9. Callie
Chapter 9
Callie
An hour and a few beers later, our food’s long finished, the garbage already disposed of, and my buzz hums under my skin. A few riders I don’t recognize have gathered around, and it’s easy to see Colt and Maverick have known them for a while. The conversation flows from topic to topic, laughter coming out easily.
I stretch my legs out, letting the buzz lull me into something close to contentment.
But under the laughter and the glow of the truck lights, something unsettles in my chest.
It’s nothing. Just nerves. Just being here.
I shove it down like I’ve gotten so good at doing, not willing to let the worry steal this night from me.
I rest my head on Colt’s shoulder. It feels good just listening to them, to be a part of their regular lives.
“Did you hear about Jimmy?” a guy sitting on the tailgate asks in a low voice.
“What are you doing? Trying to bring that kind of bad juju here?” another guy cuts in.
“Relax… if that were true, we’d all be screwed. It’s sad what happened, but it’s part of the sport. He got a raw deal landing like that. Spine didn’t stand a chance.”
The world compresses around me until it’s impossible to take a breath.
They’re talking about it like it’s nothing like someone didn’t just die. Their only concern is that they may jinx themselves.
“I heard he had a kid.”
“His mistake for having a family while riding. Should have known better.”
My nails dig into my palms as I pull my knees up to hide my face. The edges of the world blur and tilt too loud, too close, too fast.
Did they talk like this when my dad died? Sorry about his kid, but he should have known better?
The worst part is…they’re not wrong.
He should have known better.
They risk their lives every weekend, and you don’t do that when you care about someone.
You don’t risk your heart like that.
Because it’s the person left behind who has to deal with it, who loses a piece of who they are.
I count my breaths like my therapist taught me. Five in, three out but it’s shaky, useless.
“Hey, Cal, you should see the scars these two have. Must have made a deal with the devil to still be alive.”
They’re laughing while I’m falling apart.
Blood rushes in my ears, muffling the noise around me as their stories bleed together.
“Remember when Colt got stomped on?” someone says, and the words cut through too fast for me to block.
I shudder.
“You cold?” Colt throws an arm around my shoulders, mistaking my reaction for a chill.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Maverick tips my chin up, searching my face, and I try my hardest to lock it down. I don’t want them to see what it does to me.
I don’t want them to know I left because I couldn’t watch them anymore.
Whether he figures it out or not, Maverick knows something’s wrong.
He cups my cheek, rubbing his thumb along the edge. “You want to go in?”
I want to run.
I want to get as far away as possible.
Pretend none of this is happening.
Pretend they aren’t risking it all.
It’s tempting to go back to the safety I’ve lived in for years.
I force a smile. There’s plenty of time to hide later.
Right now, I’m not willing to give up a single second with them.
Because what we have, the three of us , it’s rare.
The kind of bond people spend their whole lives searching for and never find.
These memories are precious, sweet enough to last a lifetime.
Strong enough to keep me sane when I’m no longer near them.
I knew coming here would be hard.
But I’d regret not having these moments the rest of my life.
I’ve given myself this time to memorize everything about them every laugh, every look, every reckless, beautiful thing so I have something to hold on to.
Something no one else could ever replace.
Something to warm me later when they’re just a memory.
Something to dull the ache when they aren’t around.
I just need to hide my panic attacks.
Need to push them down like my therapist taught me.
They can’t know what it costs me to be here.
“Are you alright?” Maverick’s voice is edged with concern, a deep crease between his brows.
“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
Colt’s already getting up, holding out his hand to me. “You should have said so. I’ve wanted to go back for hours. These guys are boring.”
“Screw you!” someone shouts, but I miss who it is, still unable to meet their faces.
Statistically, at least one of their careers will end in a grave. If they’re lucky, a wheelchair.
Colt winks at me. “Don’t hate me for telling the truth.”
I don’t even remember getting down from the truck, the walk back, or climbing up the stairs, my body fully on autopilot.
I manage to make an excuse to call it a night, then collapse against the door the second it shuts.
My breaths are ragged, my back sliding down the wood until I’m curled at the base of it, holding the glued pieces of my heart together.
I don’t care how much it hurts.
I’m not giving up the short time I have with them.