Chapter 23
23
GUY ‘FOSTER’
Eve’s brows furrow, creating lines on her forehead. Her eyes dart from the box to me, searching for answers. Her lips are pressed together in a puzzled expression, and she tilts her head to one side, clearly trying to make sense of the situation.
‘What’s an Eve box?’ she asks. ‘And why does it look like a bomb?’
I take a deep breath, my heart thudding against my ribcage. How do I explain this to her? I walk over and join her on the floor. There’s a reason this lives in the top of my closet, out of sight. It hurts to see it as much as sitting on the floor does right now.
I run my fingers along the edge of the box, feeling the rough texture of the tape. The memories flood back, threatening to drown me in nostalgia.
‘You asked if I ever thought of our “what ifs”?’
She nods.
‘This is mine,’ I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. Eve’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of emotions flickering across her features. ‘It’s filled with mementos from our relationship that remind me of you – of us.’
‘Really?’ she asks.
‘Yep.’
‘And it’s taped closed why?’
‘Because honestly, seeing these things all over my house hurt. But it hurt more to throw them away, so I boxed them up and promised never to look, but also never to get rid of them.’
Eve’s gaze softens as she listens, her hand reaching out to touch the box gently. I notice a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. She leans in a little closer, her shoulder brushing mine, and her voice is barely a whisper, filled with emotion.
‘I thought you just forgot about me,’ she admits.
Her words hang in the air between us.
‘How could I ever forget the woman I consider the love of my life?’ I confess. ‘I know you ended things a long time ago, but a part of me always held on to the possibility of us.’
Slowly, she nods, understanding dawning on her face. ‘I get it,’ she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘It’s like holding onto a piece of the past, even if it stings. That said, I should probably show you something.’
Eve hands the box to me, standing and disappearing into her room. When she exits, she’s holding her own box. It’s bigger than mine and has the words Home Depot across the side.
She sits next to me again and opens the untaped lid, revealing the helmet I gave to her the day we met, my riding shirt that she was wearing, and a variety of other things.
I laugh as she pulls the helmet from the box – my old helmet.
‘You kept it,’ I say.
‘I was hoping if I held onto it long enough it would be worth some money,’ she jokes. ‘Truthfully, like you, I used to have it on the top of my bookshelf, but I couldn’t bear looking at it any more and once I started dating Cayden, it became weird to have it displayed. Like a shrine to my ex.’
‘Why do I like the sound of that?’
‘Because you love to be worshipped by sun-kissed women fangirling you around dirt bike tracks.’
I chuckle at her comment, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Seeing Eve sitting beside me, sharing her own box of memories – that I didn’t even know she had – makes my heart ache and soar at the same time. It’s like a bittersweet dance of past and present intertwining before us.
As she places the helmet back into the box, I glance at her, taking in the delicate features of her face and the way her eyes sparkle with shared nostalgia. It’s in these small moments that I realize how much of an impact she has had on my life, even after all this time.
‘Can I look?’ I ask, sitting my box in her lap and pulling this one closer.
‘Yeah, if I can snoop through yours.’
The contents of Eve’s box are a treasure trove of memories, carefully preserved and tucked away like secrets in a time capsule. I see ticket stubs from concerts we attended together, the first book I gave her with a note scribbled on the inside cover, my merch bracelet and jersey, and a worn-out sweater that she used to wear when it got chilly.
But what catches my eye the most is a small photo booth strip, faded and slightly crumpled. In it, we’re both laughing, our faces pressed close together as we pose for each shot. The memories come flooding back like an avalanche, overwhelming yet strangely comforting.
My fingers linger on the photo, tracing the outlines of our smiling faces. There’s a wistful look in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the happiness we once shared. It’s as if we’re both revisiting a chapter of our lives that had been buried under layers of time and distance.
‘I used to have that on my fridge,’ she says.
‘I remember this day.’
‘You do?’
I glance at her, confused. ‘I remember all our days, Evie.’
‘I’ll admit, I’ve tried desperately to forget over the years.’
That makes me sad. I get it, love hurts. But damn. She didn’t even want to remember me?
It takes her a few minutes but eventually, she gets the lid off the shoebox and we stare into it, silently.
Among the scattered items in the box are photos I printed and framed, a crumpled movie ticket stub from the first film we watched together, a quirky fridge magnet she bought that says ‘Keep Portland Weird’, and a dried flower from the bouquet she held at our wedding. Each piece holds a memory, a fragment of our shared past that suddenly feels more tangible.
