Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
ELIZABETH
S everal years ago, Mr. Jacoby installed towering pole lights around the dirt track he built, and something that was done for fun on the weekends turned into regular Friday night races where anyone with a dirt bike or a fast car and the attitude that comes with either could meet up for friendly competition. It’s a weekly ritual we’ve clung to ever since, as if the dust and adrenaline have seeped into our bones. The North may have hockey, the Midwest their football, but our tiny slice of nowhere North Carolina is all about fast cars.
I don’t know how they arrange the line-up of racers, but Ryder always gets a text days before, giving him just enough time to prepare.
Watching him race is both exhilarating and terrifying, like riding a rollercoaster without a seat belt. My stomach twists into knots when I see him tear through the turns, clods of dirt flying in his wake. But no matter how badly I may want to throw up when I watch him race, I’m still the loud, crazy girl cheering her guts out with pride on the sidelines.
As we approach the Fields, I twist in my seat and glance out the back window. Mr. Jameson is trailing behind us in his truck, Jayson and Julien crammed in the back seat. I wave, but they don’t notice—Ryder’s old KTM dirt bike is in the way.
“We’re here,” Mr. Cutton says.
The sight of the track’s glowing lights sends a jolt of anxious energy through me.
Ryder cuts me an amused side-glance. “Why are you nervous?”
“Not nervous,” I lie. “Just excited.”
To prove his point, he places a hand atop my knee to still the pogo-bouncing of my leg. At his touch, I become hyperaware of the cascade of goose bumps that ripple in waves over my skin.
“Hold on,” Mr. Cutton warns.
He somehow pulls off a perfect three-point turn on the narrow dirt road, kicking up a swirl of dust before parking along the side. It’s an ideal spot, making it easy to unload Ryder’s bike.
Ryder jumps out first, then reaches up to help me down, his hand steady as he guides me to the ground before heading to the back of the truck to pop the tailgate.
With a honk of the horn, Mr. Jameson drives by, slowly hunting for a parking spot large enough for his long-bed.
“Anything I can do?” I ask.
“We got it, sweetheart,” Mr. Cutton says with a grin, already unhooking the straps holding the bike in place.
I stay out of their way, leaving them to their work, and let my eyes wander. The place is packed, and the atmosphere hums with anticipation, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and car exhaust.
I spot familiar faces milling about—kids from our school, others from Highland, and even two county deputies, one of them Elijah’s dad.
Speaking of Elijah, I spot him walking his bike toward the track.
“Elijah!”
He looks over and waves.
“Be back in a sec,” I say and jog off.
I’ve gotten to know him better over the past year after he started coming to the Fields. He’s a really nice guy. Funny, too. I think the guys are wrong about him wanting to date me. He hasn’t shown me any obvious interest, other than friendly conversation.
“Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s your summer going?”
Elijah has been absent from the Friday night races for a month, so I haven’t seen him since school let out for summer break.
“Shit,” I groan in disgust, and I mean that in the literal sense.
The long field grass tickles my calves, and I’m glad I’m wearing tennis shoes because I think I just stepped in a pile of cow manure.
Several months ago, the herd from an adjoining field got loose during a race and sauntered across the track. It made for a memorable night. Tonight, not so much.
“You okay?” Elijah asks. He props his bike on its kickstand.
“Yeah. Yuck. I think I just stepped in cow dung.”
Balancing precariously on one leg like a human flamingo, I lift my foot, trying to peer at the smeared mess on the sole of my shoe.
“Gross,” I say with a grimace.
Elijah rushes forward just as I wobble, his arms catching me before I topple over. For a moment, we end up in a ridiculous, off-balance pose, like awkward dance partners frozen mid-step.
“Thanks for the save.” I giggle up at him.
“No problem.”
The frivolity of the moment quickly evaporates when a strong arm snakes around my waist and pulls me upright in one swift motion.
“Don’t touch her,” Jayson says in a tone I don’t recognize, and Elijah’s hands shoot up in confused supplication.
Jayson’s grip tightens, his chest pressed against my back. I feel the warmth of his breath fan across my neck when he drops his head and huskily murmurs in my ear, “You good?”
And dear god, my body combusts in a wildfire of shivers that I have no control over.
My mind scrambles for a coherent thought. I’m going to die. Just drop dead right in the middle of a field and die. Get a grip, Elizabeth!
“I, um…stepped in something and lost my balance,” I stammer, trying to focus. “Elijah caught me.”
Julien and Ryder stroll over, and my embarrassment deepens. The tension between Jayson and Elijah is palpable, but Julien defuses it with a casual fist bump and a quick, “Hey man.”
Jayson still hasn’t let go, his arm a firm band around my middle. Every muscle clenches tight at the featherlight, almost imperceptible circles his thumb traces over my stomach. I bite my lip to steady my breathing but it’s almost impossible when his touch sets my nerves on fire.
“Jayson,” I whisper, turning my head slightly.
Our lips are scant inches apart, and the sudden spark that leaps between us snaps Jayson out of his stare off with Elijah. His hand suddenly drops as if burned, and for some reason, that confuses me even more, especially after what happened with Ryder in the truck.
“Catch you on the track,” Elijah says to Ryder, making a hasty escape.
“Hold up,” Julien calls and catches up to him.
