Page 47 of Revved up & Ready

Devon is more comfortable with silence than anyone else I know, so she doesn’t interrupt my thoughts or push me for a response.

Eventually, I find one. “Thank you for being proud of me, Dev.”

“It is easy to be proud of you,” she responds.

The rest of the short ride home is filled with talk about running. She asks how I felt, what I liked, what I hated, if I like the app she recommended to track my data.

When we turn onto my street, Cam’s out front, working on one of his motorcycles in the driveway. My stomach drops. I’ve done my best to block out anything motorcycle-related since I went to his race—going so far as parking in the driveway to avoid them. I know he rides. I know heraces.

It’s his whole life—his identity. But it terrifies me. He’s not even my real boyfriend, and I worry about him constantly. He left town this past weekend for more races, and I was anxious the whole time, until I heard he won one and placed second in another—meaning he survived both.

Devon either reads my mind or has the same thought. “Remember in college, you said you would never date someone who rides a motorcycle? Does it not bother you anymore?” she asks.

“It does bother me. I hate it,” I say without thinking.

Devon shifts the car into park and looks at me. “So, you hate a core part of your boyfriend’s identity—his career?”

“I mean, I don’t hatehim,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.How the hell do I change the subject? I don’t have a good answer for this. Cam and I have never—

“I didn’t think you hated him,” she answers, steady and unyielding, not letting me off the hook. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“No,” I answer, relieved to say something factual.

“But he knows about the crash you were in during high school,right?” she presses.

Not wanting to answer, I look out the window, watching Boo run across the neighbor’s fence.I’d rather be hanging out with him right now. He’s great at minding his own business.

“That is not healthy,” Devon says, her voice taking on her ‘you-know-I-know-what’s-best’tone. “He should know how upsetting motorcycles are for you, andwhy. You were already in an unhealthy situation for too long, and you haven’t evenblocked your ex yet. You shouldn’t put yourself into something else that’s harmful—”

“Hey,” I jump to Cam’s defense, deciding that’s more pertinent than her harassing me about blocking my ex. “He’s not Jared. He’s notharmful. He doesn’t fucking cheat on me. He doesn’t lie to me.”

“I never said he did,” Devon answers.

“Don’t compare them,” I snap, crossing my arms.

“It’s natural to compare your current relationship to your past ones. It would be a healthy thing to do, actually,” she says. “You have to learn from the past to make your current relationship better. It’s not about Cam being Jared. I know he’s not,” she softens her voice just slightly. “But you are making the same mistake of not communicating your needs. You’re not telling him—”

“Stop.” I cut her off. I love Devon, but right now, I wish she’d mind her own business instead of pushing me to dig into things I’m not ready to face.Cam and I aren’t really dating, but there is something real between us. Wedocommunicate, and I happen to think we do it well. Even faking it, he’s a better boyfriend than Jaredeverwas.

“I know you mean well, but I can’t do this right now,” I say, glancing at Cam standing in the driveway, his jaw clenched as he watches us. He makes ayoualright?face, and I sigh, offering him a half smile.

“You’ll have to face this eventually,” Devon says, stubborn as ever. “You have trauma around this, and you—”

“Okay.” I unbuckle my seatbelt. “Love you. Thanks for the ride and the run. See you Wednesday.”

Her reply is, “Love you too,” but her face saysyou’re-being-irrational.

As soon as I’m out the door, Cam walks over to me. I should tell him he doesn’t have to put on a show of affection forDevon’s sake. Even if she thinks we’re dating for real, it doesn’t matter. She’s not on board because she thinks being with him will hurt me.And she’s right.But when he wraps me in a big hug, I’m swept up into him, his body grounding me, and some of the tension melts away. It feels good.Too good.

“No, no. I’m all sweaty,” I laugh.

He buries his face in my neck. “Don’t care. I’m expecting hugs next time you show up at a race. I’ll be a thousand times sweatier then.” Setting me down on the driveway, he asks, “How was your run?”

But I barely hear the question. I’m stuck on the thought of hugging him after his race again. Because I’ll have to go to more races. Last time, it was less of a hug and more of me clinging to him in relief that he survived. I felt likeIbarely survived the race, and all I did was watch half of it from the sidelines.

My head spins, and I steady myself with a hand on his chest.

“Hey, hey, Sadie,” his voice is soothing as he wraps his hands around my biceps, dipping his head to look into my eyes, concern lining his face. “You alright? What’s going on?”

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