Page 85 of Over & Out

“What? No. I’m at a dirt track, of all places.”

My stomach drops.

“Do you think you could come here? With the truck? I’ll send directions.”

As if the place isn’t burned directly into my mind.

“Are you hurt?”

“What? No, I’m not riding.”

Right. I’m not supposed to know she used to ride. I fucking hate this. It feels deceitful. But I think of Mabel, and then I think of my dad. He’s here, somewhere. Waiting for me to mess up. Ready to throw her under the bus.

“Right,” I say. “Of course. What are you doing there?”

“It’s easiest if I explain once you get here.”

Chapter 28

Chris

“Are you sure this is okay?” Shay asks, her voice so quiet I barely make out the words.

I met this girl an hour ago, and it’s the hundredth time in those sixty minutes I’ve wondered if she’s always spoken like this, or if someone ground the confidence out of her. That’s a familiar thought that makes my skin heat with anger. It also feels like the correct answer. I pray I’m mistaken.

“Totally okay,” I say. “He’s Mr. Helpful. He loves doing stuff like this.”

I’ve never asked for Hopper’s help with anything like this before. But I’d eat my helmet if he shows up with any resentment at all. The Hopper I know is compassionate to the bone.

“I still can’t believe it’s really you,” Shay says, ducking her head shyly, her slightly greasy hair obscuring most of her face.

It’s beyond strange to me that in this scenario, shethinks I’m famous. But after the way she freaked when I came out to help her? I know it’s genuine.

I didn’t mean to meet her. I didn’t mean to come back to the dirt track at all, but once again, my feet just pointed this way. And once again, rounding the corner past those brambles until the winding dirt path revealed itself to me was like a press of hands on my shoulders. Instantly my blood pressure lowered. My heart lifted. And I felt like I could breathe. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s the same way I feel around Hopper. That feeling of being home. Though in Hopper’s case, that feeling sits under a whole well of other feelings. And tingles and butterflies and…other things.

Today, when I realized where I was going, I promised myself I wouldn’t hide in the shadows if I saw her. I didn’t think I’d see her again at all. In fact, some part of me kind of thought she might have been a figment of my imagination. But lo and behold, I rounded the corner, and once again, there she was. A girl by herself, with the best bike in the world, on the track on a quiet Tuesday morning.

Betty was working today. At least, at first. I watched as the girl took her around the sharpest loop on the track, mud splattering as she drove through a puddle. Her body was stiff. Shoulders hunched, fully seated. It could have been the weather—the misty drizzle impairs visibility, and the mud makes things slippery. But I think it was the bike.

“Drop those shoulders,” I whispered. “Loosen up. You’ll be more agile.”

She was keeping it slow, avoiding jumps. Clearly she was new at this.

But she had promise. In that stiffness, I could also see her determination. The grit she’d need if she wanted to be someone in this place. Hell, even being here—especially on a day like today, and with a temperamental crone like Betty—took guts.

When she rounded the corner again, I knew I was in view. I waved so I didn’t look like a creep and then pretended I was interested in a rosemary bush growing in the field next to the track. It wasn’t my best moment, but I hadn’t thought very far ahead. There’s a patch of grass here, and it’s a little higher than the track, so if nonriders come to spectate, this is normally where they sit. Sitting would have made me look more casual, but it had been raining all day, and I was wet enough.

I know she saw me. There was a slight wobble. But she recovered. A moment later, she disappeared around a bend.

That’s when I heard the loud bang.

I didn’t think. I sprinted through the mud. Just around the corner, the girl was on the ground, the bike on its side, wheel spinning.

On top of her.

I ripped the bike off her, barely noticing the twinge in my shoulder from the old injury. I dropped Betty into the mud.Sorry, girl.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, kneeling down. “Did it land on you? Did you twist anything?”

---