Chapter 4
Jett
At least they’re okay.
I would be completely out of my mind with worry if something had happened to one of my girls and I wasn’t there.
But I have been assured a million times from Keanna and also my parents that they are safe.
The house is a total loss, but they’re okay.
As it is, the first flight back to Houston isn’t nearly fast enough.
I pace the terminal, anxiously waiting for boarding to begin.
Walking from one end of the terminal to the other won’t make time go any faster, but at least it gives my nervous energy something to do.
It’s three in the morning. Flight lands at six.
Dad will pick me up at the airport and he better drive as fast as I know he’s capable of driving because I need to see my family ASAP.
“Hey,” a voice says.
I don’t know how to explain it, the gut instinct feeling I get, but I know that voice is talking to me. It’s a female voice, soft and nervous, and like, thirty percent flirty. It’s the same voice so many other women often use around me and other guys like me. Professional athletes.
I ignore it. Hundreds of people are walking around this airport, catching flights, and sleeping in the waiting areas; maybe that Hey was meant for one of them.
”Hey, hello?” the voice tries again.
The body that’s attached to the voice steps in front of me. I’m purposely staring at the tile floor, hoping that whoever it is will take a hint and leave me alone. I’m not an asshole all the time, but this isn’t a normal day. My house burned down. I’m not in the mood.
With my gaze to the floor, I see a pair of lime green Hey Dudes approach me.
My wife has a dozen pairs of these shoes.
I wish more than anything that these shoes in front of me belonged to her and not a stranger.
This woman is probably a few years younger than me.
Maybe in college. She bites her lip and holds up her phone toward me.
”Is this you?”
Her phone screen displays my social media profile.
“No,” I say, stepping around her.
“Wait!” She follows me, scrolling through my recently posted photos.
“This has to be you! I’ve followed you for years, so I know what you look like even if I haven’t met you in person.
You’re Jett Adams, right? Son of Jace Adams?
My mom was like totally obsessed with Jace when she was younger, and she raised me to like motocross too and—”
”I have no idea who that is,” I say. “Sorry. It’s not me.”
”But you’re wearing a Team Loco shirt.”
I stop, both because I’ve been caught in a lie, and because I’m at the end of the terminal. I can’t keep walking or I might miss boarding for my flight. “I’m really not in the mood to talk to anyone.”
Her eyebrows lift up into a really pitiful puppy face expression. “We don’t have to talk. Can I get a selfie with you? Maybe an autograph?” She sees the look on my face and says, “Just a selfie is fine. Please?”
Dad always taught me to be respectful to fans.
He had his own issues with overzealous fans, too, but at the end of the day the fans are what make motocross so popular.
The fans give us a reason to get paid to do the sport we love so much, and if we’re mean to them then we risk losing everything.
Plus no one wants a bad TikTok video about them to go viral.
I take a deep breath. On the positive side, this girl hasn’t said anything about my house burning down, so maybe that hasn’t hit the news yet.
She’s not being overly crazy toward me and she did ask nicely.
She doesn’t know that this is the worst day of my life and that I’m going absolutely insane with worry as I wait to get home to be with my family. She’s just an innocent fan.
”Okay.” I run a hand through my hair. “Sorry I lied. It’s just been a really long, stressful day. We can take a selfie.”
”Really? Oh-my-god-thank-you-so-much!” She squeals, jumping up and down, and it’s an effort not to roll my eyes. I am seriously NOT that famous. Especially not anymore—I quit professional racing years ago. Besides being Jace Adams’ son, I’m basically a nobody.
She puts her phone in selfie mode and stays a respectful distance away from me as we lean in to take the photo. I smile, let her take a few of them so she can pick her favorite, then tell her I really need to get going. Luckily, she doesn’t follow me.
It’s so freaking weird posing for fan photos knowing everything I own that’s not in my suitcase has been burnt to a crisp. This is probably an exciting day for her but it’s a terrible day for me.
But at least they’re both okay. I just need to get home to them.
I head back toward the waiting area and dig a hoodie out of my suitcase. Pulling it on, I lift the hood up and sit in the chair closest to the loading door. I need to disappear from any fans until I’m back home and my life is put back together.
By some miracle—a middle of the night flight, I assume—I get the entire row to myself on the plane.
I slouch against the window and close my eyes, trying desperately to get some sleep before getting home.
Sleep doesn’t come to me, not even a tiny bit, so I stare out of the window instead, watching the earth fade to pitch black as we fly higher.
My thoughts are on Keanna and Harper. I never, ever want to leave them again. Not even to run to the grocery store. I need them in my arms now, safe and secure. I have no idea what could have caused the fire in my house, but I will find out and make sure something like that never happens again.
My dad meets me in the baggage claim area. It’s six in the morning. The sun hasn’t even risen yet but he’s fully dressed, waiting inside the intercontinental airport for me.
“Dad, you could have waited in the truck,” I say, lugging my suitcase off the luggage return.
”Could have. Didn’t want to.”