Eve picks up the small flower, tracing its delicate petals with her fingertips.
‘You kept this?’ There’s a wistful smile playing on her lips as she gazes at it, lost in thought.
I watch her quietly, feeling a rush of emotions welling up inside me. Our history is heavy, but there’s also a glimmer of hope, the flutter of something new and uncertain.
‘I dreamed about our wedding last night,’ she murmurs, breaking the silence. ‘It was so weird, like I was there, reliving it.’
‘And you hated it?’ I ask, fully expecting that to be her answer, but she shakes her head.
‘No,’ she admits. ‘I can’t quit thinking about it, actually. Everything was so perfect.’
Her confession about dreaming of our wedding catches me off guard, making my heart race with a mixture of uncertainty and excitement.
‘It was perfect because it was with you,’ I say, my voice soft yet filled with sincerity. ‘Despite everything that happened after, that day still holds a special place in my heart.’
Eve’s gaze meets mine and it’s as if we’re standing at the edge of a precipice, teetering between the past and the present, unsure of which way to step next.
‘I miss us,’ she says, her voice tinged with regret. ‘I miss the way we used to be before everything got so complicated.’
Right then her phone starts ringing. Damn it. What is with the interruptions tonight? She ignores it for a minute but when the number calls back, she answers.
‘What’s up, Gen?’ she asks, sounding less than thrilled to have our moment disrupted. She listens to the caller on the other end. ‘I already forgive you,’ she says. ‘A club? Tomorrow night? What? You want me to bring him? I guess so.’ After a few minutes of chatter, she hangs up the phone and looks my way with a smile.
‘Booty call?’ I ask, completely kidding, but she laughs.
‘Clubbing call – which I rarely do any more. I sort of preoccupy myself with work twenty-four seven, according to my friends. But I don’t doubt you’re feeling stir-crazy by now and you’re doing really well at moving.’
‘Ten blocks recently,’ I brag.
‘Exactly. So, whadya think? Will you be feeling “clubby” tomorrow night?’
Excitement bubbles inside me like recently poured champagne. We went clubbing once. I’ve never smiled so hard. I can’t believe I’m being given a second chance to rewrite the unfinished chapters of our story, to rediscover the parts of ourselves we thought were lost.
‘I doubt I’ll be very dancy, but I can babysit your drinks and purse. Count me in,’ I reply, unable to hide the hopeful tone in my voice.
Five Years Ago
The sun beats down relentlessly on the open motorcycle track, surrounded by rows of stadium seating and tall swaying trees. The crowd is dressed in tank tops and shorts, their skin glistening with sweat under the scorching Oregon summer heat. Colorful banners and posters promoting sponsors sway in the warm breeze, adding vibrancy to the scene. Fans eagerly line the edges of the dirt course, anticipating a chance to meet and greet their favorite riders.
Once the event dies down, I make my way toward the lingering crowd as I always do, still dressed in my riding gear. My bright green flat-bill hat with my number fifteen stitched in black on the front sits firmly on my head. I have a stack of the same ones ready to be handed out to anyone who wants one. After a few minutes of chatting with some male fans, all of the hats are gone and now you can see specks of green bobbing through the crowd as people leave for their cars.
‘Could you snap a picture?’ A woman hands her phone to one of the volunteers and wraps her arm around my waist, leaning her head on my shoulder as if we were together. It’s one of the benefits of the job that I have no objections to – fangirls. I lean in and kiss her cheek while the blonde-haired beauty in front of us takes our photo.
‘If you’re ever looking for a wife…’ the young woman says with a flirty giggle as she backs away, flashing a wink and a smile that’ll be hard to forget.
Our photographer – the volunteer track girl wearing my jersey – doesn’t smile, at least not in my direction. She simply gives the phone back to its owner and moves on to the next person in line, fulfilling her duties and taking the next camera being offered to her.
‘Sign here, please.’ Another woman approaches me, gesturing toward her chest and tugging at her already revealing shirt.
It’s not uncommon for me to sign body parts, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time. With a quick stroke of my pen, I leave my signature on the woman’s skin, while my photographer gives an exasperated look, stifling an adorably crooked smirk, and takes a photo.
‘I’m seriously getting this tattooed,’ the fan says. ‘I’ll Insta you a photo.’
