Supercross Me (Motocross Me 2)

“Oh.”

Well, that didn’t work for long. I lean my head against the glass, watching the gravel blur by as we drive down the barren county road. I heave a sigh and look over at him. He’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other broken arm slung across his chest. That’s the arm that used to reach across and hold my hand while we drove. Now it’s someone else’s to hold. My stomach twists and I wish I could close my eyes and teleport myself anywhere else in the world. I wish I could block out the scent of his cologne mixed with the new car smell of this truck. I wish my heart didn’t ache like it’s been driven over by a bulldozer, a once huge hill that’s now a flattened wasteland.

“You’re not as talkative as you used to be,” Ash says. He throws me a sideways grin, trying to make light of the situation, but it only makes the nerves in my stomach hurt more.

“Things are weird between us now,” I admit. “It sucks.”

“Well whose fault is that?” Ash says quietly. I look over at him and he winces while staring at the road. “Sorry, that was . . . wrong.” I watch his chest rise and fall with a deep breath. He tries to reach for me, momentarily forgetting that his arm is stuck in a sling. We come to a stop sign and Ash looks over at me, his gaze so intense it hurts. “I’m always here for you, Hana. I want you to know that.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Yeah. I’m here for you, too.”

Maybe it’s my imagination, but he seems a little happier than before. If I plaster a smile on my face and don’t think too much, things almost feel like they’re kind of normal again. Ash slows the truck, and I realize we’re at my house. As much as I didn’t want to see him since we’re no longer a couple, now I am desperate for him to stay and never leave.

I should invite him inside. Make some kind of excuse about a show on Netflix to watch . . . Maybe Molly has brownies left over, and I can offer him one. Or I could use the logical part of my brain and jump out of the truck and run, not stopping until I get inside and away from this guy who isn’t mine anymore, and who never will be again.

“I’ll just stop here,” Ash says, pulling to a stop behind my truck. He reaches for the keys and then stops, biting his bottom lip as if he’s embarrassed. He’s used to turning off the truck at my house because he would always get out and stay with me. But now he knows as well as I do that he can’t do that anymore.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say, my hand on the door latch. “I’m sorry you had to drive all the way back out here for nothing.”

“It’s not a problem.” His lips press together quickly, his gaze drifting over my face before landing on my eyes. “Sorry I punched your boyfriend.”

“Lincoln is not my boyfriend.” I rub my forehead, trying to push what I remember about my fight with Lincoln into the deep recesses of my memory. “He’s not even my friend, really.”

“Ah, well . . . that’s good,” Ash says lightly. “I didn’t really like him. You deserve someone better.”

“I don’t know about that.” I stare into my lap, knowing I need to leave. Open the damn door and climb out. But I can’t.

“I do,” Ash says with a nod. “You deserve so much more than that idiot. You’re a great person.”

Please stop. “Okay well, thanks again.” I pop open the truck door and offer him a polite smile. “I really appreciate it.”

He nods once and his features darken. “It’s still early, you know,” he says, glancing at the digital clock on his dash. “And I miss hanging out with you. Maybe we could catch up?”

A cold rush of adrenaline hits my chest and in the same instant, Ash’s phone lights up from the center console. We both look at it, the glow of the screen in the dark cab like a beacon that draws your eye in. He reaches out and pushes a button, ignoring the phone call. But it’s too late.

I’ve already seen the caller, someone with blonde hair and a bright smile. Someone worthy of being saved in his phone. Someone so worthy, she’s got a personalized photo with her contact information.

Ash looks up at me expectantly, and I make the best damn blank expression that I can. “Sorry. I’m a little busy,” I say, right before I close the door and walk straight up to my front door, not looking back. Not even once.

Chapter 19

Lincoln picked the wrong time to show his true colors. After the incident on Friday night, I showed up to work the next morning to find Dad and Marty talking in hushed tones in the score tower.

“What’s going on?” I ask, setting down the basket of breakfast burritos.

Dad looks at the basket, takes one of the healthy burritos with a grimace, and then he shifts his gaze to me. Over the last few years, I’ve gotten used to noticing little things about my dad that show his age—the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, sunspots on the back of his hands—but this morning he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Lincoln quit,” he says. “No warning, no reason why. Just texted this morning saying he quit.” He peels off the foil from his burrito and takes a bite. “Can you believe that shit?”

I shake my head even though I’ve never felt more relieved. Lincoln is gone. I don’t have to deal with him at work anymore. “That sucks,” I say, pretending to sympathize with Dad. “Are you going to hire someone else?”

“I don’t know how we’ll survive with a short staff, but we also don’t have time to train anyone right now,” he says.

“Shit, Jim,” Marty says, scarfing down half of his burrito in one bite. “We can survive without the kid. Hana is here, and she works her ass off.”

I lift my burrito in a salute to that and Dad tries to look pleasant, but I can see the worry behind his eyes. “Regionals are the weekend after this one. We earned half our yearly income from that one race last year, and they’ve asked to come back again this year. We can’t blow it.”

“We won’t, Dad,” I assure him. Dad downs his last sip of coffee, and I take the mug, walking it over to the coffee pot to refill it for him. “I know what I’m doing this year, and we’ll have it all under control.”