CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Asher
It was almost seven when I got home. The TV murmured in the living room, otherwise the house felt too quiet. I followed the noise and found my mother on the couch, nursing a glass of red wine while a home renovation show droned on.
“Hi. Where’s everyone?” I asked.
“Asher.” She sat straighter and lowered the volume. “Russell and Kaia had a fight. She stormed out, and Russell went to a meeting.”
My stomach caved in on itself. “What do you mean, she stormed out?” How could she be so fucking calm?
“Teenagers.” She rolled her eyes. “Russell said Kaia went to Mandy’s. She’s probably sleeping there tonight.”
To Mandy’s? Russell didn’t even know they weren’t friends anymore. He just assumed and went on with his day.
Heart pounding in my throat, I pulled up Kaia’s number from recent calls and pressed the phone to my ear.
Voicemail. Fuck.
“When did she leave?” I demanded.
My mother blinked, yawning. “A few hours ago.”
Hours? The wind howled outside, the cold biting, a storm on its way—and Kaia was out there, alone. I dragged a hand through my hair. Calm. I needed to calm the fuck down and figure out where she’d gone.
“Why are you so agitated?” she asked, sipping her wine and fluffing a cushion behind her.
I shoved my phone into my pocket. I’d think once I was on the road. “Better ask yourself why you’re not,” I threw over my shoulder, storming out.
***
As I drove downtown, it hit me—if Kaia was really upset, she’d go to the one person she missed most.
Her mom.
I’d taken her to the cemetery once before, when she wanted to bring flowers and Russell—piece of shit that he is—refused to go. Turning onto the road to Stetbourg Memorial Park, I caught the metallic gray sky and the sharp scent of impending rain.
Peque, peque. Why the hell didn’t you call me?
I parked, jumped off the bike, and jogged into the cemetery, praying I’d remember the way.
Barely a minute later, I spotted her—so fucking small, sitting beside her mother’s grave. Relief slammed into me. “Kaia!”
She lifted her eyes to mine. I sprinted over, dropped to the grass, and pulled her into my arms. She buried her wet face in the crook of my neck, sobbing.
“Shh.” I rubbed her back. “I’m here. Everything’s okay. You scared the shit out of me, peque. What happened?”
“He’s sending me away,” Kaia choked, swiping her sleeve across her face.
I cupped her cheeks, the relief of finding her crashing into something uglier. “What are you talking about? Sending you where?”
“My father’s sending me to a boarding school six hours from here.”
No. Impossible. I shook my head. “The fuck he is. This has to be a joke.”
Kaia sniffled. “I wish it was.”
“He can’t.” My chest squeezed. “He fucking can’t. You’re not a puppet. He can’t do this to you if you don’t want it.”
“He pays for everything. He can do whatever he wants while I live in his house.” Her bottom lip wobbled, fresh tears sliding free. “I keep flunking these tests. Maybe I do need to go.”
“Please, don’t cry.” I pressed my mouth to her damp skin, kissing the tears away. “Let me talk to him. We’ll figure something out. He can hire a tutor here. I can convince him.”
“He can’t know about us.” Kaia’s cold fingers closed around mine. “If he finds out, you won’t be able to visit. Even if you wanted to. Six hours is no joke without him complicating things. You’ll be busy, I’ll be far, and—”
“I love you,” I cut her off before she could spiral. “And I don’t care how far you are or how complicated it gets. There’s no one else for me. Nunca, peque. Never. If you want a promise, you’ve got one.” I lifted her hands and kissed each knuckle, lingering on her skin.
She smiled through her tears and looped her arms around my neck, pulling me close. “I love you too, Ash.”
I’d known she did. Felt it even before she said the words. But my chest still clenched like it might split open.
She was leaving. Leaving me.
Back when I fought my feelings, I’d assumed I’d be the one to go someday, breaking Kaia’s heart when a better team called. Russell made sure both our hearts broke instead.
