Chapter 6
Sadie
Go to a motorcycle race – from Sadie’s list of things she’s never done
“Stick with me,” Allie says, reaching her hand back for me to hold as she weaves through the crowd. “We’ll turn left up here,” she adds, waving the hand I’m not holding to show me the correct direction.
The smell of freshly poured asphalt mingles with the concrete-y scent of the stadium as we pass through the fans gathered to watch the race. Engines roar louder the closer we get to the pits, where we’ll be spending the entirety of Cam’s race.
A girl wearing a white Race Naked shirt bumps into me, and I almost lose hold of Allie’s hand. I should’ve guessed I wouldn’t be the only one here supporting him, but I didn’t expect half the crowd to be in black and yellow. A self-satisfied smile pulls at my lips. I’m the only one wearing his clothes, though. I catch sight of another woman wearing an oversized black and yellow hoodie with 207 printed across the back. Maybe I’m not the only one. What if there are women here who—
“Keep up, Winslow!” Allie yells, squeezing my hand and pulling me forward. We’re not late, but she’s thrilled to be here. She talked about what an incredible racer Cam is the whole drive, sharing anecdotes from races she’s seen over the past year. I nodded along and did my best to act interested, like a girlfriend should— even though I still haven’t told Allie about that . It was a good chance for me to practice calming breaths. I can’t let him know how scared I am for him. It’ll only make him more likely to get hurt.
90s alt-rock blasts through the sounds of engine revs, signaling we’ve made it to the correct pit. Allie runs to Luke, who’s already been here for hours. Cam’s nowhere to be found, so I set the cookies down on a folding table behind a stack of tires and try not to look as awkward as I feel.
The pits are areas designated for each racer and their teams, where they keep bikes, tires, and gear. They’re lined up next to the track in a row of colorful tent shades, each coordinated with the racer it represents. A low concrete wall—like the ones you see along some freeways—is the only thing separating the pits from the track.
Some pits are three or four times the size of others, with Cam’s being on the smaller side. His team seems smaller too, consisting of Luke, two guys I don’t recognize, Allie, and me.
“There she is,” I hear Cam’s voice just as I feel him behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist and kissing the top of my head.
My heart flutters. We probably should’ve talked about how to handle today . Are we telling Allie and Luke? Was the photo of me he posted last night too obvious? Why else would he post a photo of just me? It’s probably time to tell them anyway—
Keeping my back flush to his chest, his arm loosely draped around me, he says, “She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”
A tall, athletic, dark-haired woman I hadn’t even noticed standing beside us reaches her hand out. “Shane Hart. Thrilled to finally meet you.” Finally? We only just started dating two weeks ago. “If Hack sucks it up out there, you can always cheer for me instead.”
Cam’s chest shakes against my back with laughter. “We want me in first and her second,” he says against my head. “Kid’s a wonder. Spent about ten minutes in the 600s before she moved up to superbikes.”
“Kid? I’m not that young,” Shane says, smiling warmly at me. “Twenty-two.”
Twenty-two . Feels like a lifetime ago. At her age, I was graduating college and moving in with Jared. Ugh, Jared . Will there ever be a day when he isn’t a part of every memory I recall?
Shane heads back to her tent, which turns out to be the red and white one next to ours with the number forty-seven proudly displayed at the front.
Cam stays close to me, always having a hand on my waist, arm, or shoulder as he shows me around his pit—a proud smile on his face—and introduces me to his team. Rick—a friend who races 600s—is acting as a coach, and Beau—a quiet guy who looks about Shane’s age—is here as a second mechanic.
Two identical bikes sit on stands in the middle of the space. Three helmets are lined up on the side next to a spare suit. Everything has a backup. How many times is he planning to crash?
His brow furrows as he comes over to the massive stack of tires and picks up the container of cookies. “What’s this?” he asks, opening the top.
“I’m sorry. I just thought it would be nice—”
He cuts me off. “Are you trying to apologize for baking me cookies?”
“I don’t know the etiquette,” I shrug.
He pulls out a rectangular sugar cookie with flood-decorated frosting on top. The design is black and white checkers—like a finishing flag—with the number 207 in yellow across the top. The cookie looks better than I thought it would, although the black is a lot grayer than I intended.
“The etiquette can fuck right off if it says you’re not allowed to bring these to the track,” he says, eating half the cookie in one bite. “Have you had these?”
I sputter a laugh. “Honestly, no.”