‘Awesome,’ I say with a grin. ‘Not sure anyone has ever tattooed my name on them before, that I know of. I’m honored.’
‘Next!’ my volunteer yells, waving over the next fan. She’s rolling her eyes playfully when I glance her way.
‘How about you be next?’ I ask.
A slight, inviting smile grows on her face, and her gaze sort of takes me aback, like there’s an instant spark that we somehow both feel. Neither of us breaks eye contact for seconds, which allows me to notice her dark blue eyes, sparkling in the sun like the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean.
‘No way are you autographing my boobs.’ She laughs, almost nervously, to herself.
She is beautiful. Her hair is in two French braids like the brand requests of female volunteers, and my riding shirt is tied at her waist and has not looked better on anyone – ever. A tiny sparkle of a diamond is in her left nostril, and you’d think it’d be the Daisy Duke shorts that catch my attention most, but I can’t peel my eyes off her bright smile and that red lipstick.
‘I wasn’t asking to grope you. I was talking about taking a picture.’
‘You’ve got a line of fans waiting; why waste a moment on a woman who didn’t even know you existed an hour ago? These girls probably have posters of you in their dorm rooms – above their beds. They’ve earned a photo.’
‘I can get you a poster if you want…’ I tease.
Her laugh is bubbly. ‘Do I have to put it on my ceiling?’
‘It’s not a requirement but I mean, if you need to you need to.’
‘Ha!’ she spurts. ‘Google was right, you are a flirt, Guy Foster.’
‘You googled me?’ I ask, readjusting the hat on my head nervously.
‘I had to,’ she defends herself. ‘Anytime a job requires booty shorts and “sexiness”, I’m looking up the man of the brand. Did I nail it?’ she asks, giving me a little spin.
I chuckle. ‘You, uh—yeah—’ I’m suddenly nervous and fighting for words as I pry my eyes off her.
‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘No—er, yes?’ This is so not smooth, Foster. ‘You know what, forget about Google me. You’re not dazzled by my performance today at all? I mean, first place, Jellybean. I won a check with many zeros. I defied gravity.’
She shakes her head, her soft, red lips curving upward in a slight smile, a sparkle of interest glimmering in her eyes as they flicker toward me. ‘I think you’re nuts, Skittles. Never have I experienced as much anxiety as I did watching you riders tempt death, and I’m a nursing student.’
I laugh at her returning the nickname and keeping the topic candy. Also, wowzers, a nursing student? Beautiful, quick-witted, and smart – I’ve hit the track girl jackpot.
‘Although I am enjoying women staring at you with lustful stars in their eyes, each one hoping they’re the next to be that girl dating the sexiest FMX guy alive. Google said that too.’
Those words leaving her lips make my heart flutter. ‘I didn’t realize Google was so into me. Weird.’
She laughs.
‘Come with me,’ I say, grabbing her hand as I pass by her, headed to our track tent.
‘I can’t, I’m on duty.’ She pulls her hand shyly from mine. ‘I’ve got to stand near you and look hot, per the event director’s words.’
‘Trust me when I say you’re succeeding. I don’t know if I’ve said this yet, but you are easily the most beautiful track girl I’ve ever been assigned.’
‘Lie.’
‘Lie?!’ I scoff. ‘How?’
‘Google knows everything, remember?’
‘That robot showed you more gorgeous track girls than you?’
‘Uh, yeah!’
I shake my head in disbelief. ‘Well, I’m here to tell you, you’re wrong. You are my top track girl.’
‘After knowing me for what, fifteen minutes, you’re awarding me first place?’
‘That’s it!’ I say, realizing what I want to give this girl that isn’t a poster above her bed. ‘I have something for you.’
‘I can imagine you do after that compliment…’ she laughs.
‘Not that – did you miss the part where Google said I’m also a gentleman?’
‘I must have.’
‘Well no, it’s something cool, something I’ve never given out to any woman.’
She lifts a single eyebrow. ‘I dunno,’ she hesitates. ‘What if I don’t want it?’
‘I think you’re going to want this. Come on, Jellybean. Take a chance on me, would ya?’
She stands strong and confident, her hands resting firmly on her hips. Her eyes, however, are fixed on me with a playful glint.
‘Why Jellybean?’ she asks.
I nod. ‘You’re bright, beautiful, and small – it fits. Plus, jellybeans are my favorite candy.’
