Chapter 2
Jett
The house smells like cinnamon and warm vanilla when we walk inside after dinner and our afternoon stroll around town.
This is one of those traditions I already know I’ll miss when Harper becomes a teenager and doesn’t want to hang out with us anymore.
I remind myself to stop worrying about the future and just stay in the moment to enjoy every day of raising my kid with the woman I love…
in our house that always smells amazing.
I don’t know how Keanna does it because I never see her spraying fragrance around or anything—the house just always smells clean and homey and it changes with the seasons.
Women are magic. Well, my woman is magic.
I don’t really care much about the others.
“It’s time for someone to get a bath!” Keanna says, hanging her purse on the hook by the back door.
“Aww man, do I have to?” I say with an exaggerated whine. Both of my girls cast me a silly look.
“I’m not talking about you,” Keanna says, playfully rolling her eyes.
“She means me!” Harper says, pointing to her chest.
“Phew,” I say, running a hand across my forehead. “I guess that means I don’t have to brush my teeth, either!”
“Eww!” they both say together.
“Want me to do the bedtime routine?” I ask after closing the garage door and locking up for the night.
“I’ve got it,” Keanna says. “But the dishwasher could be unloaded.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiles and heads off to start Harper’s bedtime routine. I unload the dishes in quiet and try not to let the awkward vibe take over my thoughts, but I’m unsuccessful. I can’t stop thinking about the phone call from Marcus earlier.
I haven’t talked to him in a couple of years, and the occasional social media comment we leave each other is a lot different than the phone call we just had.
When I retired from professional motocross racing, it wasn’t because I was too old or too injured or not good enough to stay pro.
I retired in my prime because I’d just had a daughter and wanted to spend all my time as a full time dad and husband, not some big shot flying around the country every season and leaving them at home.
Some racers bring their families with them, but living in a tour bus and spending early mornings in airports isn’t exactly a stable environment to raise a child.
Kids need routines and good sleep and a safe place to call home.
My whole life is still based around motocross, so it’s not like I gave it up entirely.
I still work at my family’s track in town and I still ride my dirt bike around for fun and to stay in shape.
Motocross will always be my life, even when I am too old to hop on a dirt bike.
I plan to keep our family business running long enough to have Harper take it over when she’s grown up. But professional racing…
It hits differently. It’s as close to flying as I’ll ever get. The speed, the adrenaline, the feeling of pushing your body to the max, knowing you’re competing against other professionals who want to win just as badly as you do—it’s exhilarating.
The thought of feeling it again—for three whole days—man, I can’t stop thinking about it.
I didn’t give Marcus an answer on the phone.
I thanked him for asking me and said I’d check with the wife and get back to him tomorrow.
He told me to take my time, and said it was fine either way.
Unlike high stakes professional races, this is a charity event so it’s not the worst thing in the world if I don’t attend.
But I really, really want to. I want it more than I thought I would.
Our family business, named “The Track” has three racetracks of varying intensity and skill levels, but I have them all memorized like the back of my hand.
It’s been ages since I drove out to another track to ride on something different.
You can’t push yourself when you’re on a track you could ride with your eyes closed.
It’s like doing pushups…exactly the same every time.
With the dishes done, I wipe down the counters and run a load of laundry, still pondering what I should tell Marcus, but I won’t know the answer to that until I talk with Keanna.
It’s not until after Harper is in bed that we have some time to talk.
She sits next to me on the couch, curling her legs up underneath her and tucking her head into my shoulder.
“So what are you going to do?” she asks.
I kiss the top of her head. “What do you think I should do?”
She looks up at me. “Do you want to do it?”
“Yes, but I don’t need to go.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, sure I’ll have fun if I go, because I love racing, but if you’re not happy with this in any way, I won’t go.”
She frowns. “It’s not about me. You should do what makes you happy.”
“What makes me happy is keeping my wife happy.”
She sits up, leaving a cold spot on my side where her body had been just moments before. “Babe, it’s totally up to you. If you want to go, you should go. You haven’t done anything for yourself in a really long time and you deserve to go have some fun and race, especially for charity.”
I bite my lip. “Is this a trick?”
“Jett Adams!” she says, giving me a pretty damn serious look, the type of look I don’t see from her very often. We laugh and joke with each other most of the time. We live a pretty happy, easy life and I’m grateful for it.
“Yes, my love?” I say, smiling my goofy smile.
“I’m not tricking you. We are not one of those couples who play games with each other or say things we don’t mean.
” She leans forward and presses her lips to mine.
“I’m serious, babe. If you want to go, you should go.
I’d offer to go with you but, I don’t really want to.
” She curls her lip. “It’s no fun traveling with a kid, and besides, work is busy and I love being at work. But you should go.”
She’s being so incredibly supportive but I feel terrible for acknowledging those feelings deep down inside of me, the desire to be back on a racetrack with thousands of people cheering me on. I take a deep breath and nod.
“Okay, then yes. I want to go.”
She smiles softly. “Awesome. You go and kick ass and have fun, and I’m gonna watch all my girly TV shows while you’re gone.”
I have the best wife in the world. Have I mentioned that before? I’m grinning ear to ear as I climb on this brand new, fully modded 2026 YZ 450f. This stadium is packed full of fans, and even through the roar of the two dozen dirt bikes around me and the helmet on my head, I can hear their cheers.
