Chapter 32
32
GUY ‘FOSTER’
Standing in my kitchen, I feel like a stranger in my own home. The familiarity of the space only amplifies the pain that lingers from my recent heartbreak. It’s almost suffocating, and I wonder how I will ever survive this pain again.
The morning sun shines through the semi-closed blinds as I open cupboards, my stomach rumbling with hunger, only to find them nearly bare. I guess I haven’t been home in a month, which leaves me with hardly anything edible – just a few unopened boxes of crackers and some cereal – but no milk. Great – now I need to go to the grocery store.
I purge all the expired and rotten food from the cupboards and fridge, carefully sealing them in a trash bag before hauling it out to the cans. As I step outside, the warm and humid air of Florida envelops me, a stark contrast to the cool, damp climate of Portland that I have grown accustomed to. The sensation makes me pause, unsure of which I prefer now.
On the way back in, my pocket begins to vibrate with a familiar buzz. Retrieving my phone, Eve’s name flashes on the screen, catching me off guard and causing me to stumble over the threshold into my house. I barely catch myself from face-planting into the door as I read her message.
Make it home safely?
With a heavy heart, I read the four words on my phone screen. They feel like a punch to the gut, almost knocking the wind out of me.
Home. Thank you, for everything, Evie.
My emotions are in turmoil. I feel like a ship lost at sea without any direction or purpose. The familiar warmth in my chest that her message brought on is now gone, replaced by a hollow ache that hurts with every beat of my heart.
I stare at my phone, willing another message to appear from her, any sign that she still cares. But as the notification changes from delivered to read, reality sinks in. She’s moving on without me. The ‘unofficial’ goodbye I never wanted.
Distraction, distraction, I need a distraction. I catch a glimpse of the Ziploc bag full of medication that I tossed onto the counter last night. I haven’t taken any of my meds since I left, and I promised her I would keep up with them. I suppose I should actually do that.
With a gentle shake, I pour out the contents of the bag onto the smooth black marble of the kitchen counter. The bottles roll against each other, creating a soft symphony of sound. As I sort through the various medications, my fingers graze over a piece of paper, folded in half with my name written across one side. I pause. It’s Eve’s handwriting, sweet and delicate, detailing the instructions for each medication. Despite her dislike for nicknames, she signed the note, ‘Love, Jellybean.’
I steady myself with my hand on the counter in front of me, the note staring back at me. It’s as if time momentarily freezes, and I become intensely conscious of the rhythm of my own heartbeat. Even though she claims to hate the nickname, she chose to sign a note with it.
The familiar scent of her lingers on the paper, filling my senses and bringing back memories of our time together. With a trembling hand, I hold the note close to my chest as if it were a precious treasure. I gave one away, and I got one back. Fate.
Despite trying to fight it since we arrived at the airport yesterday, there’s an overwhelming urge pulling me back to her. But deep down, I know that if she truly wanted me to stay, she would have used her words instead of remaining silent. We’ve come at least that far in the last month – or so I thought. I carefully attach the note to the fridge using a magnet shaped like my bike.
I spend what feels like an eternity at the kitchen island, one-handedly organizing each pill into the daily pill containers Eve so thoughtfully purchased to streamline the overwhelming process. The tiny capsules gleam in the sunlight filtering through the window; a rainbow of colors and shapes representing the multitude of medications I’ve been prescribed. Earbuds are nestled snugly in my ear, the haunting melody of a heartbreak playlist filling my head that speaks to my current state of mind.
As I finish my medication ritual, exhaustion washes over me like a wave crashing against the shore. In spite of this, sleep seems elusive. My bed, once a sanctuary of comfort and security, now feels foreign without Eve’s reassuring presence in the next room. Instead of drifting off, I find myself staring at the ceiling for hours on end, music still playing in my head as my thoughts replay every moment since the accident and even before.
My phone disrupts the endless cycle of thoughts with its insistent ringing and with nothing better to do, I tap an earbud to accept the call.
‘Ye-llow?’ I try to sound upbeat, but it comes out so sad even I notice.
‘Got your text,’ Matty says. ‘You’re home? Last I knew, you two were considering driving into the sunset together again.’
‘For a second I thought the same thing. But you know how I like to fuck romantic things up.’
‘That, I do. What’re you doin’ now?’
I heave a sigh. ‘Sulking in bed.’
‘At three in the afternoon? Jeez, you’re such a girl.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Well, don’t sulk alone. Come on over. I had to run to the store for grilling meats so you can come and spend the evening with us. I’m barbecuing, and the guys are over. I told them you were home and you know how sappy they are.’
