Chapter Four #4
I scurried toward the house before his dad DNA kicked in. Both of my parents were far too intuitive when it came to their children. I still heard his grumbled asshole under his breath. Only one boy had ever made me cry.
That’s why my dad didn’t like Cruz.
While Dad loaded the trailer with racing gear and bikes, I grabbed a quick shower and braided my hair. Most days, I’d be cleaning stalls and spraying out kennels, but not on track days. Mom was happy to fill coolers and take care of the animals in exchange for some alone time.
I grabbed my gear and loaded it into the trailer. While there, I made sure Dad put leathers in for Ryatt.
Cece rushed into the trailer. “Hurry,” she stammered. “Dad’s ready to go but you didn’t braid my hair yet. You crossed-your-heart promised.” She shoved a comb into my hand.
“I know.” On track days, Cece hung out by the trailer, filled up on junk food, and gave Mom a break.
I threaded my fingers through her hair, pulling and twisting until she had two braids along the top of her head, merging into one thick braid down her back.
“Cross-my-heart promise kept, but it’s not tight. ”
“Don’t care.” She snatched the comb from my fingers and ran toward the house.
Before I could step out of the trailer, my dad strode up the ramp. He leaned against his Ducati and rubbed a grease stain on his finger. “Talk to me. What are you and Cruz fighting about this time?”
Nerves trampled the butterflies in my belly. Dad didn’t need to know the why. It would still be another mark against Cruz, but what would it matter? I was done, wasn’t I? Even if he didn’t fuck Jinx, he still put the club—and Bullet—before me.
But part of me worried that no matter how much distance I put between me and Cruz, I’d find myself back with him. How was I supposed to tell my dad that my boyfriend did a favor to get a patch by pulling a train on camera with a former whore?
The fact that I was having a mental debate proved I was a liar, too. I hated that my heart hurt. It hurt so bad.
I’d told Ryatt that I hated Cruz. I wanted to hate him. I wished I could hate him. Eventually, I hoped I’d hate him because hurt and betrayal festered inside me. But I didn’t say anything to my dad because I was stupid when it came to Cruz.
“I’m good. We’re just taking a break. He’s involved with the Heller Raiders.” I shrugged and smiled. “And I’m a girl that would rather be at the track with her dad.”
He tugged me into his arms. “It’s okay that you don’t want to tell me.” He kissed the top of my head. “Don’t settle, sweetheart.” Then he released me and smiled. “Don’t live with regrets.”
Something I’d been told for most of my life, at least the part of my life that was missing my other half. Cayson left a legacy. We weren’t promised tomorrow so make today count.
“We gotta go,” he said. “Registration starts at eight o’clock.”
And riders would be lined up to get prime spots and garage space. “Love you,” I said.
“Yeah, and I know you love that asshole, too.”
I kissed my dad’s cheek. “I don’t love him today.” At least, I didn’t want to. “See you there.” I jogged down the ramp.
“Don’t be late but save the speed for the track.”
Twenty minutes later, I rode into the parking lot of CCC. Ryatt sat on his bike with his visor up, his head bent, and his phone in his hand. Hearing the rumbling purr of my bike, he lifted his head and waved.
I parked next to him and killed the engine.
He took off his helmet and smiled. “Hey, beautiful.”
I tried not to think too much about the greeting. Cruz called me beautiful. Mostly, his beautiful whore, but still. And it was nice to have Ryatt smile at me. After last night, I didn’t want any awkward, pitiful stares.
I didn’t want the awkward, pitiful conversation either. Inevitably, he’d ask if I was okay. No. I wasn’t, and talking about Cruz wouldn’t help.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Fuck, yeah. Let’s go. I couldn’t sleep last night because I was so excited about today.” He tugged his helmet back on. “Are you ready to hand me my ass on the track?”
This was exactly what I needed.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I pushed the start button on my bike. I took the lead, exited the parking lot, and headed out of town.
Ryatt rode in the lane next to me. We weaved between cars but weren’t pushing much past the speed limit. My phone lit with a message from Blue.
I ignored the screen, rolled the throttle, controlled the clutch, and popped a mini wheelie. Ryatt accepted the challenge, popped his front tire high into the air, and rode the wheelie.
A small laugh bubbled out of me, and in that moment, I wasn’t thinking about Cruz. Or at least, I wasn’t crying over him.
Ryatt followed me around the perimeter of Velocity Speedway to the Nitro Racing trailers. My dad, along with the other guys from the club, had the ramps down and moved bikes to the pit garage.
