Page 22 of When We Were Reckless
Ridge, however, was still on shaky ground. He’d accepted full blame and told my brothers that the party had been his idea. Just as if he’d forced me into doing something I didn’t want. I’d jumped to his defense and told my brothers the truth. The party had been my idea. My house, my responsibility, and no one else’s. After my brothers had kicked everyone else out, Ridge stayed behind to clean up. He did such a thorough job it was like the party had never happened.
For now, Ridge still had a job, and I’d fight tooth and nail to make sure it stayed that way. None of what happened on Friday night had been his fault.
I walked around the side of the garage that held all the rental bikes and waved hello to Mick. He used to coach Jesse and my brothers when they were kids. Until Jesse had gotten so much better than the other racers and needed a new coach. Mick had coached me when I was eight and begged my parents to let me do what my brothers did, ride dirt bikes just like the boys. My brothers said I wasn’t terrible at it, but I think we all knew that was a lie.
As soon as I entered my first race, I was done. I officially hated it.
One year later, I was diagnosed with kidney dysplasia, which explained why I’d felt so tired and so sick all the time. But I was so determined to be as strong and healthy as my brothers that I tried to hide it from my parents.
“Hey, Mick.” I stopped in front of him.
“Hey, doll. Haven’t seen you around in a while. How’ve you been?”
“It’s all good.” My gaze wandered to the track. We’d had rain last night, so the ground was muddy with a lot of ruts in the turns. It was still early, and the track was empty, but I knew Jesse was here. The gunmetal gray Silverado that he used to haul his bike was parked right out front.
“Are you here to watch Jesse?” he guessed, because what else would I be doing at eight o’clock in the morning with a thermos of herbal tea in my hand.
I nodded. “Yeah. I just… I haven’t seen him ride in a while. I miss watching him.” I used to love watching Jesse ride. He rode standing up, which was so hard to do.
“How’s he doing?”
Mick stroked his beard. It matched the red hair on his head, shot through with gray now. “He’s better than anyone else who practices here.”
That went without saying. Most of the guys who practiced here were amateur racers. There were a couple of former pros, but they’d retired from the sport years ago and weren’t up to a competitive standard anymore. “But?”
“He’s holding back. And Jesse was never one to hold back. Something is blocking him.” Mick tapped his temple. “Pretty sure it’s all up here.”
“He’s too much in his head, you mean?”
“I think so, yeah.” He shook his head. “But that’s not an easy fix.”
“Do you mind if I hang out and watch?”
“Be my guest. I’ve got some work to do. See you later.”
I walked over to the bleachers and climbed to the top for a better view. A few minutes later, I heard the quiet roar of a dirt bike as Jesse came into view from behind the trees. I watched him fly up and over a jump, his bike parallel with the ground to shave off a few seconds before his tires hit the dirt.
When he finished his final lap, I climbed down the stairs and waited for him at the bottom.
He stopped a few feet away from me and climbed off his bike, setting it in a folding metal stand to keep it upright. His dirt bike was splattered with mud, as were his moto boots and trousers.
He took off his goggles and helmet, then peeled off his gloves and ran a hand through his hair. Sweat dripped down his face, and he wiped it on the back of his arm as I came to stand in front of him.
The old Jesse used to come back from a ride with a big smile on his face, like nothing in the world brought him more joy than riding. But today, Jesse’s face looked grim, his lips pressed into a firm, straight line.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” His eyes roamed over me from head to toe, taking in my retro black and white Good Vibes T-shirt with an orange and yellow rainbow and white denim mini with a frayed hem before returning to my face.
He looked exhausted. Motocross was a demanding sport, especially in the Texas heat, but still, it bothered me that doing laps had sapped all his energy.
“What are you doing here?”
It was starting to feel like we asked each other that question every time we saw each other. “I wanted to see you ride.” I nudged the toe of his boot with the toe of my Nike. Black with fluorescent coral, yellow and teal. Jesse had given them to me for my seventeenth birthday.
“When did it stop being fun for you?”
“Why would you ask that?”
