Everything Changes (27 page)

“Thank God…” He breathed in relief, his weight
crashing against me. His mouth and tongue showed me in eager kisses that he
couldn’t slow down, and I didn’t want him to.

Everything about today seemed somewhat awkward,
but it also seemed right. Now that we were together again, we let our bodies
speak for us. Just like the rain back home, it was natural and something you
could sense just by the changes in wind. You knew it, prepared for it, and over
time, became accustomed to it as though it was just a part of the day.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, Parker was a
natural part of me.

And maybe rain wasn’t exactly a good example, but
it was all I could come up with when he was close like that.

Either way, we were together for now. He didn’t
forget what I enjoyed either, what sent me over the edge, and I didn’t forget
that when I arched into him he’d pull himself closer.

My body burned for him. I wanted him in ways I’d
never want another.

“Christ, Rowan,” he grunted, his hands flying to
my hips to slow my movements. “Slow down…it’s been a while.”

“I know,” I said into his shoulder, shaking. I
wasn’t shaking from the pleasure, though there was that. I was shaking because
I was scared. Those jumbled thoughts had me wanting to tell him how much I
loved him. They wanted to beg him to stay here with me and forget about
everything else the world wanted from either of us.

“Do you honestly know?” he asked, looking at me
with curiosity, his blue burning into me.
 
He slowed his movements. “Do you
know
that you’re the only one
for me? Do you know how bad it hurts me to be away from you?”

I didn’t say anything. Once again, I said
nothing. He confessed his love in not so many words to me,
again
, and I
said nothing.

Sometimes I thought it was better not to ask and
keep the situation what it was. I felt like if I asked and the answer wasn’t
what I wanted, it would crush me. Then I would be left with more heartache than
I already had. I would be left with devastation. Just because we had something
now didn’t meant that I wouldn’t walk away if I found out there was someone
else who had taken my place. By not asking, I didn’t have to force myself away.
It was a shitty way to look at it but I did.

In his arms, feeling his weight, I wondered if he
too was just getting by until we saw each other again, but then again, that
answer may not have been what I wanted to hear either, so I didn’t ask.

CHAPTER 14

Rowan Jensen

Traffic

Being in traffic is a
situation in which a rider encounters a group of other bikes, usually back
markers, and is finding it difficult to get past.

January
31, 1998

I had to pee, badly. I wasn’t expecting was to
run into Kurt when I went to the bathroom across the hall from Parker’s room.
Kurt smiled, his eyes widened only a fraction of inch, but his grin slipped
into a full smile when he saw me wearing Parker’s shirt. “Well good morning,
sweetheart. Fun night?”

Nodding, I danced past him to the bathroom, went
pee, and then he was still standing there smiling. Parker’s bedroom door was
open, and I could see him on his stomach, the sheets pooling around his waist.

We both stood there for a moment before he
chuckled. “Nice to see you again.”

My stomach flip flopped thinking about why I was
here when Kurt stepped back and leaned against the wall, his head nodding
towards Parker’s room. “He missed you.”

My brow knitted. “I missed him too.”

Kurt didn’t anything else and when I cleared my
throat, he knew I was feeling a tad uncomfortable and let me go back into
Parker’s room.

I sat on the bed in wondering what I was doing
here and more importantly, what he was doing with me. Surely, he’d have women
throwing themselves at him these days.

Women flocked to Supercross races with their tits
hanging out and legs spread. It was as though those bikes represented stripper
poles to them.

Before we left for the track, he asked the
question I was dreading. “Are you mad I didn’t call?”

I couldn’t look at him sitting next to me on his
bed. I didn’t want him to see the raw guilt I had for letting him leave and the
resentment a good part of me still had for him not calling.

I shrugged.

He lifted his hand to tuck a loose strand of my
hair behind my ear before letting it drop back to the bed. He knew then I
wasn’t going to look at him.

He sighed, stood, and walked over to the window
keeping his back to me. “I thought maybe you didn’t want me to…and then after a
while I had to know why you let me leave so easily. I thought if you didn’t
take my call I would get my answer.” He turned to face me, his eyes on the
floor, his hands buried in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “But then you answered
and everything changed.” His answer was so real and just as raw as my pain
because things had changed again. I didn’t know what group of traffic we’d run
into, but things had definitely changed again.

The day was spent at the Edison International Field
with Parker and his mechanic, Collin
Seely
. Collin
seemed like a nice guy but spent a good amount of time staring at the pro hos
surrounding the Yamaha tent. A pro
ho
was basically a
groupie for Supercross racers. They spent their time trying to gain the racers’
attention and knew nothing about the actual racing. They were in it for one
thing, money.

I had never been to a Supercross race, and I
spent most of the time in awe at the size of everything. It was also thrilling
because I was there with Parker who was a star in the series. I learned a lot
about his lifestyle that day too and the amount of hard work that went into it.
Suddenly him not calling made sense. He raced Saturdays. Sundays were his only
day off. Monday through Thursday he was training, practicing, and doing any
sponsorship commitments he had. Friday was spent traveling to the venue they
were at and then they were back to Saturday night racing. It required
commitment and the more they won, the harder it was.

Looking around at the sheer size of everything, I
finally grasped how cool it was that Parker had made it.

The pits at a pro race consisted of tents for all
the major manufactures where the bikes lined up. The mechanics worked on the
bikes while the riders signed autographs and made hospitality visits when they
weren’t racing.

