CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Asher
“Ithink it’s an amazing opportunity,” Ale said.
“Wait.” I set the helmet on the bike’s seat and pressed the phone tighter to my ear. “Sorry, I just parked at the hotel I told you about.”
“Delano. Small world.”
“Yeah. So, they want me to wildcard?”
“Two races in Jerez next weekend. I need to give them an answer today, but I think you should say yes.”
“That’s incredible, Ale. Tell them I’m in. Thanks.” Testing a new bike at a RevGlobe Grand Prix was the perfect chance to prove myself again. I missed racing. There was no better way back.
“Awesome. How are you feeling?”
Grandma had been right—everyone was worried, no matter how hard I pretended.
“Better,” I said. “Being home helps.”
“I’m glad, mi nino. I’m helping my old man today, but we need to meet and talk.”
“Call me when you’re free.”
“Will do.”
We hung up, and I walked the driveway to a white-walled square building. Emrys appeared, silver aviators hiding his eyes.
“Asher.” He clasped my hand. “Thanks for stopping by. Let me show you around.”
The boutique hotel was nearly finished. Inside, painters worked on final touch-ups, the smell of fresh paint and concrete dust hanging in the air.
“Everything will look much better once complete,” Emrys said with a laugh as we stepped into one of the rooms. “Each faces the ocean. Only three per floor. We want our guests to have the comfort of a hotel but the privacy of a rental.”
Beyond the wide window, the ocean stretched endlessly. Kaia would’ve loved the view. For a moment I swore she stood there, framed by the glass. I’d give anything to go back and plan a stay in a place like this with her.
“I love the concept,” I said. “The cabin we stayed at was spectacular.”
Emrys clapped my shoulder. “Thank you, Asher. I’m honored. Come on, let’s have lunch.”
He led me to the backyard, where a kidney-shaped pool gleamed under the sun. A square table for two waited beside it. He gestured toward the setup. “Hope you’re hungry. We’re finalizing the menu, so I’d love your honest opinion. We went with local gastronomy.”
A smiling server greeted me in Spanish, laying out plates of appetizers. I reached for the tortilla. Emrys watched as I chewed.
“It’s great,” I said. “But it needs more onion.”
He chuckled. “The eternal debate. With or without onion. We’ll offer both. Try the squid and the croquetas.”
Everything I sampled was amazing. So was the hotel. Rys knew what he was doing, and he spoke about it with passion.
After lunch, he pulled out his bike, and we rode to a secluded beach only locals seemed to know.
“So, why build here?” I asked as we strolled along the water’s edge.
“I love this place,” he said. “But I needed a change of scenery. I’m thinking about opening another business.”
“Tired of the hotels?”
He laughed. “No. They’re my father’s legacy. I want something of my own. To prove I can succeed on my terms, if that makes sense. My therapist would probably say it’s about my childhood.”
“Do you and your father get along?”
Dad. Russell. The irony of how much our parents shaped everything wasn’t lost on me.
“He’s my biggest supporter,” Rys said. “Everything I am and everything I have is thanks to him.”
I stopped walking, eyes fixed on the ocean, the late-afternoon sun turning the surface to molten glass. “Why therapy, then?”
He shrugged. “Precisely because of that. I imagine athletes like you go, too. The pressure must be enormous.”
“I don’t think it helps as much as people think.”
“I didn’t think so either. But eventually it got too heavy to carry alone. Speaking of therapists, I’ve got a call in half an hour. I should head back.”
“Me too,” I said. “But if you want to ride around sometime, I’ll show you the area.”
Emrys smiled. “I’ll take you up on that.”
***
Grandma wasn’t home when I got back. I sat on the bed with my phone, thoughts spinning.
The upcoming races. Emrys. Her.
Had she been happy graduating? Where would she live once college started this fall?
Grandma believed we’d find our way back to each other, but she didn’t know Russell.
He’d cut off Kaia’s tuition the second he found out about us. I couldn’t let that happen.
Helplessness seeped in. Like too many nights since the breakup, I pulled up Kaia’s Instagram for a fix.
She kept her account public, but I still used a burner profile.
Several new posts waited.
Kaia with Alba on a beach in Mexico, her smile brighter than the turquoise water behind her.
Another shot, this time with a group in matching purple T-shirts stamped with Ensena por el mundo—Teach Around the World.
A quick search showed it was a nonprofit. Volunteering? When Alba told me to ship the books to Mexico, I thought they were on vacation.
Then her story popped up.
Kaia sat in the sand, chin propped on her hand, gaze far away. Gorgeous, thoughtful. A flash of ink on her wrist.
A tattoo.
One word.
Nunca.
The same word I once whispered against her skin, swearing I’d never leave. She’d trusted me with everything—her body, her heart—and all I’d done was hurt her.
I tossed the phone aside and dragged my feet to the en suite.
