Chapter 16
Sadie
Make a new friend in Palm Springs – from Sadie’s list of things she’s never done
After about thirty selfies, I finally settle on one where my hair falls just right, my face doesn’t look weird, and the 207 on my shirt is legible. I post it with the caption Supporting my guy from afar today . My phone buzzes a moment later.
Cam: You look gorgeous.
A month ago, he kissed me— really kissed me. Three weeks later , he offered to go down on me. Then, two days ago— he did . He went down on me— that’s an understatement. He ate my pussy like he was starving. But it was deeper than that, too. I told him things I’ve never told anyone. We did things I’ve never done. He stuck with me when I got emotional and scared , reminding me that my pleasure isn’t an imposition.
At this point , it would be impossible to believe he’s not into me.
Cam Hacker is into me.
I’m not sure how to feel about it. He’s a dangerous man—not necessarily to me, but to himself. He races motorcycles for a living, and something tells me even when he’s not racing professionally , he won’t give it up. If I let myself feel for a man like that, fall for him—I could lose him too quickly. Too easily. Too permanently . Loving Cam Hacker would be like begging for a shattered heart.
But on the other hand, the idea that he would pick me, that we could be together—that someone so caring, patient, funny, and an exceptionally good kisser would even be an option for me — is hard to ignore. How could I ignore him ? He’s taking up more space in my mind these days than he is in my home.
Me: Sorry I’m not there for this one.
He’s had three weekends of racing—making a total of six races—since the one I attended. I buried my head in the sand about him racing the first weekend and looked up the placements and points during the second and third. Today, Bea is coming over for moral support so I can hopefully watch one from home.
He’s been incredibly supportive of me, and I desperately want to be supportive of him too.
Cam: Please don’t worry about it.
Me: But I should be there to support you.
Cam: It’s really okay. I understand it’s a lot for you.
Me: I’m at least going to watch it from here.
Cam: You are?
Me: Yup! Bea’s coming over to watch it with me.
Cam: What’d you bake her?
Me: Sausage rolls and pistachio macarons. You’re missing out.
Cam: Kind of wishing I wasn’t out of town now.
Me: I’ll make something just for you when you get back. Any requests?
Cam: I’ll eat any of your cookies any time.
We haven’t talked about what happened between us directly yet, but he’s made plenty of indirect comments like this one in the days since. I never know how to respond. He was right. It was an experience I needed. And I want it again—immediately—with him. But is that a good idea?
Cam: I’ve got to get ready. Talk to you after, love.
Me: Remember, rubber side down! And don’t forget your SPF!
SPF would be redundant. He’s covered head-to-toe, but I still tell him about it every race. I get to remind him to be safe without actually saying don’t crash .
Me: And don’t get too cocky. Find your balance between the tortoise and the hare.
Cam: You got it, sunshine.
Bea shows up an hour before the race’s official start, wearing a classic Nirvana t-shirt—black with a yellow smiley face that has X s for eyes and a tongue sticking out.
“Look at you, wearing the right colors and everything,” I say, pulling her in for a hug.
“I’m here to support,” she answers with a warm smile.
We take Dandy to the backyard to throw a ball and get some of her energy out before she’s expected to sit still for an hour and watch the race with us. Bea and I smoke a bowl to get some of my nervous energy out before we move back inside and dig into the baked snacks I prepared.
Bea adjusts her position on the couch, facing me. “How are you feeling about the race?” she asks.
“A little nervous,” I admit, releasing a heavy breath. “I get nervous every time, thinking he’s going to crash .” Even though he isn’t here, I still whisper the last word.
Nodding, she hums a response, giving me a tell-me-more look.
“He doesn’t crash often, but at least a couple people go down during every race. They almost always get right back up, but every time I see it—” I take a tight breath. “It’s terrifying.”
“I bet it is,” she affirms.
Bea’s presence is a steady comfort. Moments ago, we were laughing, snacking, and smoking. Now, I’m pouring out my heart about Cam, and I haven’t even decided how I feel about him yet. She has a way of disarming me, letting me feel safe sharing raw emotions.
She already knows the story about my crash from high school—the whole reason I find Cam’s racing so unsettling, so I skip over those details.
“It’s hard to shake the images of people I cared about being bloodied and wrecked by motorcycles. I can even still see Cam lying eerily still on the racetrack when he broke his leg. I didn’t even know him then, but that crash is one of the reasons I fear for him.”
“He survived that, though—came back stronger,” she points out. “Would it help to focus on that? It wasn’t enough to make him fearful of racing.”
