Page 99 of Roan

Shade and I laugh as Ricky approaches the three of us, his grin wide, his eyes watering. He hugs us all. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this proud of you boys.”

Tiller pushes himself away from us. “I’m serious. I’m fucking starving. Let’s go.”

After hours of press, we end up at La Guerrerense. Everyone is exhausted. Conversation’s lazy reflecting on the racecourse when Shade laughs, shaking his head as he stares at his phone.

“What’s so funny?” Ricky asks, setting his beer down and attempting to look over Shade’s shoulder.

“Don’t look at my messages,” he mumbles to Ricky, which is probably for the better. Shade lifts his sunglasses, his eyes red from being awake for the last twenty-four hours straight. “You wouldn’t believe some of the wild shit I saw in the desert. I’m not sure if I was hallucinating, or this happened, but I actually saw someone carrying a mattress out in the middle of nowhere. I hadn’t seen civilization in a good hour and just randomly, a man and a woman carrying a mattress.”

“So that’s why you crashed into the rocks?” I tease, but curious as to how that happened. I know how sketchy those rock gardens are, but it still surprised me.

“No, fuck no.” Shade waves me off. “But isn’t that so random? I wanted to stop and ask them what the fuck they were doing.”

“It’s about as random as Tiller running out of gas,” Ricky notes. “I gave you just enough. How’d that happen?”

“Hell if I know,” Tiller mumbles, half asleep, still smelling like race fuel. “Probably because I got off course twice. And saw a horse. A fucking white Arabian-looking horse.” And then he grins. “I half expected Aladdin to be on it.”

I scowl at him, but laughter erupts around the table as Tiller goes into detail about how he talked spectators in the UTV into letting him siphon gas from them.

Ricky raises his beer, smiling at us, tears in his eyes. “Your dad would be proud of you guys. I know I’m going to remember this trip for the rest of my life.”

I will too.

“And no one got arrested.” Tiller chuckles. “Willz owes me fifty bucks.”

I’ll remember that day in Ensenada, but the day we arrive back at the house and Ophelia has moved into my bedroom, competes with it. I don’t say anything to anyone when we come home two days later. It’s three in the morning and I rush upstairs, into my room to find her in bed, sleeping.

Stripping, I slide between the sheets, my body flush against hers. I don’t care that she’s still sick, or that I might get it. Okay, I kind of do. I hate being sick. But in those hours on the bike in the middle of the night when I wasn’t wishing I’d never see another desert again, I was thinking of this moment. The one when I finally saw her again. It’s funny how after every race I finished when we weren’t together, she was the first thought when the rush of the win wore off. A sinking reality that I had no one to celebrate with. No one to occupy my bed at night and what bothered me the most, she might—did… had—someone holding her the way I wanted, covering her body with theirs and worse, loving her.

Now it’s different. She’s here, in my arms, doped up on cold medicine and dead to the world around her, but still, against me.

Sometime before the sun rises, Ophelia stirs in my arms, twisting to face me. Sleepy-eyed, she reaches out, touches my cheek and smiles. Her eyes flutter closed. “I thought I was dreaming. You’re really here.”

“I’m here,” I whisper, tucking her head against my chest. And then I cringe because of the pain there, but it’s fine. I’ll endure any amount of physical pain if it means I get to hold this girl even for one more minute.

My life feels like a permanent vacation. Traveling with Roan isn’t always easy. Not only does he attract a hell of a lot of attention, but he’s moody and forgets where all his shit is on a daily basis. I have no idea how he managed to survive without me for so long.

And on any given day, I have no idea what his mood will be like. Most of the time it’s good, some days it isn’t, but it doesn’t stop me from soaking up every tiny detail of our lives outside California. It’s so much more than I ever imagined it would be.

For months we travel from Africa to Austria, and everywhere in between. Peru, Madrid, Morocco, it’s everything. Romantic, secluded, and exactly what we need in the beginning stages of our relationship. He promises his love at the Pont Des Arts (the lock of love) bridge and toss the key to the lock in the Seine. We travel all over the world. I love our lazy coffee-drinking mornings while he makes me pancakes on a tiny electric griddle and our life strung all over a van with sidelong looks only we understand.

While I had been prepared for Roan’s training and racing mindset, cohabitating inches from one another in a small space puts our relationship to the ultimate test. We fight, forgive, and then fuck. A lot, as he puts it. I can’t keep my hands off him and every chance he gets, I’m in his arms. In many ways, we’re newlyweds. We just don’t have the title of husband and wife.

Yet.

Through racing hare scrambles and some of the world’s toughest enduros, I’m right there by his side witnessing his dedication, his passion for racing. This close, it’s inspiring to witness. I fall madly in love with him all over again.

By spring, right before we’re set to leave for Austria again, Roan and I make a trip home to California for the birth of the newest baby Sawyer. I have no idea what to expect back in California, or what life will be like living at the mansion. I fear it, more so than I did traveling with Roan. I think because while we were traveling, it was just us. At the house, it’s a completely different dynamic. Clears throat, um, Tiller?

Our flight is uneventful and for the first time in months, our bags aren’t lost. I think to myself, wow, this might go smoothly. Until Roan holds up his phone as we’re getting into the car. He smiles. “Shade texted me. Scarlet’s in labor.”

Excitement shoots through me. “Oh my God? Really? I thought we’d miss it.” Over the past few months, I’ve become best friends with Scarlet and Amberly. We talk daily it seems.

“We still might,” he teases, closing the trunk with our bags in it and then gesturing with a nod to the traffic heading out of LA.

“No way. I want to see the baby born.” I rush around the side of the car and jiggle the handle. “Open the door.”

He smiles wickedly. “Nah.”

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