Knowing a good night’s sleep before watching Cam’s race wasn’t an option, I decided to try flood-decorating cookies to pass the time. I knew it wouldn’t be easy , but I figured I’d pick it up quickly. I did not . There are three dozen poorly decorated rejects in the fridge at home.
He holds one out to me, the design Race Naked in black and yellow frosting. There are only four of those. Lettering is hard.
“Let’s save this one,” I say, switching it out for a checkered flag cookie.
“Shane!” he yells to the tent next door as he leads me over to his friend with an arm slung around my waist. “You’ve got to see this.” He tilts the container toward her. “My girl made these cookies for me.”
My girl. My heart flutters again, but I have to keep myself in check. He doesn’t mean it. It’s not real. And I don’t want it to be real.
“Damn, look at these,” Shane says, grabbing a cookie with a black track around the edge and 207 in the middle. “For next time, my number’s forty-seven, and those are my colors.” She points at the red and white tent above her as she takes a bite. “I didn’t believe him when he said he just moved in with his gorgeous girlfriend,” Shane says, shaking her head.
Girlfriend? Evidently, Cam’s done playing it close to the chest.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Cause Hack doesn’t really commit.” She looks back and forth between my fake boyfriend and me. “Or, he didn’t.”
“Exactly,” Cam says, squeezing my hand. “I didn’t until I found her.”
“I disagree,” I say, feeling defensive of him. “He’s more committed to racing than I’ve ever been to anything.”
Cam’s brows raise, but Allie bounces over before he can respond. Did she hear the girlfriend part of that conversation? “We need you, racer-man,” she pops up on her toes and looks into the container of cookies. “Were you just not gonna share?” she asks with as much offense as anyone could muster over cookies and snags them from his hand.
“See you out there, boss,” Cam says, giving Shane’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze before we leave her tent.
Then everything happens in a blur. All of the bikes are lined up on their marks based on the qualifying laps the racers did yesterday. Warmers are placed around the front and back tires, and the racers zip into their suits and slide on their helmets before going out to mount their motorcycles. The voices of the announcers ring out, and a countdown timer starts. Five minutes.
Some of the racers have a coach, friend, or partner standing on the track with them. Is that allowed? It must be if people are doing it.
Luke steps up next to me. “I usually keep him company for this part.”
“Oh,” I say, not sure what to do with that.
He watches me with dark, skeptical eyes. Has Cam told him we’re dating? Can he tell we’re faking? Does he think I’m bad for Cam? “I think he’d like it to be you today.”
“Me?” I squeak, looking across the track to Cam, where he stares straight ahead, fingers drumming impatiently against his gas tank. Between us is a minefield of places I don’t belong. There are thirty racers lined up with people interspersed throughout, including interviewers and camera crews. No, no, no. That can’t possibly be what he meant.
Luke watches me for a moment before nodding and stepping over the cement divider. “I’ll walk you over.” He holds out his arm for me to balance on as I step onto the track.
But my feet don’t move. How do I explain that I cannot go out there? I want to be as far away from the racing as possible. Not on the track.
“You alright?” Luke asks, arm still poised.
No, not at all. But I can’t say that, can I? I don’t want to be here, but Cam was right. If we were truly dating, there’s no way I’d miss his first race of the season, especially one that’s so close to home. I had to come, and now I have to do this . Plastering a smile on my face, I grab onto Luke’s offered arm, hoping he doesn’t notice the way I shake as I step over the concrete barrier.
When my feet land on the track, the asphalt doesn’t explode or suck me in— so that’s a good sign . Luke doesn’t say anything as he leads me through the small crowd and over to Cam. He grabs Cam’s shoulder, nods, and walks away, leaving me staring at Cam through his helmet.
Cam motions for me to stand closer and lifts his visor. “Hey, gorgeous.”
“Hey.” I glance around, hoping no one’s watching us, but find that many people—even some with cameras—are.
“It’s alright,” he reassures me, bringing a gloved hand to my waist.
Cam’s an affectionate person—making sure to hug everyone in a room before he leaves, resting his arm on a couch behind anyone he’s seated next to—so it shouldn’t surprise me that boyfriend Cam is so hands-on. He’ll probably have to start kissing me for real—not just on top of my head—at some point. If I wasn’t already twisted in knots over his impending race, I’d probably feel a dip in my stomach at the idea.