Ryder bumps Jayson’s shoulder. “Come on. Help me and Dad with the bike.”
The guys leave me standing there, alone, in a daze of confusion, struggling with a maelstrom of emotions I don’t have the first clue how to process or even comprehend. Something changed between me, Ryder, and Jayson tonight.
“Boo!”
I jump like a startled cat getting doused by a water hose. “Jesus, Mar. Don’t do that.”
She hooks her arm through mine. “There are so many hot guys here. No wonder you come every week.”
Her eyes widen when she realizes her double entendre, and she snickers.
“You’re so juvenile, Mar.”
This girl is a jumble of crazy. Mostly good, sometimes annoying, but I love her just the same.
We talk as we walk, following the crowd of people making their way over to the track.
“Oh, he’s fine as fuck. Who’s that?”
I glance in the direction of where she’s pointing. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, and someone you never want to mess with.
“Fallon.”
He’s a friend of Ryder’s from Highland, but there’s something about him that always makes me turn and run in the other direction.
His family is loaded. Montgomery Pharma is one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the nation, and their headquarters are in Research Triangle Park; not to mention, about half our state is employed in one way or another by his family’s company.
She lets out a lusty hum. “ That’s Fallon Montgomery? Holy hell. Yes, please.”
“Liz!” Julien shouts, waving us over to where he and Jayson are standing.
It doesn’t escape my notice that Jayson keeps his distance, which only confuses me even more. But those thoughts disappear as soon as Ryder straps on his racing helmet.
“Babe, you’re crushing my hand.”
I look down at our joined hands and immediately let go.
“Sorry.”
Needing something to anchor me, I wrap my fingers around the rough wood of a nearby fence post. The texture digs into my palm, grounding me as my heart hammers an erratic rhythm inside my chest.
Ryder, Elijah, and several others line their bikes up at the starting mark. The track is slick with remnants of the week’s summer storms, the mud clinging to their tires.
Fallon takes a megaphone from one of the deputies and walks out onto the track.
“Who’s ready to see some racing tonight?”
The gathered crowd responds with a wave of excited shouts and cheers that vibrate through the ground beneath my feet.
“I can’t hear you! Who’s ready for some heart-pounding, loud as hell, strap-yourself-to-your-seats racing tonight?”
The screams and whistles erupt into a roar, the sound swelling to a deafening crescendo that pulses in my ears.
Fallon hands the megaphone back to the deputy and signals for the racers to mount their bikes.
With a twist of their handlebars, engines roar to life, their revs crashing into the night like thunder breaking loose, each rumble sending a thrill through the crowd.
Through the noise, I strain to hear what Fallon says.
“You know the rules. If you don’t, tough shit.” He steps out of the way of the bikes and raises his arms in front of him. “On your mark.”
My eyes are cemented to Ryder’s profile, my palms sweaty. I can’t see his face because of his helmet, but I know he’s completely focused.
I grab hold of Maria.
“Seriously?” she says and dislodges her arm from my death grip.
Lifting his arms above his head, Fallon shouts, “Get set!”
Ryder tenses. I tense. Everything goes pin-drop silent. Not even a cricket dares to make a chirp.
Fallon drops his arms.
“Go!”
The bikes scream away from the starting line, and a loud whoosh of breath I didn’t know I was holding comes rushing out of my lungs. The action on the track is a cacophony of chaos. Two riders slide out of bounds around the first corner. One rider gets taken out when his front wheel hits a rut, and he clips the bike next to him.
Somehow, Ryder and Elijah make it through unscathed. By the second lap, the racers seem to have gotten used to the conditions on the course. Two laps down, two to go.
On the last lap, Ryder takes first position. He leans into the last curve, his leg stretching to the ground to help turn the bike as it skids around the bend, and then he’s off like a bullet. He takes a quick look behind him, then slows down when he passes by our group and pops a wheelie as he crosses the finish line. Elijah follows thirty seconds later, with the remaining riders close behind.
“Oh my god! That was epic!” Maria screams.
Me? I’m speechless. That boy. That wonderful, crazy, magnificent boy.
Fallon saunters onto the track and throws Ryder’s arm up in victory.
“Jay, come on,” Julien says and jumps the fence.
My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard as I watch them celebrate.
After things settle down and the track is cleared for the next race, the guys help Mr. Cutton load Ryder’s bike into the bed of the truck.
“Be right there.” Ryder stops in front of Maria and me, his copper eyes locked on me as if I’m the only person who exists in the melee surrounding us.
“Hi.”
“Hey.” He runs his hand through his dark hair and grins.
Maria’s gaze pings back and forth between us.
“You were incredible,” I tell him, a huge smile exploding across my face.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
He links our pinkies together. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about tomorrow. Can I come over around one?”
Maria leans against the fence and pretends that she’s not blatantly eavesdropping.
“Oh, sure, yeah…did you want to talk now?”
Ryder considers it. “Tomorrow. Jay, Jules, and I have got something to do tonight.”
Secret guy stuff. Figures.
“One is fine, or come over whenever. I don’t have any plans.”
His pinkie squeezes mine before letting go.
As soon as he leaves, Maria turns around. “What was that about?”
That foreboding sense of change comes back with a vengeance, and I don’t know if I’m prepared for it. I should talk to Hailey about it later. She’ll help me figure things out.
“I don’t know, Mar. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”