip, and sigh. “Now that he has that new girlfriend.”

“Well, he hasn’t mentioned anything to me about this supposed new girlfriend,” Shelby says, running a hand through her dirty blonde hair. “Maybe it was just a fling.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” I say, walking a little quicker now that we’re almost at the bleachers again. Lincoln is still talking to Ash, and they both look over at us as we approach. I look straight ahead. I have to deliver this box to the score tower. Nothing can stop me.

“Hey, Fisher!”

Except maybe that.

My Chuck Taylors stop right in the middle of a tire tread in the sand. I look up and over, fixing my face as if I am confused as to where the sound came from. Who knows if the charade works, but Ash waves at me from the bleachers with his good hand.

“Working hard?” he says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“No, she’s not,” Shelby says, grabbing my elbow and pulling me toward the guys. In her haste to force me against my better judgement, the box falls from my grip and crashes to the dirt.

I curse and Shelby apologizes, but it all goes by in a blur because now I’m watching Ash and he’s watching me. His eyes squint a little from the sun, and the roar of dirt bikes practicing on the track drown out whatever he just said to me. But none of it matters because he is
so
cute and I miss him
so
much and in this very moment, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Until Lincoln appears at my side, leaping off the third bleacher row in one swift step. “Let me get that for you,” he says, taking the box and tossing it over his shoulder. “Where is it going?”

“The score tower,” I say, pulling my eyes away from Ash. “Thank you.”

“So what’s been up?” Ash says.

Though Lincoln is holding the box, he makes no attempt to take it to the score tower.

“Nothing new,” I say, stuck in this vortex of wanting to run away and stay and talk at the same time. I am keenly aware that Lincoln is standing too close and watching me too intently. “Unlike you, apparently.”

Ash chuckles and looks at his arm all wrapped up in a blue cast with a blue sling. “Yeah this sucks.”

That’s not the new thing in your life that I was talking about.

“It’s boring as hell sitting around doing nothing,” he says, apparently not content to let the damn conversation end already.

“That’s why I dragged him here today,” Shelby says. “He needs to get out and get some sun.”

“I’m taking Hana to Mike’s party tonight,” Lincoln says. The subtle bragging in his tone doesn’t escape me but Ash doesn’t flinch. Lincoln gives him one of those guy head-nods. “You should come by. Say hi to the old racing crew.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.” Ash nods back to him and then looks at his phone. A knot forms in my stomach when he smiles at whatever is on the phone and then puts it to his ear. “Hello?”

I turn around. When Lincoln and I are almost to the tower, I give him a look. “So we’re going to the party, huh? I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

He bumps into me as we walk. “We don’t have to go. We could just chill at my place.”

I cross my arms, thinking of the girl in Ash’s photographs. I give him a playful smile. “We can go.”

“Cool,” he says, letting me go up the staircase first. “I like hanging out with you.”

It feels like a lie but I say it anyway. “I like hanging out with you, too.”

Having woken up at five in the morning to then spend all day at work, I’m having a hard time holding back the yawns as I get dressed for the party. Lincoln had said he’d pick me up at eight-thirty, and by eight forty-five I wonder if he’s running late, or if he fell asleep before he left the house.

I throw my hair into a ponytail and dab on some lip gloss. I wouldn’t even mind if Lincoln calls me to cancel, though something tells me he won’t. He texts me five minutes later, and I head downstairs to meet him outside. Dad and Molly are cuddled together on the couch watching a movie.

“Don’t wait up,” I tell them as I make my way to the door. “Not sure when we’ll be back.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Dad calls out, digging his hand into the popcorn bowl.

“Have fun!” Molly says.

We’ve only been out a few times, but Lincoln normally gets out and opens my door for me. This time I make it all the way to the passenger side of his truck and there’s no sign of him yet. His windows are so tinted I can’t see inside, so I pull open the door.

“Hey, beautiful.” Lincoln is sitting in the driver’s side, his head leaned back on the headrest, his gaze lost somewhere on the roof of the truck.

“You okay?” I ask as I toss my purse into the seat and climb inside.

“Just tired,” he says, lolling his head over to look at me.

The strong smell of liquor hits me and look around the cab of the truck, almost expecting to see empty bottles everywhere, but it’s clean as always. “What’s that smell?”

He shakes his head. “I dunno? You ready to go?”

His glassy eyes tell me everything I need to know. “Lincoln, are you drunk right now?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just tired.”

“But have you been drinking?”

He nods and gives me this grin that’s a little more evil than innocent. “I had a few drinks before I left. Just some party pre-loading.”

“Pre-loading?”

“Yeah, like in dirt bike video games. You gotta pre-load. Now I’ll be ready to party the second I get there.
You
, however,” he says, pointing a wavering finger at me, “will have to drink hard and fast to catch up with me.”

He winks and I throw my door back open. “I’m driving.”

“Aww, come on,” he slurs. “I’m fine to drive. I made it over here, didn’t I?”

I shake my head. “Switch me seats or I’m going back inside.”

“Nooooo, you can’t do that,” he says, sounding genuinely worried that I might leave. “I want to spend all my time with you.”

I climb out of his truck and walk over to the other side. He opens the door and stumbles out, handing me the keys. “Fine, but I’m only agreeing because you look so pretty tonight.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

“Nope, it’s the truth.” His hand touches my cheek, and he leans down until our foreheads touch. “You’re the prettiest girl I know.”