Tilting my shoulders into him, I giggle for no reason and bat my lashes. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do right now,” I say without breaking my flirtatious smile.
Cam’s head leans back with his full-body laugh. “You’re doing amazing. I have to sit here on my bike—ready to go—until the race, and I’m terrible at sitting still. It’s my least favorite part of the whole day. You keeping me company makes a big difference.”
Conversation has always flowed seamlessly between us, but now that it matters , my mind is blank.
Fortunately, Cam has no such problem. “You crossing anything off your list today?” he asks.
“Go to a motorcycle race,” I say, running my hand up his leather-clad arm. The suit is so stiff it feels practically impenetrable. If only that were the case. “It’s a little bit of a cheat, because I just added it this morning. Although, I am having lots of firsts. I’ve never stood on a race track before.”
“You look really good on one,” he says through a charming grin. “Especially in my shirt.”
I chose a heathered gray long-sleeve with his number on the front and his last name on the back. The sleeves are rolled, and I had to tie it up in the back, hopefully making it obvious that it’s his.
“It’s very soft,” I say, rubbing the fabric against my chest. “You might not get it back.”
“I hope I don’t,” he answers.
When Luke and Beau appear to take off his tire warmers, adrenaline courses through me. It’s time. He’s really doing this. I can’t stop him, and he could get hurt. He could— I cut off my line of thinking, not even allowing the word in my mind while I’m standing on the track.
Instead, I lean up on my tiptoes, grab onto either side of his helmet, and say the only race-related thing I can remember, “Rubber side down.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a solemn tip of his head, at odds with his wide smile.
And then—because it seems like something a girlfriend should do—I smack a kiss on the lower part of his helmet just below the visor before rushing back to the pit.
“You guys are so fucking cute,” Allie says, steadying me as I step back over the low wall. “ However , last I heard you were just roommates.”
“We are roommates,” I say. “And also—” Should I say I like him? Should I say we’re dating? I should. He’s telling people we’re dating. It’ll be weird if I don’t. Allie’s green eyes search my face, and I can’t bring myself to lie to my friend. “And also, he’s great.”
Allie’s responding laugh is loud enough that everyone in our pit and the next one over turns to look at her. “Sure, that’s all it is.” She closes one eye in an exaggerated wink. “Just roommates, and he’s great. You can’t lie to me. I see what’s going on.”
I don’t respond because I can’t lie to her, but fortunately, she changes the subject and explains how to know Cam’s rank during the race and what the screens in the pit show, including the livestream.
A wave of engines roar to life, and my gut drops. “Are they starting already?” I ask.
“Not really,” Allie scoffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s just a warm-up lap. They’re precious about tire temperatures.”
It’s been so long since I sat through a motorcycle race, I’d forgotten all about that part. “I’m guessing they’re not being precious so much as they’re being as safe as possible,” I say.
“Safe, precious, whatever. I just want to see some racing,” she laughs, bouncing on her toes.
Before Allie met Luke, her opinions of motorcycles mostly mirrored mine. She thought they were dangerous and unnecessary, but as soon as she started riding on the back of one, it’s like she forgot about the very real dangers these things represent.
She leads me back to the low wall. “This is the best part!”
The racers return from their warm-up lap and roll back onto their starting marks.
The green flag waves, and a moment later, the asphalt under our feet shakes as bikes rip past. They’re so close together it looks like any number of them could run into each other. My heart pounds, and my breathing speeds. I’ve got to pull it together. The last thing he needs is me losing my shit on the sidelines.
Allie’s jumping and saying something, but I don’t hear her over my pounding pulse. He’s going to be fine. He is fine. He’s safe—But, no , he’s not. None of them are. Why do I even care this much? He’s not my actual boyfriend. But he is my friend. And I don’t want my friend to—This is fine—but it’s not fine. It’s not—
My head spins, and I’m struggling to focus on the now-empty track in front of me. What the fuck am I doing here? I should never have come.
Abandoning my spot by the edge of the pit, it feels like the earth is wobbling as I manage to find my way over to the shade and slump back against a wall behind the stack of tires. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing. Well, I have the thought that I should focus on my breathing. So that’s something.
There’s nothing to be done now. He’s out there, and he could—any number of horrible things could happen to him. But they won’t. Right? Right? I reach for a logical way to reassure myself and find none. This shit is dangerous. It’s how people die.