I chuckle. ‘Yeah, I bet Jeff can’t wait to see me.’
‘You’d be surprised, bud. Get ready, I’ll be there to pick you up in five.’
‘Fine,’ I say, reluctant to go. But I can’t keep lying in this bed replaying where things went wrong.
I guess seeing the guys could be fun. Even though I can’t ride right now, I’m excited to get back to my usual life and savor the scent of gasoline, oil, exhaust and hot metal.
Matty lives on a sprawling estate in Florida, where he’s constructed an impressive FMX practice track tailored for his team of riders. The track features strategically positioned jumps and ramps, spanning a combination of hard-packed dirt and loose soil. It includes elements such as berms, rhythm sections, and tabletops to test his riders’ skills. Lined with palm trees on both sides, the area is bathed in the intense glow of the Florida sun, which can be pretty relentless during the day’s scorching heat. I could ride the track with my eyes closed, that’s how familiar I am with it.
Heidi, Matty’s wife, welcomes me with a warm smile as she opens the front door of their home.
‘Foster!’ she exclaims, her eyes lighting up with joy as she gives me a gentle hug. ‘You look great! How are you feeling?’
It’s good to be reunited with familiar faces, especially those I used to encounter daily. It’s particularly nice to see Heidi, who has always been a strong source of support for me, second only to Matty.
‘Not gonna lie, I’ve been in better shape. However, the doctors have assured me that physically, I’m on the mend.’
‘Good! I was so worried, but Matty assured me you were in good hands?’
I nod, an undeniable grin at the thought of those hands. ‘The absolute best by way of my ex-wife.’
‘Ex?’ Heidi asks with a gasp. ‘I’ve never heard you call her that. Things didn’t go the way you’d hoped?’
I shake my head. ‘I lost her. Again.’
‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.’ She wraps me in another hug, this time a little tighter. ‘We’ve missed you around here. Things weren’t the same without our Famous 15. The guys are out back. I’m sure they can take your mind off things.’
Only a lobotomy could succeed in that right now. But I make my way outside and as I step onto the practice track near the back of the property, Jeff zooms toward me, skidding to a stop, his back tire practically touching my toes, kicking up a cloud of dirt that covers me.
He kills the engine of his bike and pulls off his helmet. ‘You made it!’ he says enthusiastically, then follows it up with a frustrated – yet not entirely serious, ‘Damn it.’
‘Ha ha,’ I tease with a mischievous grin. ‘You might be winning now, but just wait until I’m back on my bike, Jeffy boy. You won’t know what hit you. Enjoy your victory while it lasts – asshat.’
He slaps on his helmet, raises his middle finger in response to my words, and then slams his right foot onto the kick-start lever. With a twist of the throttle, he sends a rooster tail of dirt flying in my direction as he speeds away. With unwavering confidence, he maneuvers through the track, cutting through the air effortlessly as he nails a double backflip, landing it without a wobble. It’s a feeling I remember well and I can’t wait to experience it again.
The familiar sound of roaring engines makes me feel like I’m home. This last month is the longest I’ve ever been away from this. I missed it.
I seat myself in a row of worn lawn chairs arranged outside the track, under the shade of a line of swaying palm trees. This spot has been witness to countless memories shared with the people who fill my days, where laughter knows no bounds, and we challenge each other with outlandish bad ideas. Here is where we push the boundaries under the open sky. It’s a place where the motto is ‘the bigger, the better’.
‘You set up your physical therapy with Dr Dave?’ Matty asks, walking up from behind me and interrupting my memories. Neither of our gazes leaves the track.
Dr Dave is the go-to doctor for taking care of Matty’s riders. He specializes in sports medicine and is renowned as the best in the business. Over the years, he has helped me recover from numerous injuries sustained in crashes and accidents.
‘Yep,’ I reply with a nod, my gaze fixed on my friends as they take turns performing their daring stunts.
‘How does it feel to be back?’ he inquires.
I shrug nonchalantly. ‘I dunno yet.’
‘Wanna reunite with your bike? I’m sure it’s missed you.’
With that, my insides light up a little. ‘Yeah.’
‘It’s taken a while, but Jeremy has finally managed to get it in even better than its original state, just the way you like it. It looks as good as new and is all set for you, whenever you’re able to get back to using it.’
As we walk into the shop not far from the track, the sight of our impressive collection of motorcycles greets me. Most of them have been generously donated by our sponsors and are worth a substantial amount of money. The walls are adorned with posters of Matty’s riders – me included – performing stunts, and the floors are scattered with tools and spare parts. The center of the garage is dominated by a large workbench covered in tools and surrounded by motorcycles in various states of assembly.
