CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Kaia
“Come on, come on, come on,” Alba chanted under her breath, eyes glued to her inbox. “And… it’s here! Oh my God.”
I dropped onto the bed beside her. “Click on it.” Like me, she’d been waiting for her college acceptance, and now the email was finally here.
She shook her head. “No. I’ll wait for yours so we can open them together. Like one of those videos where besties take pregnancy tests at the same time and squeal because they’re both pregnant.”
“That’s not even the weirdest part.” My hand hovered over her laptop’s touchpad, and she swatted me away as if I’d actually click. I wouldn’t, but I loved teasing her.
“Not the weirdest?”
“No.” I stretched across the comforter. “The weird part is screwing your boyfriend on the same days so you and your best friend can get pregnant together.”
Alba narrowed her eyes. “So, you’re saying we’re not doing that? Rude.”
I burst out laughing. “No, Albita, we are not doing that.”
She shut the laptop, set it on the nightstand, and flopped beside me.
“Open the email, chicken.” I nudged her. “You know you got in.”
“Since we’re not banging twin brothers on schedule to have identical twin kids, let me at least open my acceptance email with my best friend.”
I turned my head on the pillow. “Okay, but no filming. I mean it. Also, twin brothers? That’s next-level weird.”
“They say twins are more likely to date twins.”
“I must’ve missed the part where your Spanish ass and my American one could pass as siblings.”
“Yeah.” She scrunched her nose. “Your odds are better with Asher—or should I say, the hot young racer who just signed with Vortex and who you’re gonna see in a couple hours?”
I flipped her off, and she giggled. “Kidding. There’s way too much sexual tension between you two for me to suggest family ties.”
She wasn’t wrong. About the tension—or the hot racer part.
A knot tightened in my stomach. Asher was here, in Argentina, racing for Vortex.
His first official race of the season with the new team.
The second I found out, I blew a chunk of my savings on tickets and this hotel room for Alba and me.
Like the amazing friend she was, she came without a single question.
Vortex wasn’t just better than my father’s team—it was better than any superbike team in the States. I wanted Asher to succeed, even if thinking about him still felt like walking barefoot on shards of glass.
Marta said it wasn’t unusual for people with my family history to develop anxious attachment. Years of scarce affection made it logical I’d cling to the one person who gave it to me in spades.
I was better now. I could read articles about him, scroll through our pictures without crying. I had friends. I had dancing.
But deep down, I knew I wouldn’t have latched onto just anyone. The trust and kinship I’d had with Asher—that had been rare. Special.
Which didn’t mean his abandonment hadn’t hurt. It sure as hell didn’t mean I’d forget he left after promising he wouldn’t. But I still cared. Because of everything we went through—and despite it.
“Hey.” Alba’s expression softened. “I was kidding. I know you’re nervous to see him.”
“Not to see him. To be recognized by him. Which is why I’ve got this.”
I grabbed a bag from the floor and pulled out two wigs—a blond one for me, an auburn one for Alba.
She snatched hers, fighting laughter until the tip of her nose turned red.
I slid mine on. “Say it.”
“You should’ve gotten me a blond one too. Then we’d double our chances of dating identical twins.”
***
My shirt clung to my back as Alba and I waited in the stands. Almost fall in Santiago del Estero, but it didn’t feel like it in eighty-five degrees.
I ignored the blazing sun and the sweat trickling down my spine, eyes locked on the starting grid.
“He’s second. That’s good, right?” Alba shouted over the swirl of voices in half a dozen languages and the rowdy laughter of a group behind us.
“Very,” I said. “His teammate’s first.”
Roy wasn’t Ethan. He was the reigning champion, the rider with the most wins in three years. Asher wouldn’t have it easy, but he could win. I wanted him to.
The lights glowed red. Twenty-two engines roared, the air thick with the tang of fuel as they launched forward, tires brushing inches apart.
They tore into the first turn neck to neck. I fixed on Asher, willing myself to keep him in sight, but soon the bikes blurred into streaks of color.
Still, I felt him. This was the closest we’d been in almost two years.
My breath caught as they closed on turn five, infamous for crashes. The image of Asher broken in a hospital bed slammed into me. I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched Alba’s forearm.
“Look at the Jumbotron,” she urged. “He’s second.”
Red leathers. Number 80. He was flying into the next turn, so close his front tire nearly kissed Roy’s rear wheel.
“Come on, Ash,” I whispered.
The crowd thundered for Roy, still leading.
But Asher was there—relentless, hungry for it. I could feel it.
By the final lap, I’d lost count of how many times I’d gasped or dug my nails into Alba’s arm.
The bikes screamed closer, the roar of engines rising above the crowd. I spotted Asher, right on Roy’s tail. For a heartbeat, he was beside him.
Roy crossed first.
Asher took second. But this second place meant everything. He’d been seconds from toppling the world champion.
The stands exploded. Flags waved. Mechanics scaled the pit wall. Roy pumped his fist to the sky.
And Asher…
He pressed two fingers to his heart, then his helmeted mouth, kissing them before pointing upward.
The kiss used to be for me. The rest, for his dad.
My chest squeezed tight. He still did it.
Why did he still do it? We weren’t together anymore. There could be someone else in his life.
A new team. A new love.
He pulled off his helmet, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled timidly, glancing around like he couldn’t quite believe where he was or what he’d just achieved. Roy grinned and hauled him into a quick hug, saying something that made Asher smile wider.
He was happy. Thriving. My chest swelled with pride, but sadness pressed in too, threatening to drown the joy of knowing the guy I loved was living his dream.