My shoulders shake on a defeated laugh. “That’s kind of the issue. Breaking his damn femur wasn’t enough to make him fearful. It made him more determined. There’s no level of injury that could stop him. I don’t think anything would be enough to make him quit.”
She tilts her head curiously, thick dark hair momentarily falling over her face before a silver-and gold ring-stacked hand pushes it back. “Is that what you need from him?”
She doesn’t ask if it’s what I want , but if it’s what I need , as in—what do I need from my partner in my relationship? She’s only operating with the information I’ve given her. She believes he’s actually my boyfriend— not just my friend —because that’s what I’ve told her. There’s a layer of complication to this that I can’t unfold with anyone. Although, something tells me Bea would keep our secret if I asked her to. She’s patient, petting Dandy’s white fluff as she waits for me to respond.
“I want so badly to be supportive,” I finally say. “I know it’s important to him—important isn’t even the right word. Racing is integral to his being. I want to be supportive, but I don’t want…”
When Bea sees I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence, she offers, “You don’t want to see Cam hurt or worse.”
“I don’t want to lose him,” I admit, although I haven’t shared enough for her to fully comprehend what an admission it is. He’s important, and even though he’s not my boyfriend, and I can’t love him, the idea of losing him terrifies me.
Bea hums a response again, rolling over my words before saying, “That’s a very reasonable desire. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to lose you either. I’m sure that’s on his mind while he’s out there.”
Obvious? Maybe he’s just a good actor, good at pretending to be my boyfriend. Or maybe, she’s right. Maybe his charm and flirtation with me isn’t just for show. His going down on me until I came multiple times certainly wasn’t.
“Today, I want to focus on being excited for him,” I say. “I want to cheer him on like a normal girlfriend and not worry about anything else.”
Bea’s eyes narrow, and a knowing smile curves her lips. “Okay, angel. I’m here to help.”
The broadcast starts with two announcers sitting at a table in front of a USMoto sign.
Announcer One: We’re about halfway into the season here, and things seem to be shaking out well for both Ryan Ludlow and Cameron Hacker. We don’t have a clear frontrunner yet this season.
Announcer Two: I’d say we do have a clear frontrunner. Things are looking better for Ludlow. Hacker has been on his tail all season. He’s only ten points behind, but he has yet to pull into a points lead.
Then they go into a detailed breakdown of points and placements leading up to this point in the season, followed by a conversation about tire pressure decisions that almost puts me to sleep, and then on to interviews with racers.
“The pre-race stuff is a little dry, isn’t it?” Bea jokes.
“This part kind of sucks,” I agree. “Hate to admit it, but the actual race is really fun.”
“You think you’ll end up traveling to any of them?” she asks.
“I’d like to. Or at least, I’d like to want to,” I admit, offering Bea more than I’ve shared with anyone in a long time. “I wish I didn’t get so anxious about it. If I can get through this race from the couch, maybe...?”
“I’ll go with you, if you want,” she says.
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
“Fuck, yeah. You’re my friend. He’s my friend,” she says, tugging on her shirt to show off the black and yellow. “Why wouldn’t I?”
It’s been a while since I had a new friend. The last ones I made were more interested in helping my ex cheat than actually caring about me. Bea’s willingness to jump into my life is a refreshing gift. “I think I love you,” I giggle.
“You do.” She nods. “We’re besties now. Don’t worry about it.”
When the interviewer reaches Cam, he’s already straddling his bike at his mark on the track.
“Qualifiers were close for this race. You were only a quarter-second from first,” the tall, dark-haired woman says. “Were you disappointed you didn’t grab pole position?”
“I’m pretty sure pole position means starting the race first,” I whisper to Bea.
“Disappointed?” Cam laughs. “You know me. I’ve won more races from second on the grid than from first. I like having someone to chase, and no one’s more fun to chase than Ludlow.” I try not to get hung up on the “you know me” part. He probably only knows her in a professional capacity.
“Tell me about the adjustments you’ve made to your bike and tire pressure based on today’s heat,” she asks.
“We’ve taken everything into account. Don’t worry,” he answers with a chuckle. When she leaves, I remember him saying this is his least favorite part. I wish I could be there with him, standing by until the race starts.
When the racers take off, Bea comments, “This feels awfully chill for a race.”
“I wish they raced like this, but it’s just a warm-up lap.”
As Cam rounds the halfway point of the track, my heart rate speeds up . It’s almost time. Almost time for the race. For the risk. The tattoo across his chest that reads ‘ No Risk No Story’ flashes in my mind. Is a story really that important, Cameron? What if the story is : today I raced zero motorcycles, got in zero crashes, and lived happily ever after? Sounds like a good one to me.