Volunteers helped set up equipment. I’d introduce Ryatt to the core group of guys that were here every track day.
Cece stood on the ramp and waved as we pulled into the line of bikes and dropped our sidestands. By the time I’d taken off my helmet, Cece had rushed over.
“Hi,” she said, walking around to the front of Ryatt’s bike. “Nice ride.”
“Thanks.” Ryatt climbed off his bike and tucked his helmet under his arm.
“Are you going to race my sister?” She batted her lashes at Ryatt as she snacked on a powdered-sugar donut. With her dusty white lips and twinkling eyes, she’d charm him the way she charmed everyone else.
“I am, but I’m not going to be much competition for her.” He winked at me.
“Cece,” my dad hollered. “What happened to my organizer?”
“Sorry,” she said with a mouthful of donut.
Ryatt walked next to me as we approached my dad.
“This is Ryatt,” I said. “Ryatt, this is my dad, Lane Dixon.”
Ryatt extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I appreciate the opportunity to volunteer and get some track time.”
“Glad you showed up.” My dad nodded toward the pop-up canopy. “Volunteer meeting will be over there.”
My dad started toward the tent, and Ryatt fell into step beside him. Twenty seconds later, they were talking bikes, and I was relegated to my usual task of keeping Cece from creating her own itinerary.
There was a core group that ran Nitro. My dad, Scott and his wife Gayle, and their friend Tran were board members.
Gayle ran registration. Scott managed the sessions, and Tran was over the hot pit, the entrance and exit to the track.
And my dad primarily handled the volunteers, but they were all guys from the Nitro group.
I glanced over at my dad. Ryatt focused on whatever my dad said as they grabbed coffee and donuts from the refreshment table. Every few moments, his gaze shifted to me, as if he was making sure I was still here.
Once the volunteer meeting was over, we pushed our bikes through the tech inspection tent and received our group assignments.
“We won’t be racing together,” he said as we returned the bikes to our area of the paddock. Once there, I grabbed a roll of blue painter’s tape.
“Not for the groups, but if you’re faster than your group, you’ll get moved up.” I pulled several long strips of tape off the roll and then handed it to Ryatt. “Cover your headlight and your taillights.”
Street bikes could run on track days, but headlights and taillights were distractions.
Painter tape covered the glare and came off easily.
“But if you’re not keeping up, they’ll black flag you and relegate you to a slower group,” I said and lifted my gaze to his.
“There are no trophies today. It’s racing, but it’s not a race. ”
Over the next hour, trailers, tents, and bikes filled the paddock. Cece ran around with her group of friends. I introduced Ryatt to everyone. He quickly made friends with the regulars.
Ryatt sipped a can of soda and ate a donut while we sat through the rider meeting.
While he focused on my dad, I focused on him.
There was an easy calmness about him. He smiled at everyone, asked questions, and listened without interrupting.
I could feel the anticipation buzzing around him.
I’d almost forgotten how track days were supposed to feel.
Because I was always worried about the tension between my dad and Cruz.
“We’ll take the afternoon sessions.” I leaned in and whispered to him. “The track will be faster with the afternoon heat. But we’ll work with my dad on each other’s pits.”
There was that smile again. I couldn’t help smiling back.
Once the meeting was over, we were given our monitoring assignment. After grabbing our flags and radios, we wandered back over to our pit.
I pulled on a baseball cap and handed a spare to Ryatt. “It’ll get hot on the track.”
We grabbed our water bottles and headed down to the entrance to the racetrack.
“Micki Mouse!” I turned at the high-pitched squeal.
“Come on,” I grabbed onto Ryatt’s arm. “I want you to meet my friend. There aren’t a lot of girls here, so we stick together. You’ll like her.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I swallowed the bitter taste on my tongue. What if he did like her? I shouldn’t care. Ryatt and I were just friends. I’d verbally broken up with Cruz, but I’d been here before, and I already missed him.
I wasn’t looking for a new boyfriend. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to share Ryatt, either.
“You must be racing the afternoon sessions,” she said.
“Ryatt, this is Katrina. Call her KitKat. She rides the red Ducati.” I pointed to her bike. “We’re both riding in the afternoon session,” I said about me and Ryatt.
Katrina was a couple years older than me. Her pink and white riding leathers hugged her body. She wore her red hair in a short and feisty chin-length cut. Freckles dusted her nose, and she had the most intense green eyes I’d ever seen.
In a word, she was hot.
“What do you ride?” she asked Ryatt as we strode over to her bike.
“R1.”