Page 66 of Finding Delaware

Honestly, the conversation with Dad could have gone better, and I lasted longer than I thought I would inside that house. But, fuck…

I don’t know if I can stay here.

I thought I could do it, thought it had been long enough that I’d be over it, and that Dad’s surgery would be sooner. But if I can’t even stand being in there for longer than an hour, how can I stay for possibly two or three months until he recoversand gets the all-clear? It’s not like he needs me here. He’s got Maisie to take care of him; I don’t necessarily have to stay in the house...but there’s no way I can afford a hotel, and I’m not asking Grandpa Jones for more money.

An odd sound starts to come from my bike’s engine, so I slow to a halt and put a foot out, listening. It sounds like an engine revving, but I’m not doing it. Turning the bike off, I realize the sound is coming from behind me.

What the fuck?

It gets closer, and I twist slightly to look over my shoulder, only to have my heart drop into my stomach when I see who’s riding toward me.

He’s covered head to toe, but I know it’s him. I can feel it.

I’m frozen as I watch Taylor approach until he stops beside me.

For a moment, we just look at each other. Take each other in.

He’s wearing a helmet, a denim jacket, and leather gloves covering his hands. Dark hair dyed red at the tips peeks from the collar, curling around his nape. His bike is still that awful yellow color, but this one is shiny and new. A decal saysT.O.Ton the radiator shroud, whatever that means. A pair of black jeans cling to his thighs, combat boots on his feet.

Like I said, he’s completely covered. But fuck, if my body doesn’t light up at the nearness of his presence after four years. And it only serves to wring my nerves tighter than they already are.

How the hell did he know I’d be here?

Jerking his chin, Taylor kicks his bike into gear. “We racing or what?”

And then he’s speeding ahead of me down the track.

Motherfucker.

So I start up mine and haul ass after him, spell broken, because howdarehe show up here after the shit he did to me? Does he think four years was enough to clear the air between us, racing on this track like my life wasn’t entirely altered by the stunt he pulled?

Like he didn’t break me into pieces.

His bike is much newer and faster than mine, so I struggle to keep up. I’m sure he’s also kept up racing over the years instead of giving it up like I did, so he has an advantage over me.

When I start to creep up on him, he fishtails his back wheel, spraying snow all over me, and I growl angrily as I wipe it from my visor.

Dirty, cheating son of a bitch.

It’s clear I have no shot at winning, no matter how hard I try, so I give up and let him pull farther ahead of me as I idle my way through the track. I’m not going at a snail’s pace, but definitely not as fast as I used to go, because I didn’t fucking come out here to race. I just needed some goddamn air.

The end of the track comes into view, and my vision narrows on Taylor leaning against his bike, arms crossed like he’s been waiting for me. My hands are nearly frozen solid, but I don’t even feel it because I’m burning, boiling under my skin at the sight of him standing there nonchalantly like everything is cool.

I’ll lose it if I talk to him or see his face, and I can’t afford that right now with everything going on, so I pass him on my bike before bringing it to a stop. Swingingmy leg off, I begin wheeling it through the snow toward the house without acknowledging him whatsoever, praying to whatever powers that be for him to stay where he is and let me go.

Don’t do it.Don’t you fucking do it, Taylor.

Snow crunches behind me as he starts to follow, and my body stiffens.

“Hey, Huck. Wait.”

Goddammit.

I keep going, mentally pleading that he gets the hint and leaves me the fuck alone.

But apparently, not much has changed about him in four years because his hand wraps around my arm as he tugs me to a stop.

“Will you please hold up a minute–”

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