Page 74 of Stupid Dirty

When I see who he’s standing next to, my pulse spikes. There’s no thought of whether I’m being rude as I push away from the people talking at me to rush over to him. I’m shoving through the crowd dramatically enough that both he and Tristan look startled at my approach.

“What is it? What happened?”

There’s no disguising the panic in my voice. Cade and Tristan are friends, sure, but there’s no way he would have skipped seeing me at the finish unless he went to Tristan for an injury.

Tristan’s wide eyes quickly narrow as he takes me in. We’ve only met a few times and I’ve never gotten the impression that he likes me that much. There’s always been a coolness there. He’s a little taller than me and just as broad-shouldered, but with about a thousand times more real-world toughness. Whenever he squares up to me, I get a distinct vibe that he wouldn’t mind murdering me if he had the right motivation.

It has taken all my self-control not to obsess over the idea that he’s secretly in love with Cade. Because there could be a million reasons not to like me. I’m not that likable. I have a lifetime of evidence for that. It could have nothing to do with Cade.

But the way he subtly shifts his body towards his friend as he looks me up and down, making me feel like a lunatic with the dramatic way I just burst through the crowd so hard I’m still out of breath, makes me feel like I’m something he just stepped in.

Like I’m something dangerous that he needs to protect Cade from.

Or maybe I’ve finally become unhinged, and all of this is in my head.

“Good ride, baby,” Cade says, and both his voice and the rare public use of the endearment pull my attention back to him. He’s perched on a stack of beer crates, and reaches out with his right hand to grab my jersey sleeve and tug me into his side. I move closer and he slides that arm around my waist, splaying his hand over my hip.

It’s intimate and possessive and mollifies me a little. Even if it’s a lot more intimate than we’d normally be in this setting. The fear I felt when he reached for me before the race is gone; burnt out by the irrational worst-case scenarios that have been throbbing through my consciousness like a fever-dream for the last ten minutes.

Cade’s movement also draws my attention to his left hand, which is propped up on the edge of the crate. Tristan is slowly wrapping tape around two of his fingers.

“What happened?” I want to snatch his hand away from Tristan, but I have enough self-control not to act completely crazy. Mostly.

The medic, of course, is watching the whole interaction with that piercing gaze of his. Like he knows every embarrassing impulse I’ve ever had and isn’t impressed that I manage to suppress some of them. Cade’s the one that answers my question, while Tristan continues to glower.

“It’s fine. I jammed it into the hand guard when I landed weird and I think it’s sprained. I just wanted to get it taped before itstarted to swell. I’ll be all patched up and ready to go in a couple of minutes.”

His fingers dig into my side, grounding me, even though I feel my brain spiraling with an unnecessary series of worst-case scenarios.

The conversation we had last night comes screaming back into my mind. This is a dangerous sport. What if Cade got hurt and I was too busy with my own race to notice? Or worse, what if I caused an accident that hurt him?

I’m trying to breathe, but it feels like the air keeps getting stuck in my throat.

That was what he accused me of that first race, after all. Being reckless and putting him in danger. Dad always said I liked to drag people down with me. Maybe being around me is dangerous for Cade in more ways than one.

“Silas?”

His voice and the bite of his fingers into my side brings me back into the present. Soft gray eyes are looking into mine, and I feel more raw and exposed than I want to. A choked feeling threatens to overtake me, and I know it’s rude not to say anything, but all the possible words are like a messy spiral and I can’t pick out the right ones to force out of my mouth.

Cade catches my eye again and speaks a little more forcefully. “Hey, do you think you could load up my bike for me while I finish up here? And I’ll meet you at Ford’s?”

Ford lets us store our bikes there as well as work on them now. Which is really fucking nice of him and makes it significantly less likely that any of our blood relatives will steal them in the middle of the night.

I nod, swallowing around the inexplicable lump in my throat. At least that’s a task I can focus on and accomplish.

God, why do I feel so fucking scattered?

Everything is fine.

All I need is a few more wins, and then I can ask Cade to move in with me. In our own place. With both our incomes and no parents skimming off the top. We can stop racing for good and I won’t have to worry about either of us breaking our necks on the tracks.

Then I can also stop running around like a crazy person and Tristan can keep his dirty looks to himself.

“He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine without you,” Tristan says, not trying to hide the edge to his tone.

Yeah, the sooner we can get into our own place, the sooner all these other problems and all my consuming thoughts will go away. Simple.

By the time Cade gets to the shop, I’ve already got my bike unloaded and put away. I was able to shower most of the grime off myself back at the track, so I’m more-or-less clean, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, pacing across the shop floor as I wait for him.

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