Pulling my legs in tight to my chest, I bury my face in my knees. Motorcycles are so dumb. This is ridiculous. This is why I could never actually date him. This feeling. I shouldn’t have to put up with being terrified.
Breathing, Sadie, breathing.
I manage to breathe in for a count of four. Hold for the same. Breathe out for the same. Hold again. He could just not do this. It’s so dangerous. People die. He could— I’ve lost track of my breathing. Dammit . I start again.
Breathe in for a count of four. Hold. And out. Hold. I get into a good rhythm, concentration on counting and breaths taking up all my focus. Eventually, my heart rate slows, and the pounding pulse in my ears subsides.
It occurs to me that I should go back out there, watch the race, be supportive, participate in the experience. But every time I consider it, my heart races again. So, I stare at my feet and go back to box breathing. In for four. Hold. Out for four —
“You’re missing the race,” Allie’s too cheerful voice interrupts my fragile calm.
I give her the dirtiest are-you-fucking-kidding-me look I can muster.
“Oh shit,” she says, eyes wide. “Never mind.” She squeezes in next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and forcing a water bottle into my hand.
I chug half the bottle before asking, “Is it over yet?”
She gives me a sympathetic chuckle. “About halfway.”
“He’s okay, right?” I ask, feeling silly for overreacting.
“He’s crushing it, Sade.” Allie’s green eyes sparkle. “Right now, Cam is the happiest he’s ever been. This is what he lives for. And he’s good . He’s already gained two positions. He’s amazing, actually.”
Allie would sit next to me like this for the rest of the race—for the rest of the day—if she thought it’s what I needed. But I don’t want her missing any more of this on my account. “Should we have a cookie and watch this thing?” I ask with forced optimism.
“Fuck, yeah, we should!” she answers with genuine excitement.
Allie holds my hand as we each choose cookies and head over to the screens for an update. Luke points him out for us. “He’s been dicing it up with Ludlow, the guy on the white bike right there, number two, for the last three laps.”
“Still?” Allie sighs. “That guy’s got to get out of the way already.”
Luke chuckles. “Cam just has to be patient. He’ll find his window.”
I don’t know anything about Cam as a racer, but in general, I doubt anyone would describe the guy as patient. What happens if he’s impatient? My heart pounds again.
Luke explains that Cam is in third now—not fourth like he was when Allie left—because one of the front runners’ bikes had a mechanical failure, so he’s out. Before I can properly lose it about that, he says the guy rode his bike off the track. No crash.
I nibble nervously on the edge of my cookie as I scan the screens and land on a map showing the racers’ numbers traveling around the track. I like this one. Can’t actually see any motorcycles, but I can tell what’s going on. I find 207 and watch it gain on 2 during the straightaways but lose ground in the turns. Sometimes the numbers get so close that one covers the other, but I try not to think about what that means Cam is actually doing.
“He’s about to come through,” Allie tells me, squeezing my hand and pointing to the section of track next to the pit. “You want to watch?”
Deep breath in. “Sure.” Deep breath out.
We line up against the low wall, making sure not to block the pit board that gives him information about his position, how close the person behind him is, and what lap number they’re on. The crowd of bikes is much thinner than it was at the start, with the racers mostly in groups of three to five as they pass by the pits. That’s a little less stressful.
Number two comes out of the turn first, but Cam is on him in an instant, passing him just like he did on the other straightaways. My fingers tighten on the low concrete wall as he flies by us. Adrenaline pumps through me, only now it’s from excitement and fear. He could totally take this guy. By the time I’ve finished the thought, their bikes are disappearing around turn one, and I can’t see well enough from where we’re standing if he managed to keep the lead.
Pulling Allie with me, I rush back to the screens.
“There it is. Right there ,” Luke says.
Even though I’m watching the same screens as he is, I don’t see what he’s talking about. Cam’s fallen behind bike number two, Ludlow, again. When Cam leans into the turn, it looks like his bike kind of skips, the tires jumping on the track instead of riding smoothly. Is he crashing? No, no, no. He can’t. This can’t— My chest tightens, and I squeeze Allie’s hand.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “Just a little chatter.”
“What the fuck is chatter?” I ask.
I must have yelled my question because Rick answers me from across the tent in a reassuring dad voice. “It’s what those little bounces are called. Cam knows his edge. It’s nothing to worry about.”
