Page 125 of Down & Dirty

I shrugged, exhausted from not sleeping and wearing an emotional hangover like a lead gown. I’d been dragging all morning and now, as the main event was about to start, I was too drained to think.

“What can I do? He thinks he’s got everything under control.”

I’d seen it in Cory’s eyes, his complete conviction that he was capable of continuing to ride, and that everything would be okay. It was hard to argue with that kind of faith. Until I thought back to the doctors’ notes, one after the other, warning him that time wasn’t on his side.

But I was supposed to be.

I was his wife. We were supposed to be a team.

“He’s at the gate,” Elle said, her voice low, anticipating my reaction.

“I can’t watch.” My stomach rolled again, the little I’d eaten already ground to dust.

“And you don’t think anyone at OTM suspects?” Elle kept her voice down. No one was near us in the VIP box she’d set up in, but she knew better than to risk someone overhearing.

I finally turned and stood beside her, scanning the line up of bikes. I spotted Ronnie and Cory first, then Kip and Tate. The OTM team almost always had all four members in the main event. Considering some of these races drew 150 contenders, and the main only had room for 22 riders, that was a big deal.

But I didn’t feel any pride about it. I couldn’t feel much of anything.

“No. He’s managed to keep it hidden for a long time.”

Elle bumped my shoulder with hers. “You even said motocross is all Cory’s ever had. It probably scares him to think about it being taken away before he’s ready.”

The gate dropped and the bikes roared to life. I braced, gripping the rail in front of us as the pack crowded into the first corner. It looked like chaos. From any distance, and even from behind the handlebars of one of the bikes on the course. But that was the beauty of those first few seconds; the chaos only lasted a fraction of the race, but what came out of it would impact every lap after.

Cory and Ronnie were both in tight inside lines, other riders hot on their backs. But as Ronnie made a move to cut past another bike, Cory eased off. I watched him, sailing over the tabletop and sweeping his back tire through the thick pile of dirt before the last corner. He wasn’t digging in, he wasn’t pushing others out of the way.

Elle’s eyebrows rose. “Is he coasting?”

Considering the pack of riders still clamoring to get by him, and the ease with which he fended them off, it was hard to see what Cory was doing as coasting. But if you knew him, knew what he was capable of, there was no way you’d miss the difference.

“I don’t know what he’s doing,” I whispered, my eyes fixed on him whenever they weren’t keeping track of Ronnie. My brother was making a play for fourth, while Cory was sat back in eighth, making no noise for the guys in front of him.

By the time the race ended, Ronnie had captured third. His eyes were smiling up at me even before he’d taken off his helmet. I waved down at him, and then found my parents in the crowd. My father had Micah in his arms, the two of them cheering and punching at the air.

Kip had come in fifth. Cory finished in ninth, which was still one place ahead of Tate, who’d taken a spill in the second-to-last lap. OTM claiming four of the top ten spots was still a win as far as they were concerned, and I watched from up high as the team celebrated at the end of the course.

Elle’s voice came from beside me, so much quieter than the rest of the crowd. “You gonna head down there?”

The idea of being surrounded by people—happy, energetic people—was more than I could bear.

“I think I’ll head back to the hotel. I can catch up with Ronnie later. I’m sure my parents will take him out if OTM doesn’t.”

Her eyes held mine. “And Cory?”

I hung my head, the simple sound of his name enough to fill me with too much emotion. I felt jittery. “He lied to me, Elle.”

She sighed, nodding at me until a long strand of curls flopped into her eyes. “I know. And that’s not okay. It’s bullshit, in fact. Because you deserve better than that.”

“But?” I asked, hearing the hesitation in her voice.

“But,” she paused, looking down at the riders making their way out of the arena. “There are lies, and then there are lies.” She looked back up at me. “You’ve got to decide for yourself which one this is.”

I laughed. She was a professional writer, and yet that ineloquent way of putting it was pretty perfect.

“I still hate that he did it. And even now, he refuses to let it go.”

She jerked her head to the course. “I’m not so sure your concerns didn’t factor into tonight’s performance.”

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