Maybe it was because I wanted to be there with him, the way we’d once planned.
And even after all this time, I still hadn’t managed to accept that none of those dreams would ever come true.
***
“Thanks for going to the race with me,” I told Alba later in the hotel room.
“Thanks for inviting me. I had fun. Do you mind if I go take a shower?”
I held up my phone. “Not at all, but I was about to check if I got the acceptance email.”
“I’ll wait then.”
She perched beside me as I opened my inbox. Excitement bubbled in my stomach at the sight of the email I’d been waiting for.
“Open yours,” I said. “I’ll wait.”
She reached for her phone, laughing. “Should we count to ten or something?”
“To three. One, two. . .”
“Three!” Alba yelled. “Accepted!”
“Accepted,” I echoed, tears springing as I smiled. “Congratulations.”
She hugged me tight. “To both of us. I’m proud of you. I’ll shower and call Dad.”
“I need to call mine.”
Alba mouthed good luck before disappearing into the bathroom.
I took a deep breath and tapped his number in my recent calls.
He answered after two rings. “Kaia. Did you get the email?”
“Yeah. I got in.”
“Good.” His tone was flat, as if I’d given him a weather report instead of news that would shape my future. It’d been my dream for years, but to him it meant so little my excitement dimmed too, even though it shouldn’t have.
“Good? That’s all you have to say?” The words clawed out from the place that stored every condescending remark, every scowl and cutting word. From all the nights I cried myself to sleep because of him. From every time he made me feel small.
He exhaled, annoyed. “What else is there to say? Plenty of people get in, but not all of them graduate. We’ll see which one you are. For how much I’m going to pay, it better be worth it.”
Money. That was always the tether between us. His way of keeping control. I’d been sick of it for years.
“I hope you’ve changed your mind about the degree,” he went on. “Choose business or finance. At least then you won’t depend on me for another twenty years.”
I fisted the comforter, heat rushing to my face. I depended on him, but I couldn’t rely on him. Not to care for me if I was sick, not to listen when I was hurting. What should have been one of the most important relationships in my life had become nothing more than a cold, impersonal transaction.
I needed affection but got money with a side of emotional abuse.
“I need to go,” my father said.
The line went dead before I could say goodbye.
The bathroom door opened. Alba stepped into the room and stopped when her gaze met mine. Her sigh said everything.
“Call your dad,” I whispered. “I’ll be outside by the pool.”
“But he’ll want to congratulate you too,” she said, moving closer.
“I know. I just need a moment.”
The hotel sat close to the track and had an outdoor pool we hadn’t had time to try. I sank onto a lounge chair, staring at the water and swallowing tears.
“Kaia needs new clothes,” Mom said, her voice so weak it broke my heart.
I needed new clothes, but she probably wouldn’t be here to see me wear them.
I pressed my back to the wall outside my parents’ bedroom and clamped a hand over my mouth so she wouldn’t hear me cry.
She’d rush to comfort me when she was the one who needed it.
My father sighed. “Just order online. I don’t care how much it costs.”
“She. Needs. New. Clothes.” Now her voice held anger—if someone as kind as her could even be angry. “She’s your daughter, Russell. When I’m gone, she’ll only have you. It’s not about money. Go shopping with her. Spend time together. Figure out what she likes.”
He groaned. “I’m too busy to waste time at the mall. That’s not my job.”
Mom sniffled. I curled my fingers into fists, biting my tongue until the taste of copper filled my mouth. How could he upset her like this? Didn’t he see she’d be gone soon?
“You’re right,” Mom said. “That’s not your job. But she’s your child.”
I bolted to my room and slid under the comforter, blocking everything but my sobs.
I rubbed my eyes. No more.
I was sick of crying. Sick of feeling like my dad regretted having a daughter. Sick of thinking he didn’t love me. Sick of believing I had to prove I was worthy of love and affection.
I couldn’t keep feeling this way—much less living this way.
Alba’s light footsteps echoed across the pool deck. “Dad says congratulations. This is from me as usual.”
She lowered into the chair beside mine and set a package in my lap.
Same pink paper. Same smell of ink I loved.
“Thank you. You really don’t have to.” My voice wobbled. “I have so many now I’ll need an extra suitcase to bring them home, and I will bring them all.”
“It’s a good thing you and I will have a huge bookcase.” She wiggled her brows. “And a reading nook. And a perfect view out the window. Dad gave me an apartment as a college acceptance gift, and you and I are going to live together.”
I tightened my fingers around the package. “Alba. . .”
“No.” She lifted a hand. “You’re my best friend. I don’t want to live alone. Unless the twin thing freaked you out and you hate the idea, we’re moving in together once we’re back.”
“Of course I don’t hate the idea.” I forced a smile. “I love it.”
She leaned back on her elbows. “Then it’s settled. What did your father do this time? You’ve been crying.”
“The usual.”
She frowned. “No sessions with Marta will be enough at the rate he’s destroying you emotionally.”
“I know. But he won’t. Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
I pressed my palms to my eyes. “I’m going to take out student loans and pay for my studies myself.”
Alba stared. “He refused to pay?”
I shook my head. “Oh, he’s willing—with strings. But I don’t want his strings. Millions of people take out loans. So will I. I’ll work, I’ll pay them off, and it’ll be mine. My life. My choice. I won’t let him dangle money over me like a leash. I can’t live like that. And I won’t.”
She let out a long breath. “I hate that you’re forced to make this decision.”
I inhaled the warm evening air, steadying myself. “I hate the strings more. This way, at least, I’ll know I earned it.”