“You should tell me these things when you’re sober.”

His bottom lip pokes out and his fingers slide down my cheek. “I will.”

*

The party is in full swing when we arrive. There are so many people mulling around Mike’s parent’s house that no one notices we’re the new additions to the crowd. Fine by me. I don’t know most of the people here, Mixon High School students and alumni mostly, with some local motocross racers thrown in. Lincoln leads me to the kitchen where I am handed a cold beer can from a cooler and asked if I want to play beer pong.

“No thanks,” I say, cracking open the top even though I’m not in the mood to drink. But I’m also not about to be the only person here without an illegal accessory in my hand. Something tells me I’ll need to babysit my date tonight since he’s already chugged two beers in the time it takes me to open my one beer without breaking a nail.

I grab Lincoln’s elbow and lead him into an alcove that’s not filled with rowdy people dancing, playing drinking games, or making out. “This is a new side of you,” I say, trying really hard to get back that spark of flirty friendship we usually have.

Lincoln is wearing jeans and a hoodie over a grey shirt, his black hair messy on top of his head. His eyes are unfocused and glassy, but he finds a way to look at me. “Do you like this side of me?”

“Honestly—” I begin, but someone slams into me on a drunken run through the dining room, and I stumble into the wall.

“What the hell, man?” Lincoln says, rushing forward and shoving the guy in the chest. “Apologize to my girl!”

The guy looks around as if dazed, then finds me and lifts his beer bottle to his temple, saluting me with it. “Sorry!”

He disappears and Lincoln grabs my arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah. It was nothing,” I say as I stare at the drawstrings on his hoodie. Since when did I become his girl? Is this a thing now? Don’t I get a say in the matter? I want to ask him all of these things, but he’s slurring his words and wrapping his arms around me, pulling me close to him, and it just doesn’t seem like the right time. I don’t think he will remember any of this in the morning.

“Lincoln,” I say, pressing my hands to his chest.

“Yeah?” he whispers, sliding his hands lower down my back. His fingers slide into the back pockets of my jeans and he tugs me closer to him.

It takes me a second to think of what I want to say. In the moment of silence, he takes it as an invitation and dips his head low, kissing my cheek and then my neck.

“Wait,” I say, pushing myself backward. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re super hot,” he says, running a tongue across his bottom lip. He goes in for a real kiss, the scent of beer lingering just inches from my mouth. I back up, pull his hands out of my pockets and drop them at his sides.

“Lincoln, I don’t—”

“You don’t
what
?” he says, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Please tell me you’re not some jerk college guy.”

“Hana, you know I’m not.” He reaches for me again, and this time I let him take my hand. He is really attractive, but he is too drunk and I am too sober to find this moment in any way romantic. He pulls me toward him, then turns so quickly you’d think he had all of his senses and wasn’t several drinks deep by now. My back is forced against the wall, and he presses one hand against the window frame near my head while the other hand grips my waist.

The moment his lips lower onto mine I know this is a mistake. I don’t feel a thing.

Just the slightly wet, beer-stained lips of a guy who is kissing me when I don’t want to kiss him back.

It doesn’t last very long.

“Lincoln?” The shriek of a drunken girl makes us both freeze. I take the opportunity to push him a step backward, and the source of the voice starts spewing obscenities toward us. I think her name is Carly, and she’s the little sister of one of the local racers. Her bright blonde hair is silky straight, stopping just at her shoulders. “I can’t believe you would do this shit to me!”

“What’s going on?” I ask, holding up my hand as if that will make her incredibly annoying voice stop yelling.

Carly’s eyes shoot daggers at me. “Don’t stand there and act all innocent, bitch.”

“Excuse you?” Rage erupts inside of me, and I’m about to lay into her when Lincoln takes my hand.

“Hana, wait,” he says, meeting my eyes with a sudden sense of sobriety. He turns to Carly. “Look, we’ll talk later, okay?”

“No we won’t
talk later
. You’re a player and pig.” Her nostrils flair and she punches him in the arm. “Don’t call me again.”

“What exactly is going on here?” I ask.

Carly shoots me an evil look and then hits Lincoln again. “The guy you’re making out with was having sex with me two days ago. I guess he didn’t tell you that.”

“Carly, go!” Lincoln seethes, his fists tightening at his sides. “We’ll talk later.”

“No, we’re never talking again.” She turns on her heel, obviously happy with the bomb she just dropped, and leaves.

In the silence that follows, I stand here like an idiot, my mouth open. It feels like I’ve been betrayed, like all of the strings that hold my heart in my chest are being wound up and twisted to the breaking point. But Lincoln and I aren’t a couple and he can sleep with whoever he wants.

“Hana, let me explain,” he says, grabbing for my hands again.

I pull them away. “I think I’m just going to get out of here.”

“It’s . . . god, Hana.” He grabs his beer from the table next to us and then slams it back down again. “It’s not what that sounded like.”

“I don’t really care,” I say. All around us the party rages on, music thumping and people having a great time. I’m sure one of them can take me home. Lincoln says my name again and I just shake my head.

It doesn’t matter what he says now. I was right before. He is just some jerk college guy.