“I don’t want to go home.” Kaia trembled in my arms. “I don’t want to see him ever again. I hate him.”
I kissed her hair, stroking her back. She didn’t truly hate him. He was her father, and some part of her still craved his love. I had no problem loathing the bastard for both of us.
“You’re freezing, peque,” I murmured, my voice rough with anger I barely kept in check. “It’ll be worse if I don’t take you home soon.”
“Worse than being sent to a shithole town six hours away because my father doesn’t want me around while he’s screwing his girlfriend?
Because you can’t actually believe he cares about my academic future.
If he did”—her voice broke—“he would’ve hired a tutor when I was fourteen and drowning.
He would’ve helped instead of punishing me. ”
I pulled her tighter, sliding my fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp gently. “I know, mi nina.”
My chest ached, my throat burned with words I couldn’t say. I feigned calm for her sake, but the thought of a future with her so far away scared the shit out of me.
“I hate that I’m crying because of him.” Kaia rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “He probably isn’t even wondering where I am. He’s never cared—why start now?”
“I care.” I kissed her forehead. “And I don’t want you getting sick. It’s too cold. We need to go home.”
I could’ve taken her to Ale’s, but that would only delay the storm waiting at Russell’s. Kaia still had school. I still had training—even if racing for Russell felt as appealing as riding a bike through a downpour.
Kaia pressed her cold palm to my cheek. “What if he suspects something if he sees us together?”
I turned and kissed her hand. “I’ll say you called because you needed a ride.” Shrugging off my jacket, I held it out. “Come on, take this.”
“No, Ash.” She shook her head. “It’s too cold for you to ride without.”
“Don’t ever argue with me about keeping you safe.” I draped the jacket over her shoulders. A thought I dreaded slipped in, uninvited.
Who will keep her safe when she’s away? Who will she call if she needs help? And if she calls me and I can’t get to her fast enough, will she forgive me? Will I forgive myself?
“It smells like you.” Kaia buried her nose in the collar, wrapping the jacket tight.
A pang stabbed under my ribs. “Keep it.”
***
“This is unacceptable, Asher,” my mother said an hour later, right after Kaia went upstairs. “Russell was sick with worry. You should’ve called us the moment Kaia called you.”
Funny he worried now, after letting her walk out. “Where is he, then?” I stalked into the kitchen with my mother trailing behind. “Off to collect the Father of the Year Award?”
Her dramatic exhale grated on me even before she spoke. “Adults have responsibilities. If we stopped work every time a child threw a tantrum—”
“Then what?” I yanked a pot from the cabinet. “You’d finally get promoted to a parent who gives a fuck? Joder, qué horror.” Fuck, what a horror.
“Don’t.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t be a smartass. Russell is trying to save Kaia’s academic future. He cares about her well-being. Sending her to that school will cost him thousands.”
“Away from everyone and everything she knows and loves? Should she thank him?”
“You care about her.”
Fuck. My jaw tightened. I turned to fill the pot at the sink. I didn’t need her suspicions, but I wasn’t going to lie either. “Isn’t that what you wanted when you pushed me to live here?”
She sighed. “Of course we want you and Kaia to get along, but you shouldn’t—”
“Do you know what I shouldn’t?” I set the pot on the stove. “I shouldn’t waste time listening to excuses you make for Russell when I should be cooking soup for the girl who nearly froze crying at her mother’s grave.”
Her mouth fell open. “She went there? We didn’t think…”
“And that’s exactly the problem. You didn’t think. Neither did your boyfriend—too busy for the one person who should come first. Because he’s her father.”
I was fucking done. If Russell had really cared, he would’ve called her himself. I was sick of both their half-assed attempts at pretending they gave a damn.
I opened the fridge and scanned the shelves for vegetables.
Feet slapped across the tiles behind me, but when I turned, my mother was gone.