The mirror reflected a pale face, haunted eyes. I’d let everyone down and couldn’t stand looking at myself.
Annoyance and disappointment twisted into rage. My fist shot into the mirror. It shattered, shards cascading into the sink. Pain split my wrist, red streaking down my knuckles.
Fuck.
What the hell had I done?
I jammed my hand under the stream of cold water. The cuts stung, pulsing with my erratic heartbeat. Pressing a wad of paper napkins to the wounds, I bolted back into the room. A fresh wave of self-loathing crashed over me as I grabbed my phone.
Ale picked up on the first ring. “?Qué pasa?”
“I fucked up my hand.”
He exhaled hard. “Are you home?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be there in twenty. Don’t ride like that, got it? Wait for me.”
That tone—the one he used when I’d really blown it—hit harder than the glass.
Everyone had been tiptoeing around me, and I still couldn’t pull myself together.
I tossed the shards into the trash, then went downstairs to wait for the friend I didn’t deserve.
***
Ale drove me to the ER. Two hours and three stitches later, we sat in Grandma’s courtyard. I offered him a drink; I’d ruined not just my hand but his evening too.
“Whatever you want to say, I deserve it,” I said as Ale frowned into his whiskey.
His green eyes met mine. “You do. Because it’s your right hand, and you’ve got two big races in a week.”
“I’ll race anyway.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “You’re missing the point, mi nino. It’s not about racing. It’s about the stuff that is going on in here.” He tapped his temple. “And in here.” His palm pressed to his chest. “Fuck, Ash, I’ve known you for years. Don’t bullshit me. Don’t make me believe you’re okay.”
“I’m not,” I admitted, voice low. “Kaia has a new tattoo. A word that meant something to us. I saw it, and then I couldn’t stand looking at myself, and I lost it.
If I’m honest with you and myself, I’ve lost it too many times—at Ethan, even though he deserved it.
At my mother’s wedding, even though those two deserved what I said, too. ”
Ale stayed quiet, gaze steady but free of judgment. I judged myself enough for both of us.
I’d hoarded too much anger and resentment, hoping they’d fade. They hadn’t. Dad’s death and my mother’s neglect left wounds no one could see but me.
Kaia had patched them for a while, but now that we were apart, I was back on the starting grid, terrified of the track ahead. I couldn’t race through fear. Couldn’t keep losing everything I loved because I was too proud to admit my fuckups.
“I think I need help,” I said.
And I needed to get it now, before going back to the States and trying to win Kaia back. She deserved better than a guy she had to fix.
“You do,” Ale said.
I let out a broken laugh. “Fuck. Tell me I’m wrong or something.”
“Then I’d be lying. And you don’t want a friend who lies.”
“Do you think you can get me a team? No bullshit. Be honest. You worked your ass off, and I won’t be mad if you tell me you can’t. I just need to know.”
Everything hinged on money, and I didn’t have much left.
Ale leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers behind his head. “I’m on vacation, kind of, but I’ve been busy.”
My pulse raced. “Wait. Does that mean—”
He smirked. “A potential team in the States? Yeah. Make a guess.”
“I don’t know.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “North Racing?” They were from Venburn—a superbike factory team, a notch above Forward.
Ale’s smug smile widened. “Aim higher.”
There wasn’t much higher—apart from Vortex, and they already had Roy Myers and Frank Nelson.
“The manager at Vortex has been watching you,” Ale said. “I kept quiet because they’re not a hundred percent sold. They want to see you after your injury. I told them you were back in the game, which was right before the hand thing.”
“Fuck.” I rubbed my good hand over my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Focus on getting better. Frank is leaving at season’s end; they’ll need fresh talent, Ash. I think they’ll pick you.” Ale glanced at something behind me, smiling.
Manicured fingers squeezed my shoulder. I looked up at Grandma’s stern face.
“What the hell happened to your hand?” she demanded.
“I’ll buy you a new mirror,” I blurted.
She sighed. “See, Alejandro? I can’t even leave him alone.”
“Lo sé, Maricarmen.” I know, Maricarmen. Ale sipped his whiskey, smirking into the tumbler.
“And this.” Grandma waved at the bottle. “You also survive on alcohol and angst?”
Ale quirked a brow. “Isn’t that what all men do? But of course—you can feed me since your grandson didn’t. He also owes me a bonus because if he signs with Vortex, he’ll be filthy rich.”
“Ojalá.” Hope so. Grandma headed for the gallery. “But if I were you, I’d get that promise in writing while he’s regretful and agreeable.”
“Smart woman,” Ale said.
“Too old for you, unfortunately,” Grandma called from the kitchen. “Do you want a sandwich? It’s late, I’m not cooking.”
“Yes, please,” he yelled back. “And one for Ash.”
“Should let him starve, but I love him,” Grandma grumbled.
Fortunately for me, she really did.