‘Shouldn’t we know each other better before handing out cutesy nicknames?’
I shrug my shoulders, the glint in her eye sparkling in a way I’ve never witnessed. ‘I’m calling it now – you and me, there’s something – I feel it.’
The roll of her eyes amuses me. I extend my hand, but she stares at it like I’ve lost my mind.
‘I’ve heard the rumors, Casanova. You’re the most desirable rider. Two women have proposed to you, with rings, track-side. I’ve seen the photos. Girls fall for your adorable dimples and flirtatious ways. I don’t have time for falling – I’ve got to graduate soon.’
‘Congratulations. But I feel like you might need the “not everything on the internet is true” reminder.’
‘Are you saying photos lie?’
‘No,’ I confirm. ‘Some of it’s true.’
She cocks her head, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Exactly where do you want to take me, Guy Foster? And why?’
I start walking toward our mechanic’s tent and to my surprise, she follows behind.
I grab my helmet and a Sharpie from my stuff. ‘What’s your name?’
Uncertainty is all over her face.
‘It’s only fair, considering you know everything about me, including my name,’ I remind her.
She laughs. ‘Fine, since Jellybean doesn’t do it for me, you can know it. My name is Eve.’
‘Eve,’ I repeat, liking the way it feels as I say it. I scribble some words then my signature on the side of my helmet and place it in her hands.
She looks down at it suspiciously. ‘Eve, #1 sexiest track girl alive, heart symbol, #15 Foster.’ She reads the words I’ve written, her gaze darting from the helmet to me. Her laughter is like a symphony, filling the air with joy. Her voice is soft and melodic, like a lullaby that could soothe any troubled soul.
‘Exactly how many first-place track girls get autographed helmets from the Famous 15 every show?’
I take the helmet from her and slide it onto her head, patting it right on top. ‘Only one so far, and you look adorable,’ I say. ‘Absolutely photo-worthy. Where’s your phone?’
She pulls it from her pocket, taps the camera button, reversing the screen to see herself. ‘I look like Gazoo from The Flintstones ,’ she says. ‘Why is it wet?’
‘I was just wearing it.’
‘Ew,’ she groans, but it’s mixed with a giggle.
I take her phone, slinging my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and taking a selfie of us. While she struggles to remove the helmet, I quickly text the photo to myself so I’ve got her number.
Her phone plays a short bubbly melody and she glances at the screen, helmet in one hand, phone in the other, biting back half a grin. ‘Well look at that, I’m officially off-duty.’
‘Already?’ I ask, glancing at the Apple watch on my left wrist.
‘Time flies when you’re wearing booty shorts – thank God,’ she giggles.
‘Can I be ballsy?’ I ask.
‘You can, if you’re cool with how I receive it.’
My smile grows. ‘How can I see you again?’
She smirks, glancing at her phone. ‘Well, considering you violated my privacy and texted yourself from my phone, maybe you can use that number?’
I drop my head like I’m ashamed I did that, but far from it. If I didn’t already have her number, I’d be on my knees right now asking for it – in a matter of minutes this woman has commanded my attention and I don’t hate it at all.
‘Caught,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘How about this? Tell me you feel no connection between us and I’ll delete the whole thing from my phone and pretend this day never happened.’
She purses her lips playfully, backing away from me. ‘Don’t tell me you just fell in love with me?’
Nervous laughter leaves my lips. ‘Love? Hmmm… that’s a biiiig word, Jellybean.’
Her cheeks actually flush as she pats her hair to make sure nothing is out of place after wearing my helmet. She tucks the stray hairs behind one ear. ‘You’re cute, Gummy Worm.’
‘Oh, yeah? Must I remind you that you said “sexy”, earlier?’
‘Did I?’ she asks, cocking her head like she’s already forgotten. This girl is adorable with the splatter of freckles across her nose that is now scrunched as she pretends not to flirt with me.
‘You did…’
She laughs to herself. ‘Pretty sure those were Google’s words. But on that note, I suppose you have my permission to text since you have my number. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.’
The smile spreads across my face.
‘Good luck, Foster. I hope you’re as good at flirting as you are at riding.’ With that, she spins on a toe and heads toward the parking lot. She glances back once, flashing a smile that sends a spark of electricity through the distance between us – at least for me.
I have a feeling this girl is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. This is going to be fun.