Dandy’s wet nose bumps my hand.
“Hi, sweet girl,” I greet her, reaching through her fluffy fur to rub her head.
She’s crawled off Bea’s lap and is now walking circles on mine. After seven or eight turns, she settles with a plop and a heavy dog-sigh. Dandy may not look anything like her owner, but their energy matches—comforting, steady, and insistent that no one should have to handle anything alone.
Doing my best not to lose my shit, I go through a calming breath exercise I found online this morning, petting Dandy in time with each exhale.
“He’ll be okay,” Bea reassures me, resting her hand over mine where it sits in Dandy’s fur. “And no matter what, you will be okay.”
I look down at the pile of encouragement in my lap and spot the tattoo on the inside of Bea’s forearm: No Matter What .
“What’s this tattoo for?” I ask.
Bea turns her arm up, running her thumb over the ink. “I got it with my childhood best friend. He has one that says No Matter Where .”
“I don’t think I’ve heard you mention him before,” I say, taking in the details of the script. “What’s his name?”
“Teddy,” she says, her voice softening. “He’s a doll, but we don’t really talk anymore.”
Feeling a twinge in my chest at the rare sadness pulling her features, I say, “If you ever want to talk about him, I’m here to listen.”
“Thanks, bestie,” she says, squeezing my hand but offering no more about whatever happened with Teddy.
The green flag waves, and the motorcycles rip away from their starting marks—thirty or more racers going over one hundred fifty miles an hour as they head into the first turn in a terrifying mass of engines and leather. Cam and Ludlow are out front, and by turn four, there’s enough distance between them and the pack that I can breathe a little easier.
“This isn’t so bad,” I admit as Cam crosses into his third lap. When my petting slows, Dandy presses her little head into my palm. “Okay, that’s fair,” I say, resuming the motion.
Announcer One: Hacker is ripping around these turns.
Announcer Two: What he said to Jolie at the beginning is true. He thrives on the chase, and Ludlow is giving him a good one.
The camera zooms in, showing Cam’s front tire lifting off the track as he comes out of a turn.
“That is not—no, no,” I whisper. “All tires down , all the time, please.”
“He’s alright,” Bea reassures me. “He’s not the only one who does that. It’s okay.”
I’ve seen it before. I know it’s common, but it’s like I’ve forgotten everything I know about the sport. I just want him to pull over and be done. It was just a little air, but I hate it. Anxiety tightens my chest, then moves to my throat. He still has seven laps left. Anything can happen in seven laps. Bad things—
“What do you suppose he’s thinking about right now?” Bea asks, clearly aware I’m freaking out but graciously not making me address it.
“I have no idea,” I snap, my words sharper than they should be. I apologize immediately.
Always understanding, Bea answers, “It’s okay. This is a lot for you. Try to imagine it, though. He does this for a reason. What do you think he focuses on while he’s out there?”
After forcing a few steadying breaths, I consider her question. He loves this. Allie’s words from his first race of the season come to me. “Cam is the happiest he’s ever been. This is what he lives for.” He’s told me how important the freedom of speed is, how that feeds his soul. I doubt he’s thinking about speed, though. That part’s built in.
Giving myself a break from the race, I look at Bea. “He’s probably somewhere between the thinking equivalent of yelling ‘woo hoo’ at the top of his lungs and trying to figure out how to pass this guy. Cam wants to win. He needs to win, so I bet that’s what he’s thinking about—how does he get first?”
“He’s getting close,” Bea says as Cam slides out around Ludlow going into the next turn. He pulls ahead for just a moment but loses the lead as they come out of it.
Announcer One: Hacker will not back down today.
Announcer Two: And he shouldn’t. He needs these points today if he wants a shot at signing with Incite Energy next season.
On the next turn, the camera zooms in on Cam’s front tire again. This time there’s chatter—his tire skipping on the track, and a bit of a wobble, but he recovers it. My natural inclination is to draw my knees in close to my chest, but Dandy’s still heavy in my lap, so I pick her up and hold her tight to my chest instead. She nuzzles in, appreciating the affection.
“She’s a sweet little snuggle angel, isn’t she?” Bea comments.
“She’s helping me a lot,” I say. “Thank you for bringing her. And for being here.”
“Of course. I’ll come over for every race if you need the company,” Bea says, offering me the kind of support an old friend gives, even though we’ve only just gotten to know each other this year.
