Page 2 of Down & Dirty

Exasperated, he dropped his arms and went for the door. “I’ll be back.”

Twenty minutes later, and several grand lighter, I was on my way.

The fresh air hit me like a bolt of lightning as I steppedoutside. Was there anything worse than the sterile air inside hospitals? It was the kind of thing I’d never adjusted to, no matter how much time I spent inside them.

My phone barely had one bar this far from town, and the taxi I’d taken to get here was long gone. Scratching my hand through my hair, I let out a long, tired sigh and walked across the street toward a strip mall that looked as beat up as I was. It was a classic late 80s build, with wide showcase windows and nothing behind them. The high hopes of the times as faded as the neon paint flaking off the bricks. I didn’t appreciate the feeling of familiarity I got when I caught my own reflection in some of the dusty glass.

Standing on the corner, I got another bar of signal and tried Billy. My mechanic was also my best friend, but he was shit at picking up. After a few rings and a “voicemail full” message, I threw in the towel.

If I’d been near LA, I’d have called Cass. She’d never once left me out in the cold, even if she suspected I might deserve it. But even with our short dating history and much longer business relationship, she’d stopped coming to my races years ago. I didn’t know a soul out here in Podunk, Maryland. And neither did Uber, apparently. The tiny black cars were nowhere in sight as the app scanned to find me a ride.

My current “girlfriend” was in New York getting ready for a fashion show, and I knew better than to trust any of the motohoes to keep my current condition under wraps. With my options dwindling I hobbled over to the diner I spotted at the end of the block and grabbed a cup of coffee, chatting up the waitress. Even beat up and dirty from the race, my scruff-covered dimples and curls did the trick they always did, and she offered to ring up the local taxi company for me without batting an eye.

Back at the hotel, I managed to slip in without running into anybody, and as I settled gingerly into my bed, I let out my first full breath all day.

One more race.

So long as I placed high enough, I could count on my sponsorsand endorsements signing me for another season. I’d been socking away money since I’d gone pro at sixteen. But when the first doc told me about what was happening to my body years ago, I’d stepped it up. Most would say I had enough saved, that I should quit while I could still walk. But I knew I could handle another year. Maybe two. There’d never been some magic number I was aiming for in my bank account. I just didn’t know what I’d have after racing was done with me, so I refused to be done with it.

The question of what I was going to do after was a black hole ofwho the hell knows. And I didn’t have the energy for that. I’d never deluded myself into thinking I had more to offer than this. I was a one-trick pony without an encore. And everyone knew it.

But if I went out on top, my ad campaigns should last for a while longer. Buy me some time. They didn’t need acurrentmotocross rider to sell cologne, loafers, or six-thousand-dollar watches as much as they needed achampionone.

So, that’s what I’d give them.

CHAPTER 2

SKYLAR STONE

Whoever said, “Timing is everything” clearly never met my ex.

Or his girlfriend.

Tommy and Geena hadn’t had my son, Micah, ready to go on time in nearly a year. Tommy hadn’t managed the feat by himself before her, either, for the record. It had been three years since we’d split and I’d adjusted a long time ago, padding my schedule for every pickup, knowing he’d be late. The addition of Geena had sparked a short-lived hope that I might see some sort of improvement.

I was wrong.

In the opposite direction. By like, thirty minutes, wrong.

“You guys almost done in there?” I called from just outside Tommy’s trailer.

I hadn’t been invited in since Geena entered the picture. But I wasn’t complaining. Tommy’s downright refusal to put anything away set my anxiety on high. Clothes. Dishes. Shoes. Paperwork. None of it was ever organized. It just piled up around him like a fun-house maze, the walls closing in, until they tipped over. At which point, he’d shove it under the furniture and start again.

At least this way, I got to wait for our son in the uncluttered,fresh air of whatever town the motocross tour had us racing that week.

“Hold your horses,” Geena grumbled, pushing the trailer door open and taking the fold-out metal stairs down in the sideways way she did, her black pleather mini skirt too tight to do otherwise. Her bright red blouse shifted in the breeze, revealing the strappy bralette she was wearing underneath.

I stepped back to give her room. “Just hoping to catch dinner with my folks,” I explained.

Again.

We’d had this conversation when I’d arrived. And when I’d made these arrangements with Tommy two days earlier. It was hard not to imagine that the delays, and the attitude, were some sort of control thing. That was Tommy’s MO. And apparently it was Geena’s now too.

“You should be happy he wants to spend so much time with his son.”

I turned away, coughing to hide the irritation that I knew my face would reveal. Geena acted as if Tommy was doing me a favor, instead of just showing up as a parent. Which he was. Disrespecting my time didn’t endear me to him for doing the bare minimum. But I knew better than to hope she’d understand that. She was under Tommy’s spell.

I was ashamed to admit I knew exactly what that felt like.

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