With thirty-plus guys on the track, it’s not like everyone in the stadium is cheering for me, but probably some of them are.
It feels incredible to be out here again, surrounded by the smell of exhaust and freshly watered dirt and the clean smell of a brand new riding jersey.
I’m back in Team Loco gear, but instead of the usual color, it’s all pink.
I know Keanna will steal this jersey the second I get home to sleep in it because it’s her favorite shade of pink and has our last name on the back.
It’s day one of the three day event. If I don’t make the top twenty with this race, I’ll be out of the event, on a plane headed back to Texas tonight.
If I do, I’ll go on to round two tomorrow, and then maybe round three the next day.
I don’t want to sound like an arrogant jerk or anything, but I’m going to make it to day three.
It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been out of the game—racing is in my blood.
The gate drops and the first race begins.
I glide out of the starting line, not quite in first place but that has never deterred me before.
There are twenty laps to go. I’m still getting used to this borrowed bike.
It’s been upgraded with Kashima forks with diamond-like carbide coating.
The custom build on this motor must have cost at least thirty grand.
It’s faster than my bike at home and before long I’m in the top three.
Not bad for a dad who hasn’t raced in nearly four years.
Twenty laps blur by in what feels like seconds instead of minutes. I’m only a little rusty, but mostly my body feels locked in, one with the bike, taking each new turn and jump as the accomplished professional I used to be. Still am. Sort of…
The white flag flies over the finish line jump, signaling the final lap.
I’m still in third place, having caught up to the guy in second place but then losing him again when we approached two racers who were a lap behind in a sharp turn.
He took the outside berm and I took the inside and got slowed down.
As the last lap closes, I soar over the jumps, dip into the turns, and pin the throttle when the finish line comes into view.
The checkered flag waves, a blur in my peripheral vision.
The other blur is a red Honda to my right, which slowly fades behind me as I pass him up just seconds before crossing the finish line.
Second place.
In my first real race in four years.
Not bad.
I grind to a stop in front of the Team Loco guys just off the track. Marcus claps, slapping a hand heartily on my back as I toe the ground and turn off the bike. I pull my helmet off and the roars of the crowd grow even louder. Thunderously loud. My ears kind of hurt a bit at all of this applause.
“Fantastic job,” Marcus says. The wrinkles around his eyes are deeper now, and his hair is a little thinner, a little grayer.
But the pride in this face feels like it was just yesterday and I was still a member of Team Loco.
He grins and it goes all the way to his eyes.
“Man, I can’t believe the sport ever lost you. ”
“Me too,” I say, hooking my helmet on the handlebars. One of the pit crew guys takes the bike from me and I shake out my hands, suddenly feeling a thrumming of nervous adrenaline. Was I really that nervous this whole time? It’s a rush being back here. Feels like I never left.
Congratulations come at me from all sides, and everyone gets a fist bump or a high five.
Smiling faces, some I recognize, and some I don’t, gather around me.
Most people wear Team Loco shirts, and a couple people are from the breast cancer charity.
I smile and thank everyone, wishing Keanna was here to jump into my arms like old times and tell me I’m awesome. She’s the best part of the finish line.
Instead, the bright beam of a camera light appears in my face, followed by a woman dressed in some kind of shiny hot pink sequin suit that looks like it was made for Broadway, not a dirt bike track.
“Jett Adams, son of the famous Jace Adams,” the woman says, beaming at me while holding one of those tiny Bluetooth microphones in her fingers.
It used to kind of bother me when people only talked about me as Jace’s son, instead of being my own person.
Now it doesn’t matter so much. I’m cool with it because my dad kicks ass and I’m proud to be his son.
“Howdy,” I say, immediately feeling like an idiot. Howdy? Who says that? Sure, it’s a Texas stereotype word, but no one actually says that around my hometown. Guess I’m still good at racing but I’ve totally lost my ability to talk to the press like a normal person.
“How’s it feel to be back with Team Loco, if only for one weekend?” the woman asks.
“Feels really good,” I say, wiping sweat off my brows. Marcus hands me a bottle of water and I take a huge drink of it. In the distance, I see my face on the giant screen hanging from the roof of this stadium.
“Seems like you haven’t lost a bit of that talent,” she says, playfully smacking my arm.
“Yeah, well I haven’t been sitting around doing nothing,” I say, taking another drink. “I ride every day at The Track. Lawson, Texas,” I say, winking to the camera. “Stop by and see us sometime.”
“This is a charity race supporting breast cancer,” the woman says. “Are you racing for anyone in particular?”
“My mother-in-law,” I say, trying not to look at myself on the giant screen. It’s unnerving seeing myself, and the three-second delay makes it even weirder. “She’s a cancer survivor.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet!” Her voice gets all high-pitched and she bounces on her toes a bit. “You always were such a charmer.”
“I’m not trying to be,” I say, wondering if I’m totally botching this entire interview. “Breast cancer is a big deal, and I’m happy to support awareness any chance I can.”
“So,” she says slowly, batting her eyelashes at me. She knows I’m a married man, so it’s uncomfortable to feel like she’s flirting with me. She grins even wider. “Can you answer the question we’re all thinking? Is this Jett Adams’ big comeback?”
“Hell yeah it is!”
The voice that speaks isn’t mine. It’s Marcus, clapping a hand on my shoulder and cheesing at the camera. “I’m the one who talked Jett into coming back tonight, and I think we all can tell he’s here to stay.”