Page 73 of Stupid Dirty

“Really, it’s fine. Racing was what he always showed up for. I lost my career, so it makes sense that I’ve lost him too. It was the only thing he ever wanted from me.”

I don’t think twice before reaching to pull him into my arms, but he takes a step back out of my reach and shoots me a glare.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t do that here.”

I’m so shocked I think my brain blue-screens. It feels like someone’s twisting my guts tighter and tighter, and something’s about to snap. Touching Silas has always been my sure-fire way to soothe him. His anxieties are a minefield that I will never be able to understand, but as long as I can touch him, I know I can help.

If he takes that away from me, what else do I have to offer?

“We agreed not to suck face in front of the sons of the confederacy, not to avoid all physical contact. Friends can hug, dude. This town is conservative; it’s not Saudi fucking Arabia,” I say. My heart is racing. It’s from fear, not anger, but anger is what my body knows, so my words come out sharp.

He’s not even looking at me. The twist in my gut gets even worse.

“We should get to the gate. We’re starting soon.”

Grabbing his bike, he takes off before I have the chance to reply.

For three months, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, while telling myself it’s just my abandonment issues talking and everything is fine.

For once, I owe my abandonment issues an apology. Everything is obviously not fucking fine.

Chapter Thirty

The race was a blur. I’m good at shutting everything else out, but this was more extreme than usual. I know Cade thinks I should be grateful to be ditched by my dad, but he doesn’t get it. I’m not sure I really get it.

It just hurts. Dad is a piece of shit, but until Cade showed up, he was the only person who ever cared if I lived or died. He asked me for one thing in return, and I couldn’t give it to him.

If I couldn’t keep an asshole like my dad happy, how can I possibly be good enough for someone like Cade?

Half of my brain is screaming at me to run before my own poisoned existence bleeds into his, while the other half is endlessly spinning, trying to think of how I can be worthy of him. If I can convince him I can take care of him, maybe that will be enough. Maybe he’ll stick around.

We need our own place, one that our parents’ chaos and misery can’t bleed into. Cade won’t leave his sisters, and neither will I, so it needs to be big enough for the four of us. Which means I need money.

I’m not telling Cade about my plan until I have everything figured out. He’s done so much for me and everyone else in his life, I have to show him that he doesn’t always have to be the adult.

Then he’ll keep me around.

Maybe.

Dad used to drinkaroundraces instead of at them. Without them, it seems like he’s lost his own structure to cling to. I see him less and less, and he’s messy more often than not. The last time I saw him was four days ago, and he hugged me for the first time in years. Before that, it was last week, and he told me he wished he’d let me die with Mom.

It wasn’t the first time Dad had said something like that, but this time was sticking with me more than normal. Images of him and Mom and poor little Anthony Turner’s corpse are filling my head to a point where it might burst. More and more, I’ve been dreaming about the day Anthony died, but my mind replaces his body with Cade’s.

Night after night, I watch Cade break his neck on the track while I’m helpless to stop it. I know it’s just a dream. I know I shouldn’t let it get to me. But I can’t help wondering if it’s an omen.

There’s so much dark crap shoving itself in my brain that the space for rational thought is already occupied.

I did my best to shut all that out and focus on the race, and I felt like a fucking machine as I tore up the track. Lap after lap, analyzing every corner and every jump, letting my instinct take over and all that emotion and doubt get left behind.

When I won, my first instinct was to look for Dad’s smiling face, and when I remembered he didn’t show up today, it was like a gut punch all over again.

The winning doesn’t matter; I reminded myself. I just need the money.

I was so out of it I didn’t even see Cade finish, and by the time I look around for him, I’m swept up in the small crowd of people trying to congratulate me. Winning the money means nothing if I don’t have him. Realistically, I know he’s here somewhere, but the fact that I can’t see him makes a weird, indistinct fear lodge in my throat.

Losing Cade somehow seems like an ever-present threat that I can’t escape. It’s a sword hanging over me, waiting to fall. I just need to find him, so I can reassure myself that he’s okay and walk back the irrational rush of panic that’s threatening to take over my brain.

I swipe my gaze methodically over every inch of the space until I spot that stupid hot pink jersey in the throng.

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