Good. She could call Russell and complain about me for all I cared. I had one priority—Kaia.
***
An hour later, I knocked on Kaia’s door, balancing a tray with the chicken soup I’d made. Knowing her, she hadn’t eaten since lunch, and it was already past nine.
“Come in.” Her soft voice floated through the door. I eased it open and stepped inside.
A candle flickered on the nightstand. Kaia sat curled in bed with El Principito and the green folder spread across the comforter.
“I made soup,” I said. “You need to eat.”
She scooted over, making room. “Thank you, Ash.”
I set the tray on the nightstand, handed her the bowl, and lowered myself onto the bed beside her.
Kaia ate without argument, humming approval with every spoonful. Grandma used to make this soup whenever I needed cheering up—which, embarrassingly, had been often during the years I’d lived with her.
Even though I’d been glad to be back in Spain and away from my mother and her boyfriend, I still missed Dad and the life before he died. I missed our training sessions, his encouraging smile when I did something right, our breakfasts together.
“It was delicious,” Kaia said, pulling me out of my nostalgia. I took the empty bowl from her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had chicken soup this good.”
And in no time she’d be gone, eating God-knows-what and sleeping in a strange bed at some boarding school.
I forced myself not to go there and picked up the folder. “What’s this?”
“My new prison.” Kaia rested her head on my shoulder.
I breathed in the watermelon tang of her shampoo and opened the folder. A stone building with ivy creeping up the walls filled the glossy page. “A school for girls? Well—at least I won’t have to worry about other guys.”
Kaia made a face, and I snorted. “Sorry, peque.”
“My father should be sorry, not you,” she said, tracing the photo with a finger. “Doesn’t this look like a European prison?”
I kissed her temple. “Not really.”
She curled closer. “Thought so.”
“What do they offer?” I flipped to the activities page.
“What it says,” Kaia said. “A bunch of stuff I don’t care about.”
“They have a library. Foreign language classes.”
“But I won’t be able to dance. I hate giving up hip-hop.”
It sucked—giving up the one thing that always lit her up inside. I leaned back on the pillow and pulled her with me. For a few quiet minutes we read about Russell’s chosen school together.
“What do you think?” Kaia whispered.
“The truth?”
“Yes.”
I threaded my fingers through the ends of her hair spread on the pillow. “It’s obviously a good place. You’d get more academic support and SAT prep. There’s only a handful of students per class. You’ll be able to focus on studying your senior year.”
She nodded like I’d put her thoughts into words.
“But I hate that it’s so far away,” I continued. “I hate that if you need me, I might not get to you fast. I hate not being able to take care of you.”
She sniffled, and the ache tightened in my chest. “Peque. . .”
“I hate that he didn’t ask me first,” she said, closing the folder.
“He could’ve asked. I’m not delusional—I know I’m struggling with math.
I have been since Mom died. Repeating a year didn’t help.
If nothing changes, I might not get into my dream college, and he knows how important that is to me. He’s using it against me.”
I cradled her to my chest and rubbed her back until she calmed.
“I meant it earlier. Distance won’t change how I feel.
It won’t change anything between us. Do what’s best for your future without thinking about me—I’ll always be here, peque.
I wouldn’t have started this if I wasn’t all in.
” I slid my thumb under her chin, tipped her face up, and kissed her—a promise to steady her.
Our breaths mixed; warmth pooled low in my stomach when she kissed me back, harder, more determined.
I broke the kiss and cupped her cheek. “The distance is going to be a bitch, but I’ll be away a lot during the season. Once it ends, I’ll visit more. I won’t let him fuck up our relationship.”
“Palabra?” Kaia asked, her blue eyes burning into mine.
“Te lo prometo.” I promise.
I didn’t make many promises—never ones I couldn’t keep. Racing had always come first. Winning meant focus, sacrifice.
But in the months I’d spent with her, everything shifted. Now it was racing and her. I couldn’t imagine a future without both.