Jeremy, one of our mechanics, diligently keeps our bikes in top-notch condition and race-ready. Each of us has a favorite, but we also have back-up options available for when one of them is out of commission. Unfortunately, I had the accident with my preferred bike, so I’m certain it suffered just as much as I did, and I can’t wait to see it again.
‘Foster!’ Jeremy calls out at the sight of me, his voice echoing through the shop as he makes his way over. ‘Jesus, man. I was worried. How do you feel?’
‘Broken,’ I chuckle, my gaze fixed on my bike. ‘But look at this shit,’ I exclaim with a smile as I instinctively swing my leg over the seat to climb onto it, placing one hand on the handlebar.
‘Start her up!’ he encourages.
As he speaks, I am already kicking her over, twisting the throttle with my uninjured hand, and reveling in the powerful roar of the engine. Ah – home. I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm and contentment wash over me.
‘How’s it feel?’ Matty yells over the engine.
‘It feels good,’ I shout back, bouncing a little to test the shocks.
Against my better judgment, and in a move I think we all knew I’d make, Jeremy hands me a helmet. I slide it on, then engage the gear and ride out of the workshop, heading toward the track. Despite my initial apprehension, I gradually regain my confidence with each gear I shift, all the while mindful of my immobile arm. No jumps for me today. Instead, I focus on relishing the rush of riding again.
As the other bikes come to a halt, I can feel the eyes of my friends on me as I race around the track. Despite my best intentions, I’ll never be able to resist the urge to pick up speed and catch some air. And it feels damn good, too. As I return to the shop, Matty and Jeremy give me a standing ovation.
‘You’re crazy as fuck,’ Matty says as I cut the engine.
‘“One-armed Bandit” should be your new name!’ Jeremy teases. ‘How was that?’
I steady myself by planting one foot on the ground. ‘Incredible,’ I say, wishing I could keep going but knowing I can’t tempt fate quite yet.
‘Eve woulda killed ya if she were here,’ Matty says.
I drop my head, my helmet in my hand still. ‘Yeah, she woulda.’
‘That didn’t end great, huh?’
I shake my head.
Amidst the whirlwind of emotions that arise at her mention, one memory stands out – the image of waking up in the hospital and seeing her. I remember it like it happened last night. She would be pissed if she knew what I just did yet deep down, I think she would understand. Because somehow, she gets me like no one else ever has. There’s a connection between us that defies words, but despite that, I never found the courage to tell her the truth until it was too late. I never said, ‘I love you’ or ‘I want to stay.’ It’s a realization that hits me like a ton of bricks – I am a fucking idiot.
‘Why is it so dark in here?’ Matty asks, meandering through my house the day after I visited his place, pulling open curtains and allowing the light to invade my cave of heartbreak. ‘And why are you asleep at noon? And what in the fuck are you listening to?’ he asks, in search of the source.
‘Taylor Swift,’ I answer, shoving the source of the music into my pocket so he can’t take it and throw it out my front windows.
‘ Taylor Swift ?’ he balks, a comical look on his face. ‘Why?’
I run my hand through my hair as I sit up, frustrated that I’m lying here alone and all I can think about is her.
‘Because it makes me feel better, asshole,’ I snap, only partially kidding.
‘If I’d have known you’d come home as a Swiftie, I’d have found a way to get you here sooner.’
I shake my head. Not once have I ever listened to Taylor, and here I am stewing in it.
‘I still love her, man. I can’t sign the divorce papers.’
I filed as soon as I got home and got the documents in my email this morning.
Matty groans like a disappointed father.
‘My God, you’re a lot of work. If you love her, then why don’t you act like a man and hop your ass on the next flight to PDX and tell her? It’s what she wants, moron. Give her two options.’
‘Two options?’
‘Bring her the original wedding ring – the one she left on your nightstand. I know you still have it because you’ve been fighting this thing for a long time. And bring the divorce papers. Then make her an offer she can’t refuse.’
‘You think I should ask her to stay married to me?’ I’m confused, but it might just work.
‘It’s been five years. So yeah, dumbass, but lace it with romance and spontaneity – the reasons she fell in love with you to begin with – and for the love of God, get on your knees and beg because you’ve now broken that girl’s heart twice. I can’t afford to have your head constantly in the fucking clouds if you’re going back to competing.’
Say no more. By dark, I’m on a plane back to her. Man, I hope I’m not too late.