“He has a race tomorrow, too,” I say. “Maybe we can do our run before to help me calm down, but I want to try watching one on my own.”
Announcer Two: Looks like we have a crash on the track.
No, no, no, no.
The racer on the screen is holding his motorcycle’s handlebars as he and his bike slide across the racetrack. I can’t look. I bury my face behind my hands, holding Dandy tight.
“It’s not Cam,” Bea reassures me.
“But it’s someone . What if they—” I can’t finish the thought.
“Watch,” Bea says. “I know it’s hard, but the guy’s okay. Look, he’s standing right up.”
I brave a look back at the screen, and she’s right. The racer is standing, leveraging the bike to lift it into an upright position. He climbs back on and rejoins the race like nothing happened. Like nothing happened. How the—
“That bike looks heavy,” Bea comments, not letting me dwell or spiral.
“We probably have a few in the garage if you want to check,” I joke, the lighthearted interaction taking some of the pressure off my speeding heart.
Cam gets so close to Ludlow as he tries to pass him that I swear they must be touching. I swallow a thick lump in my throat when my heart races again. At this point, I’m irritated with myself. Every scary, anxious thought is also an annoying one. Why can’t I just ignore it and be happy for him?
Normally, I’d try to calm myself with rational reasons why my anxiety is unfounded. But being anxious about this is the rational response, or at least it feels that way to me.
Announcer One: Whew, a lot of trust there. See how close Hacker’s getting to Ludlow?
Announcer Two: Absolutely. These guys have been racing each other for years. I know they’re friends off the track.
“Do you know him too?” Bea asks.
“Nope,” I answer without thinking. Shit. Shouldn’t I know his friends? Say something true. Say something true. “He’s mentioned him, but we haven’t met.”
Announcer One: I think this might be the one. Cam’s lined up perfectly for the pass on this turn.
Announcer Two: If it’s not this turn, it probably won’t happen. There’s only one lap after this, and Ludlow has maintained his lead the whole time. It’s been tight, but Hacker has yet to pull off a pass.
Letting Dandy down from her place cuddled against my chest, I lean forward. Pass him. Pass him. Pass him. Don’t crash. Don’t crash. Don’t crash.
“Now I’m nervous,” Bea—who’s also leaned toward the screen—says.
“Me too. I mean—nervous for two reasons now.”
My adrenaline spikes as Cam pulls up right next to Ludlow again—so close I’m worried they’ll both crash. When I was in a motorcycle crash , it was on a turn, and seeing them so close together—
Announcer One: And he pulls it off!
Announcer Two: That was close. Almost looks like they had a little contact there.
A little contact? What the fuck?
As Cam pulls away, he briefly lifts one hand from his handlebars. My stomach drops. Don’t let go!
Announcer Two: Definitely contact. See that wave from Hacker? He’s apologizing for getting too close.
Not going to dwell on that. He’s winning. He’s going to win. Cam’s words from our discussion about his tortoise and hare tattoo come back to me. It’s not over ‘til it’s over. Never get too cocky.
“Now he just has to keep the lead,” I breathe.
“He can do it,” Bea says.
Ludlow tries to regain his position on the next few turns, but doesn’t manage to close the distance between him and Cam in the short time left. Still, I know it’s not over ‘til it’s over, and I don’t take an easy breath until the checkered flag flies and Cam crosses the finish line first.
“He won!” I yell, startling poor Dandy. I quickly apologize and set her down, then Bea and I jump up and down, cheering for Cam. He did it. He’s safe. He’s alive. None of his bones are broken, and he won.
Wishing I was there to celebrate with him, I send him a quick text.
Me: You did it!
“You got through it,” Bea says as we settle back onto the couch. “Did that feel any better than last time?”
“A lot better. I even enjoyed it a little bit,” I admit. I consider the reasons. “Could be because we aren’t actually there.”
“I bet. Probably helps that he won, too.”
We keep the live broadcast up, waiting for Cam’s interview. When they reach him, he’s standing next to his bike, typing on his phone.
“Sorry,” he says, still looking down. My phone buzzes as he looks up. “My girl’s celebrating at home. Didn’t want to leave her hanging.”
Bea makes a aww-that’s-the-sweetest-thing-I’ve-ever-heard face. “Check your phone!”
As I read it, my face softens into the same.
Cam: Feels amazing! Wish I could hug you.
Half an hour later, when the broadcast is over and Bea’s gone back home, another text comes through.
Cam: Thank you for watching. I know it’s hard for you. Means more than you know.