Page 47 of On the Edge

I didn’t think I could like the guy any more than I already did, but watching him with Maren made me fall that much harder for Declan. He helped Maren evaluate various outfit options with a critical eye, yet he also kept things light enough that she continued laughing rather than stressing about her date.

After she’d settled on an outfit, the three of us raided the pantry for a box of sprinkle cake mix. Declan had the idea of decorating the cupcakes to look like monsters with googly eyes and blue frosting rather than something more appropriate for Valentine’s.

While the cupcakes cooled, Declan showed his prowess with a curling iron, and I restrained myself from swooning at his gentleness with Maren.

“You look amazing,” I said once the primping was done. “I’m betting you won’t let me take a pic for your dad.”

“Absolutely not.” Maren’s eyes went wide. “And I…um…might not be back early.”

“I’d be worried if you were.” Declan gave a meaningful chuckle.

“You’re in college,” I added. “I’m not going to tell if you’re gone all night. Just send a text so we know you’re all right.”

“You’re the best.” Maren hugged us both before heading toward the door. As she put on a heavy wool coat, she turned back toward us. “And don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell either.”

With that, she escaped into the night. And she might not tell, but the clock was ticking on someone else finding out who wouldn’t be so discreet.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Declan

“Time is running out.” Joey’s voice in my ear made me wince on multiple levels. I shouldn’t have picked up the phone, but I was sitting at the breakfast nook, noodling with my latest puzzle while I waited to leave for the football fundraiser. Boredom. Got me every time.

“I know.” I’d been avoiding calls from the team, but Joey had known I wouldn’t continue to send one of my oldest supporters to voicemail. And I hated this for him, hated that he’d drawn the short straw to seek an update, and hated that he was also in a holding pattern, waiting for me to be race-ready. We were nearing the end of February. Time was indeed of the essence. “It’s the doctors at this point. I’m still having headaches, so they don’t want to release me from the concussion protocol. The doctors keep saying I’m not ready to ride or race.”

“But you could ride if they signed off?” Joey pressed. Outside, the early evening chill had arrived, or maybe that was simply my reaction to the question.

“Yeah. My foot feels almost normal. No more cane.” I’d graduated to walking in supportive shoes, no boot, at last. Likethe first shoots of green showing up for spring, I could feel my old self returning. “I’m done with PT after this week.”

In fact, I was back to doing something resembling actual cardio and weight training. However, I could do without the headache and light sensitivity that intense cardio inevitably brought on. Weights were good as long as I didn’t push the overhead lifts.

“Good, good.” Joey made a sucking sound like he had a piece of gum in his mouth. I clicked another two puzzle pieces in place while waiting for him to continue. “That’s why the manufacturer wants a second opinion on your head.”

“Like another doctor?” I groaned. The last thing I wanted was more appointments. And yeah, my doctor in Portland frustrated me, but for all I complained, I did trust the dude.

“Yep. They’ve got someone here in Arizona for you to see.” Joey sounded unusually matter-of-fact and businesslike. “The team wants you to come on down so everyone can get on the same page as far as the season and your future.”

Oh fuck.I should have anticipated being summoned sooner, but instead, I physically recoiled in my chair, my body moving back as if I’d taken a punch to the stomach.

“When?” My voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a mine shaft.

“Next week. Tanya’s gonna be in touch to book your flight.” He mentioned the long-suffering assistant to the team who handled all our travel details and administrative duties. “Here’s to hoping the next trip is a one-way. We need you back, brother.”

“Yeah.” My tone remained hollow as my brain spun. I should have been relieved that I was this much closer to getting back to racing and that a second opinion might be the solution, but I was filled with a cold, drippy dread.

“Between you and me, Cyrus isn’t half the rider you are.” Joey’s voice was hearty, the same one he used for every pre-race pep talk. “He’s not fearless enough. Needs to give ‘em a tug.”

“Oh, I know how to tug ‘em.” I gave the stock reply, born of years of bantering, but inside, the wordfearlesskept rattling around. I wasn’t sure if I could ever be truly fearless out there again. No one other than Jonas knew that I’d been having nightmares, and even he didn’t know that I kept replaying the little snippets of the accident I could remember. Merely remembering the jolt of hitting the rut was enough to turn my stomach. I must have been convincing enough because Joey chuckled.

“I know you do. You’ve got brass stones. No one attacks the start like you. You’ve got that fire, so we just gotta get you back on the bike.” He was my number one hype person, and God knew I needed it right then.

“Yep.” I had to work to keep my voice confident. Thankfully, I heard footsteps coming down from upstairs. “Listen, I gotta run. I’m going to this high school football fundraiser.”

“Look at you, living the small-town life.” Joey whistled. “Gotta be bored silly, unless the local girls are taking good care of you.” He laughed at his own joke. I didn’t, but he continued anyway, “Damn, you’re gonna be so happy to get back on tour for the season.”

“You know it.” I hoped Joey was right, but as I hung up the phone, my main emotion was relief. I pocketed the phone and shook my hands out, trying to let go of the tension of the call as John loped into the kitchen. “Hey, John. You ready?”

“Yep. Nice puzzle.” He nodded at my work-in-progress, another mystery puzzle, this one a treasure hunt. When Jonas was around, he helped me with the puzzles, but I’d found a certain satisfaction in doing them by myself as well.

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