What would happen if he didn’t know his edge? How is that nothing? Looking back to the screen, I see Cam level out and stay on his bike. And Luke was right because he pulls ahead of Ludlow as he comes out of turn three and maintains it into turns four and five, putting serious distance—in reality less than a second—between him and Ludlow when he pulls into the next straightaway.
Without Ludlow to contend with, Cam gains on the bike out front. I find myself deeply invested, wondering what he’ll have to do to get to first. If he’s going to risk his life, he might as well win. Now I wish I’d learned more about racing, or anything about racing before today.
Allie and I rush back to the wall to see Cam race past the pits again, and I have to stop myself from waving. I don’t want to distract him.
“How does he get first?” I ask Luke when we return to the screens.
“Probably won’t on this one,” he answers.
My mouth drops open in shock. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Second place after starting sixth is great,” he chuckles. “They’re on the last lap. He’s not close enough to get first in the next thirteen turns, but he’ll keep pushing.”
Last lap? Already? It feels like the race just started.
“He’ll get twenty points. Solid start to the season,” Allie says, then explains the points system while we wait, watching the finish line. The top fifteen finishers of each race get points, ranging from one point for fifteenth place to twenty-five points for first. All of their points for the season get added together, and that’s how they determine the championship.
It happens exactly like Luke said it would. The first-place racer crosses, and even though it’s only a second or so later, when Cam crosses, it’s obvious it would have taken more than a lap for him to make up that distance.
When Shane crosses seventh, Allie says, “I like to root for her too. She’s the only woman who races superbikes. There are a handful in 600s, but she’s the only one at this level.”
The only woman in superbikes. Cam’s thirty, and this is his first year at this level. But she pulled it off at twenty-two? She’s impressive.
Allie leans over, “This is the cutest part.”
Cutest part of a motorcycle race?
The racers slow after they cross, lifting their visors. One after another, they swerve closer to the other racers, fist-bumping and even reaching across for hugs, congratulating each other on the race. It is quite adorable, but I wish they’d stop letting go of their handlebars.
When Cam pulls into the pit, the tightness I hadn’t realized was still in my chest loosens. My hands and teeth unclench, and I take a proper deep breath, one that isn’t a forced count. He’s safe. It’s over.
His smile is even more oversized than usual as he pulls back into the pit, mouth open wide, eyes crinkled, right on the edge of laughter. I’ve never seen him happier, and this was only second place. What does he look like after winning?
His team greets him with shoulder squeezes, hugs, and congratulations. I want to feel for myself that he’s in one piece. For the first time since the race’s start, I remember I’m supposed to be his girlfriend. Should I go up to him?
“There she is!” Cam calls, pointing through his team to the corner of the tent where I’m standing. He leaves them behind, rushing toward me. He’s a much better liar than I am, doing a magnificent job of acting like he’s into me—like he’s my boyfriend.
He’s already taken off his helmet and unzipped his leathers, exposing his sweat-soaked undershirt and tattoo-covered neck. Red hair sticks to his forehead in a way that should look ridiculous, but doesn’t. He’s safe. He’s okay. There’s only a moment to take him in before he’s gathering me up in his arms.
I’ve seen him pick Allie up before, hugging her and then swinging her around in circles, letting her legs fly out wildly until she erupts in giggles. That’s not what he does with me. At all. His arms scoop under my ass, bringing me up flush against his hard, sweaty body so my legs wrap around his torso and rest just above his hips. I collapse against his chest, pulling him as tightly to me as possible.
He’s safe. I don’t let go, needing to keep feeling for myself that he’s in one piece. Can he tell I’m shaking with relief?
When I finally loosen my hold enough to pull back, it brings my eyes level with his, our lips barely inches apart. He leans into me.
Is he going to kiss me? It’s what a boyfriend would do. Should I kiss him? Do I want him to kiss me? I—
Cam gives my ass a solid squeeze then brings his teeth down in a light nip on my nose. I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up in response. “It was amazing seeing you from out there,” he says.
“You saw me?” I ask, not sure if I’m more shocked by that information, the ass squeeze, or the lack of a kiss. Am I disappointed he didn’t kiss me? No, I’m not.
“Of course I saw you. You’re much more important than any info on the pit board.”
“That can’t possibly be true,” I laugh, squeezing him again. He’s safe.
“It is,” he says, dropping his forehead to mine. “Thank you for being here. I know it was hard for you.”
“It wasn’t hard,” I say, the words getting stuck in my throat.
“Adorable little liar,” he says, kissing the top of my head.