Supercross Me (Motocross Me #2) (13 page)

A few days later, Dad is out of the coma but still heavily medicated. The doctors are giving him a good prognosis, saying he should be able to come home in a week or so. He’ll probably need surgery later, but for now he’s alive. He’s been moved into a regular hospital room and out of intensive care. Without that wonderful news, I’m not sure how I’d be functioning. Molly has completely lost it. She’s been sitting next to Dad’s hospital bed every single day. And night. She hasn’t showered, and she’s only eaten a few things thanks to me practically force feeding her.

Luckily, Teig and I can manage on our own. We’ve ordered take out for lunch and gone to the Carter’s for dinner these last few days, but we’re managing. I spend most of my time at the track trying to keep things running smoothly, but I make sure to visit Dad every day. Teig has been really mature about the whole thing, and even though we’re both worried for Dad, he’s staying remarkably strong.

On Wednesday morning, Teig pours his Cheerios as if he’s scared about what will happen when he’s done.

“You okay?” I ask, grabbing a protein shake from the fridge and sitting next to him at the kitchen island. Our new routine is to eat breakfast and then head to the hospital for a few hours.

Teig makes this noncommittal movement with his head. “I was just thinking about how yesterday they said Dad probably wouldn’t be back home by next weekend.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too.” I down the protein shake and toss the bottle into the recycle bin. The bin’s almost full and I’m not really sure where to empty it. Molly normally takes care of that.

“Marty’s truck has been at the track every day this week,” Teig says. “I guess that means the Regionals are still on?”

“They have to go on. We can’t cancel it right now, not at the end of the series when everyone has already registered and stuff.”

Teig nods. “That’s what I was thinking but . . . can you and Marty run the whole thing? I don’t think Mom’s going to be back to reality any time soon.”

I sigh and resist the urge to ruffle my little brother’s hair and tell him it’ll all be perfectly fine. “We just have to hope that she will be okay. I’ll go talk to her today and remind her that the race is in a week. She’ll snap out of it.”

Teig frowns into his cereal. “I’ve never seen Mom like this.”

“Don’t be sad about it,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “That’s just true love. She cares about Dad so much that it’s turned her into a zombie.”

“That’s a weird way to love someone,” Teig says. “Do you love Ash like that?”

I stand up so quickly the barstool almost topples over. “
And
, that’s the end of this conversation,” I say. This time I do ruffle his hair. Maybe it’ll remind him that he’s a kid and has no business talking about love.

*

Some of Teig’s friends are driving in from Alabama to race in the Regionals this weekend, and they should be arriving some point today, so I let Teig stay home and wait for them. Honestly, he’s not missing anything since Dad is always sleeping and Molly is too busy fussing over him to bother acknowledging anyone else in the room anyway.

Marty waves me down as I’m leaving our driveway to head to the hospital. I can only visit dad for a few minutes today because I have waivers to copy and trophies to assemble. I stop and roll down my window, waiting for Marty to ride his four wheeler up to me.

“Jim still doing okay?” he asks, cutting the motor. “Dorothy is supposed to stop by and visit him after she talks to a few of the venders.”

I nod. “He’s doing okay. It’s Molly that we’re all worried about now.”

The wrinkles in Marty’s forehead deepen. “Listen, kid. Do you got a minute to stop by the track?”

“Sure, what’s going on?”

He starts up the four wheeler. “I’ll explain over there. Meet me at the tower.”

I know something is wrong when I drive up to the tower, and I’m pretty sure I know what it’s about. I guess I’ve just been hoping that Molly would snap out of it before the adults who run this place decided to talk to me about it.

Marty is sitting on the table part of a picnic bench, his feet on the long seat. I climb up next to him. The tense feeling in the air makes me think Marty might take off his baseball cap and hold it in his hands in some kind of mourning, but instead he just points out toward the track.

“They’ve already knocked down those two tabletops in the back,” he says, signaling to where the two massive jumps used to be. “And the whoops are flattened for now. They’re supposed to make them twice as tall for the Regionals.”

“At least the Regionals doesn’t get as many track changes as the Nationals did,” I say. “That was a freaking nightmare.”

“Not as many changes, no, but it’s the same track design crew that Jim hired for the Nationals last year. That’s probably why they’ve been so gracious this week, still working and all . . . They like Jim.”

It’s coming. Whatever Marty is going to drop on me, he’s about to do it. “Listen, Hana. I’ve been taking care of all operations since Jim went in the hospital, and I’m happy to, believe me. But I can’t sign the checks and these guys haven’t been paid at all. They’re threatening to pull out if they don’t get something soon.”

I draw in a deep breath. “Like how soon?”

Marty’s lips flatten together. “Today.”

“Oh,” I say with a little nod. “Is that the only problem?”’

