Cam
“No! No way.”
He could tell Baloo didn’t believe him. Ever since he’d found out the guy he’d been crushing on had fed him a pack of lies, he fact-checked everything.
“Just trying to get some more cardio in now that we’re going to Norfolk.” Sort of true. He just needed to get back to the shop ASAP. His dad was sprouting new worry lines by the minute.
“Cool,” Baloo said, reassured. “Umm, can I ask you something?”
As long as it isn’t for dating tips. “Sure.”
“I saw the competition list—not just us, everyone who’s going to be there.”
Cam saw what was coming.
“Logan’s going to be there.”
Or the Wicked Witch of Westvale, as Perry called him.
“I want to kick his ass,” said Baloo.
Cam loved his teammate’s fire. “But… he’s really good. He’s Westvale’s stroke, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Baloo said. The tough love Cam had dealt him hadn’t tamped the flames of his fire; it had stoked them. “But I’m the hurt party here. Meaning, I deserve to beat him.”
“Ummm. Not so sure about your logic there, Baloo.”
Baloo pressed his hands together in supplication. “I’m begging you. I need to tap into whatever it is you’re doing to stay on top of the leaderboard.”
Easy. He blocked everything else out and rowed. An admission he wasn’t going to make. It would only lead to a conversation he didn’t want to have eating up valuable time he couldn’t afford to lose.
“C’mon, Cam,” Baloo pleaded, misreading Cam’s hesitation. “Tell me what it takes to improve. Please?”
They were getting too close to the parking lot for comfort.
Cam didn’t need to field questions about why he was riding an ancient ten-speed bike instead of driving his truck, so tried to think of the fastest way to put it.
He’d give Baloo all the time in the world if he could, but the cars waiting to be repaired already had a claim on it.
“Okay,” he said to Baloo.“He’s got you flustered.
When you’re flustered? You’re messy. You come in hot and burn out.
You start slow—can’t sync. If you want to crush this guy? Pretend he doesn’t exist.”
“Yeah, right,” Baloo said. “Not possible.”
Cam was about to suggest the trick where you imagined someone sitting in their underwear to make a situation less intimidating, then thought better of it. “Pretend he’s Josh.”
Baloo grinned. “Nice one. I can do that. Thanks, man. See you tomorrow.”
One more hour under the hood of this car, another cramming for school, then sleep. However much he could grab. He’d been working his ass off in the lead-up to tomorrow’s Rowing Invitational and needed every ounce of energy he could get.
“So? This is where you live.”
Cam knew the body attached to the familiar voice wouldn’t go away without acknowledgment.
“What do you want, Ryder?” Unless it was a million-dollar repair job, he wasn’t all that interested.
“Tomorrow’s Invitational,” Ryder said, eyes scanning the shop like he’d never seen grease or tools this close up before. Then his ice-blue eyes landed on Cam. “Looks like it’s between you and me.”
Yeah. He knew. You’d think his position on the leaderboard made this conversation unnecessary.
But this was how the Regis kids rolled. Twisting a situation to their advantage even if the writing was literally written on the wall.
“Pretty sure it’s me.” He picked up his wrench, ducked back under the hood.
“Must take up a lot of time,” Ryder said casually. Too casually. “Pulling shifts here before and after school. Busting your gut at practice.”
Cam shot him a look, wished he hadn’t. Ryder was giving him an appraising look, as if trying to figure out who had more muscle mass.
“Those sneakers are getting pretty worn.”
A bit like Cam’s patience. Something Ryder, apparently, wasn’t done testing. “You help me? I’ll help you.”
Cam put the wrench down. Where was this going?
“I need the Junior Team scout looking at me tomorrow,” said Ryder. “What’s it going to take for you to make that happen?”
Cam stared at his teammate incredulously. “Hold up. Are you asking me to throw the race?”
Ryder dropped the casual act. “I’m asking you to name your price. What do you want?”
Cam wanted to throw him out of here, but his dad was in the office and the noise Ryder would make when he landed wouldn’t be pretty.
“An erg?” Ryder suggested. “A vacation?” He looked around for the truck, didn’t see it. “A car?”
“Get out.”
“I can go higher.”
Right. He needed Ryder to understand exactly what he thought about his offer. “You. Can’t. Buy. Me.”
Ryder’s jaw muscles started twitching and his hands balled into fists, but whatever he saw in Cam’s eyes forced him back a step. Then another. He made it to the edge of the workshop before he had the balls to speak again. “Everyone has a price, Dillinger.”
Then, like the creature of the night he clearly was, Ryder disappeared into the darkness.
His dad was on the phone when Cam headed to the office to see if he was ready to go. Whatever conversation he was having clearly wasn’t going well.
“No. No. Don’t say there’s nothing you can do because I know you could give me more time,” pleaded his dad. “I can get it, but I don’t have forty-eight thousand dollars sitting in my bank account to give you right now.”
Shit. Forty-eight thousand?
The guy talked for a bit. Cam slid off his coveralls watching his dad sprout more gray hairs.
“I’ve been banking with you guys for years,” his dad said. “Doesn’t that count for anything? Right. Nothing you can do. I heard you the first time.” He hung up the phone. Glared at it. “Jackasses.”
Cam flinched. His dad was not a swearer. He knew things were on a downward spiral but hadn’t realized how close the shop might be to hitting rock bottom.
He knocked on the doorframe, pulled a couple of coveralls from the laundry basket to bring home. “What’s going on, Dad?”
His dad blinked at him, readjusted his expression, but couldn’t keep the strain he was feeling hidden. “Nothing you need to worry about, son.”
They were past the point of pretending now. Ever since his dad had been forced to fire the other mechanics and add an invisible & Son to the business name.
“Forty-eight thousand dollars is going to take a while to put together,” he said, ignoring the flare of panic in his dad’s eyes. His gut was churning, so he knew the answer to the next question, but made himself ask it anyway. “Are we going to be okay?”
His dad gave Cam’s shoulder a couple of heavy claps. “All you need to worry about is that big race of yours tomorrow.”
Yeah, right. Like he could just forget about all of his dad’s hard work, and his, going up in flames. Or, more accurately, being repossessed by the bank.
“I want to help, Dad.”
“Just leave it, son.”
They stared at each other. Wide-eyed. His dad had never spoken to him like that before.
Sharp. Angry. He must’ve seen the impact it had in Cam’s eyes because he softened, threw an arm around his shoulders, and steered them out the door.
“Whatever happens with the bank, we’ll be okay.
Let’s get you home now. Get you rested up so you can show that scout what you’re made of. ”