Watching him doing interviews with various sports
broadcasting stations gave me a little more insight into the change within him.
His stance was slightly guarded as he looked around often, giving glances and
nods to those that walked by and said his name, though he never actually looked
at them. He seemed almost absent in mind but here in body.

Then his eyes would catch mine as I stood near
the Yamaha tent with Kurt and his mechanic. He held me with his eyes, one long
intense look after another. I felt like he was trying to tell me what I wasn’t
seeing. I felt my face flush and wanted to look away. Only Parker looked away
first, his attention drawn back to the reporter as he started talking about the
track layout and the setbacks he was having with running a different shock this
weekend.

That was when I became obsessed with memorizing
every detail about him from the way his stance shifted often to the way his
eyes lit up when he talked about being back racing. You could see it in his
eyes and smile that racing bikes was part of his soul and more than just a
career he pursued.

Being a factory rider seemed to be taking a toll
on Parker, but then again, this was what he wanted.

A factory ride was to sell motorcycles by calling
attention to the brand through winning. There were advantages to landing a
factory ride: huge contracts, notoriety, and job security. Where he once had to
pay for bikes, travel, and entry fees, those things were now taken care of.

On race days, factory riders operated out of
well-equipped eighteen wheelers instead of box vans. There were disadvantages
too. A factory rider’s contract dealt with salary, injury clauses, testing,
promotional requirement, and conduct clauses. Conduct clauses had the potential
to end a career early as Parker once saw, but then again, maybe he learned from
that.

With Dusty out for a shoulder injury, I hoped
that wasn’t an issue an again.

Money was also something those guys weren’t
hurting for. That was evident by the brand new Chevy pickup he was driving
around in.

On average, the salary for a factory rider was
$500,000 a year for good riders. Top riders often garnered boot, helmet, and
clothing endorsements that could boost that salary well over a million a year.
Did I mention these riders were usually twenty-five and under? That was a lot
of money for a kid.

When they won, most riders received bonuses for
winning races and championships as well.

Winning wasn’t always easy, and when you had a
contract with a major manufacture, you were expected to perform and do as you
were told. When signing a contract, you gave up any claim that the manufacture
equipment is liable for any potential injury. The biggest hurdle seemed to be
when they were racing they had to promote dealerships and attend autograph
signings. It didn’t matter if they didn’t want to go. If they didn’t, it could
result in fines by the manufacture.

There was no retirement, workers comp, or health
insurance.

And then there was the pressure to win…something
Parker was starting to feel.

Not every rider out there was a factory rider.
Actually, there were only twelve in the series that year. The rest were
privateers, riders without the financial backing of a factory or major
sponsorship. They covered most of their expenses themselves and traveled along
with friends working on their bikes.

Most had deals with bike shops to make it, but
lining up against factory boys on the starting gate was intimidating when
you’re a privateer. You could see it on their faces.

Why?

Well not only are they more talented in most
cases, but they’ve got their own Supercross tracks to practice on. While
factory guys were practicing, those privateers were struggling to make it to
the next race.

Most of my time was spent inside the hauler
avoiding everyone. Occasionally, Parker would sneak in, say hello, and then
someone else would grab his attention. Jack and Michelle were there, so I spent
some time talking with them. They were happy to see me, asked about
Addy
and my parents, and then confessed they were glad I
came, saying I was good for Parker’s mood.

I hated to think that he would have been acting
like I was back home, but then again, if I had the same effect on him that he
had on me, the outcome was probably the same.

I did sneak out when he was on the track to watch
him race in the heat races. Heat races were held before the main events as a
way to test yourself against the night’s competition. They were only six laps
and determined their spot on the starting gate.
 

When I got down there for the main event, all the
riders gathered in the staging area, and they were just about to start. I stood
beside Michelle when Jack walked over with the rest of the mechanics and Collin
to hold the pit board. That was the board they used to relay messages to the
riders during the race since they didn’t have radios.

My favorite part was watching them line up at the
starting gate, engines revving, bikes rocking as they prepared themselves for
twenty laps of racing. Some of the riders had pre-race jitters. You could tell
as they rocked their bikes back and forth getting their race face on. Some
shook out their hands and arms, trying to loosen up, while others rolled their
necks from side to side or kept their head down, focused on the gate.

Parker seemed agitated, Collin right by his head
yelling orders at him. Parker was adjusting his gloves and goggles when I saw
him look my direction. Our eyes stayed focused for a moment before he gave me a
nod and then put his head down and stared at the gate.

A girl wearing tight leather pants walked onto
the track to stand about thirty feet in front of them. All the riders focused
on her as she held the card that gave the countdown to the race. When she
turned it sideways, indicating there were five seconds left, the twenty-four
bikes along the starting gate all revved, screaming as they raised the RPMs,
the smells of racing gas and dirt surrounding us. The crowd of twenty thousand
stood on their feet cheering on their favorite riders, completely engrossed on
these twenty-four riders and anxious to get the racing under way.

A haze of white smoke hovered in the stadium as
the bikes continued to rev, each rider aggressively twisting the throttle to
warm their bikes.

Then the nerves hit me. I had never seen Parker
race in person. Michelle noticed and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Just
breathe.”

When I saw him race, I truly understood what this
meant to him and why he needed to be doing this.
 
I saw a side of Parker in Moab and in that
clearing that I didn’t see anywhere else. His love for dirt bikes was what
completed him. After his dad died, he needed this to prove he had that talent
Dusty was quick to dismiss.