Page 116 of Over & Out

“It says he’s sorry and that he’s making it official that you don’t need to pay him any more money.” That’s what I told him as a summary. Really, it was a bit of a rambling mess, still full of defensive statements, like,I was trying to help you. But he did admit to some of his mistakes. The drinking. The womanizing. And most importantly, keeping him separated from his mom for those most vital first few years of his fame. The money part was the most surprising to me. When Hopper told me how much he was sending him, I was stunned he’d want to turn that tap off. But under his bitterness, Hopper said, his father is asimple man. He lives in a simple brick house on a dirt road. He drives a basic sedan. Eats white bread and drinks black coffee. Doesn’t drink, last time we heard.

“It’s the only thing I like to think we have in common,” Hopper says. “The cars are fun, but all I need is you.”

That interview and the Iggies were three and a half years ago now, and so much has changed since then. This year, on the red carpet, the interviewer greeted me with a hug and congratulating us on our wedding, which was a simple but gorgeous affair here in Redbeard Cove. Mac walked me down the aisle. Raph officiated. We each had a bridesmaid and a groomsman: me Lana and Hopper Cal—Mac’s best friend—after Miles politely but emphatically refused. Cal travels all over the place for work, but when I first introduced him to Hopper at our engagement party at our place—a beach house just down the road from Mac and Shelby’s—I was stunned to find out they already knew each other.

“This is the guy who told me about the dirt track,” Hopper said, incredulous. All those years ago, in a random airport encounter in Vancouver. When he was still my mystery Dirtface, and I was, in his words, his smart-ass dream girl. Cal had no idea who he’d been talking to that night. Or that he was the catalyst for us eventually ending up together.

“You’re welcome,” Cal said, and I’d given him a fake punch to the solar plexus, because that’s what our relationship is like.

Then he looked like he’d gotten a real punch whenMac’s sister walked in. Lost the ability to speak for a bit, anyway.

That was almost three years ago. Three years ago was also when I found this perfect piece of land halfway between Redbeard Cove and Swan River and bought it outright with Hopper’s trust money. It’s been two years since we were married, since Hopper launched his foundationKids on Setto provide counseling, support, friendship, and normalcy to kids in the entertainment industry, and since we broke ground on the clubhouse that now stands just beyond the trees lining the parking lot. Before that, I ran everything out of a trailer in a field full of daffodils Hopper planted all over the track.

To me, it still all feels like a dream.

Today, as I get out of my pickup and drop the tailgate on the trailer, I take a deep breath of fresh spring air. The sun is warm for April, the clouds having mercifully parted a few days ago after three months of solid rain. It feels like a new dawn; like the start of something beautiful. Which it is, because today’s a monumental day here atRide Like a Girl, my school, club, and society for all things girls on wheels. The road to this track is paved, along with the parking lot. But I still let the brambles go wild all around, so sometimes it feels like that original dirt track on the other side of town. The one Hopper and I still sneak off to sometimes for early morning riding sessions. Now, the wildflowers I seeded last month are starting to bloom. Soon the place will be in full color. Just like me. I brush off the non-existent dust from my custom-made violet riding pants as I walk around the truck to plant my hands on my hips and take in my track.Mytrack. A place I could only have dreamed of all those years ago when Dad whooped for me as I made my first jump.

I got back on a bike with Hopper’s help, and after a visit to Dad’s little plot in the Swan River cemetery. I told him I forgave him after all these years. I understood his struggles. I saw, through Hopper’s dad, how bad itcould have been, even though it was awful in its own way. On the track, Hopper and I go slow. We go fast. We hurl insults at each other. And usually, so long as we’re the only ones there, we don’t make it out of the parking lot before climbing all over each other.

Today’s a fresh day, though not only because a new cohort of students will be here in about an hour, but because I get to introduce them to my newest instructor. She’s just moved here, and from the car in the lot with the Alberta plates, she’s here ahead of me. We’ve been working together the whole past week, going over the lesson plans and schedules. She’s a natural, even though this is the first time she’s officially teaching.

I’m so excited for the day, I almost miss the buzz of a bike, no, two bikes, as they come close to this side of the track.

I grin when I see the two bikes I know and love—and the two people I love even more riding them roar into view.

The first rider does a huge jump, and Hopper follows, landing a little hard.

I wince. He’s going to feel that tomorrow. He’s forty in a year, and he’s been grumbling more and more when Aziz comes over and accuses him of not stretching properly before his admittedly much shorter workouts.

When the first bike approaches where I stand, it skids to a halt. The rider jumps off, pulling their helmet from their head as they run over.

“Hey, Chris!” the rider exclaims.

My chest still squeezes every time I get to see Shay. She looks incredible. Healthy;strong; her brown hair clean and loose and blowing in the wind. She turned eighteen this winter and moved right back here to Redbeard Cove. She’s still in contact with her aunt, but she moved in with her mom here after two years apart in Alberta. They live in a cute apartment not far from my old bungalow now. Her mom, who’s maintained her sobriety for the past two years, works at the grocery store. Next year, Shay’s going to college in Swan River.

But right now, she’s here with me.

She throws her arms around me as if we weren’t together all last week. I’m here for it.

“Hey, honey,” I say, squeezing her tight. “You doing okay?”

She nods. “Soexcited about today.”

“Me too. How was everything with your mom this weekend?”

“She’s great. We saw it.”

Shay told me she was going to take her mom to see Hopper’s latest film. He’s the voice of a rabbit in an animated adventure. He did that one for Jess and Mara—Adrian and Len’s toddler—who are obsessed with the cartoon. He did the Duke movie last year for me. But the rest, he’s done for himself. And the indie directors and producers he wants to see succeed.

“What did she think?” I ask.

“She laughed her face off,” Shay says, looking over her shoulder at Hopper, who’s bending down to inspect something on his bike over on the side of the track. “Her favorite will always beMountain Man, though.”

I nod, a little band pressing tight around my heart. “Mine too.”

Yes, I adored the latest Duke movie, butMountain Manwas what he was filming when we fell in love. The one where, in the final scene, he gave me a Duke smile before anyone knew he was going to do another one of those films. In that scene, there’s a flash of the tattoo over his heart that Continuity missed editing out. The tattoo, of course, saysOver & Out.

Shay happily volunteers to bring the bikes to the center, so I leave her to see Hopper.

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