He takes the suitcase from me. I’m a grown ass man, capable of carrying my own suitcase, but he’s a dad. And it’s been a really long twenty four hours. So I let him carry it as we walk out to his truck.
”The girls are sleeping next door,” he says. He means at Park and Becca’s house, Keanna’s parents. My parents and her parents are neighbors. We bought a house across town, but now I guess…we’re homeless.
”How are they?” I ask. “How’s Keanna?”
”She’s a strong woman,” is all he says.
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. I should have been here. Not in another state. I should have never left them. Just for some silly race to feel like a professional racer again. Guilt claws at me.
Dad speeds the whole drive home, just like I knew he would.
Dad parks at his house and I thank him, then run over to the Park’s next door.
I press my thumb to the front door lock and it opens.
We all have access to everyone’s house in this family.
The Park home is quiet this time of day.
I know my way to Keanna’s old bedroom by heart, and I make my way down the hall, quietly opening the door.
She and Harper are asleep on the queen-sized bed. Harper has wriggled all the way over, wedging herself between the bed and the wall. I’m surprised her head is still on the pillow because that kid never stays in the same spot when she’s asleep.
The rest of the room is filled with random boxes and holiday decorations.
I kick off my shoes, drop my phone on the nightstand and crawl under the covers.
Keanna shifts, blinking awake. She stares at me for a long moment, her beautiful face barely visible in the dark room.
What do you say in a moment like this? I lean over and kiss her.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” I whisper.
”You’re here now,” she says, wrapping around me and resting her head on my chest. I hold her tightly. There is so much to say, so much to figure out and stress over, but for now, we are finally together and we can sleep.
The smell of coffee and bacon wakes all three of us up several hours later.
It’s Sunday morning—I think, time has no meaning right now in my mental state—so my in-laws don’t have to go to work today.
Smells like they’re cooking us a breakfast feast. We’re all still in the same clothes we slept in, but none of that matters right now.
We gather around the kitchen table and eat just like normal.
It’s not uncommon for one of the parents to cook a huge breakfast on the weekends.
Harper talks nonstop about how Grandma is teaching her how to paint in the studio upstairs.
We’re all totally enamored by her, even Becca’s little brother Elijah who is ten and acts like he’s too cool to hang out with any of us on a normal day.
Uncle Elijah would do anything for Harper.
Once we’re full of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and about a gallon of coffee, there’s nothing else we can distract ourselves with. I clear my throat and reach over, grabbing Keanna’s hand on top of the table.
”Should we go see the damage?”
”No!” Harper says, shaking her head and folding her arms across her chest. “I want to stay here with Grandma.”
”I’ll stay with her,” Becca says. “You two go check it out.”
So that’s what we do. I drive Keanna’s car and her dad follows behind us, driving across town to our neighborhood.
Everything looks so normal at first—the same neighborhood park, the same row of mailboxes, the same houses we drive by every single day.
Then we turn onto our street and a hollow space resides where our roof used to be. Below that, blackened rubble.
I park in the driveway. Our garage is still standing, but not much else remains. Keanna gasps. Tears flood her eyes. “It looks so much worse in the daylight.”
”I’m so glad you weren’t in the house when it happened.”
”I’m not,” she says, shaking her head as tears come faster now. “If I had stayed home, I’d know what started the fire. I could have stopped it.”
”Or it could have harmed you or Harper,” I say.
She shakes her head. “No, I would have stopped it. We have that fire extinguisher in the kitchen. I could have stopped whatever happened and then we’d still have a house right now.”
”Baby you cannot blame yourself.” I touch her cheek, then lean across the car to kiss her forehead, letting my lips linger there for a moment. “Don’t for one second think that any of this is your fault.”
She peers up at me with tears in her eyes. “What if it was my fault? What if I left a candle on or something? I’ve been thinking so hard but I can’t remember much of that night.”
I shake my head. “So what? People make mistakes at any time…I could have done the same thing. But we don’t know anything yet so don’t stress. Things will work out.” I smile at her. “I promise.”
She smiles too, just a tiny bit. “Jett, this is bad. Like BAD, bad. Our house is gone. How can you be so chill about this?”
I glance at the pile of rubble. “I don’t know,” I say honestly, after thinking it over for a bit.
“Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet. I’m sure the insurance paperwork is going to be a nightmare.
I’m not sure where we’re going to live, or how to replace all our stuff.
But… I’m just so grateful you and Harper are okay, and that’s all I can feel right now. Relief. And joy.”
She leans over the center console and gives me a long, slow kiss. The kind of kiss it’s definitely not the right time for, but I’m not complaining.
“You are the best,” she whispers against my lips.
”You make it easy,” I whisper back.
Movement from the side of the road catches my eye. Soon, people get out of parked vans and approach us. With cameras. A well-dressed woman smiles as she taps her knuckles on the car window.
“Jett Adams? Do you have a moment to discuss this awful tragedy?"
I look at Keanna and curse under my breath.
The press is here.