“Well, yes, but we can’t do anything without payments. Fuel for the generators and tractors is expensive, and the electricity and internet bill are sitting on Jim’s desk in the tower, unpaid still. We’re short-staffed, but we can handle this. Even without Molly, as long as you, Shelby, and Ash are here, we should be fine.”

I bite my lip, not wanting to disappoint him or give him yet another thing to worry about, but he will find out eventually. “Actually, Ash won’t be here. He flew back to California this morning. He he’s getting his cast off and then racing on Saturday.”

“Damn,” Marty says, shaking his head. “His arm healed that quickly?”

I shrug. “It was only a small fracture. If he doesn’t race Saturday then he’ll screw up his racing season for good. He has to place at least third to stay at the top. Anyhow, he’s gone.”

Gone, meaning he’d left for the airport this morning without even saying goodbye. It’s not
that
dramatic, not really. I’d talked to him last night, told him good luck and goodbye. He was leaving at four in the morning, so I didn’t need an official goodbye phone call or anything. Besides, we still never talked about us, or the lack of us, or the beginning of a new us. Whatever was going on between Ash Carter and Hana Fisher was still a mystery because there just wasn’t time to talk about it.

Now, with dad stuck in the hospital and Molly practically comatose herself, Marty is counting on me to make things right. He throws an arm around my shoulders and gives me a friendly squeeze. “I don’t mean to put this pressure on you, kid, but you have to get Molly back here today. Hell, get her to sign a few checks, and I’ll do the rest. But we have to do something or this show can’t go on.”

“Wait,” I say, looking up. “We just need to sign the checks, right? You’ve got everything else under control?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Marty rubs his chin. “Pay the contractors, pay the flaggers and the work crew, set up for the races, show the media where to go . . . it’s a lot, but I guess I could handle it with you and the rest of our crew. But, we really need the checks, yeah.”

I inhale the warm morning air and burst into a smile. “I can definitely help with all that.  I’ll try to get Molly back here, but it probably won’t happen. Besides, we don’t need her,” I say, glancing up at the score tower next to us. “A couple of months ago, Dad put me on the track’s bank account.”

“He did?” Marty says, his expression brightening.

I nod. “Yeah. I remember going to the bank with him. That means I can write the checks.”

Marty throws his head back as if he’s thanking the heavens. “Well then! The show must go on! Your dad is going to be very proud of you.”

And just when it seemed as if this whole awful situation might possibly be somewhat under control, all the little comforts I had been allowed to feel were taken away again. Last night, Dad took a turn for the worse. It was something about fluid around his heart—I never got the details through Molly’s sobbing—and they moved him back into the ICU after he’d finally gotten his own room on a normal, non-life-threatening floor. Because of the Regionals happening this weekend, Molly doesn’t want anyone to know that Dad’s condition has worsened. She doesn’t want them to worry or freak out or spread the news to the media.

So she, Teig, and I had sat in Dad’s ICU room until four in the morning. I’ve never prayed as hard as I did last night. I’ve also never known a person could cry so much and for so long that their eyelids would swell as if they’d been stung by a bee. Molly’s eyes looked like that. They probably still do. She’s a total mess.

But at four-fifteen, I carefully stood up from my fake leather hospital chair and extracted my arm from Molly’s. Teig was asleep in her lap like a five-foot-nine-inch baby, his feet propped up on Dad’s hospital bed. I found a doctor in the hallway and he explained to me that my dad would most likely be okay. He’d need some rehab and surgery, but they didn’t expect anything fatal to come of this.

“Of course, I can’t make any promises in these early stages,” he said.

That was all I needed to feel okay about leaving. If Dad dies, me being there isn’t going to stop it. If he lives, I’ll see him after the races, and again, my presence won’t do anything to change the outcome. The track needs me there, to make sure that we are still open for business, and that we earn the money from this Regionals race that we need to survive.

All I can do is hope for the best, and then work my ass off to make it happen.

I stare at the coffee maker in our kitchen, watching it brew a pot of French roast. Coffee has never been my thing, but it’s seven in the morning and I slept for exactly forty-five minutes. If it takes half a bag of sugar to make the dark liquid drinkable, then that’s what I’ll do. Something needs to keep me awake today.

It’s twenty-four hours until race day and things are actually going as smoothly as I hoped they would. The pits are overflowing with racers and their families, and I managed to get them all signed in with only Dorothy’s help. Massive motorhomes and small tents fill the track’s sixteen acres. Professional motocross scouts are setting up, reviewing the resumes of the teenage racers who have dreams of going pro. Dorothy has set up the computer software and printed out the moto lists for the races tomorrow. Trophies are assembled, thanks to hours of Teig and me putting them together in the middle of the night, prize money has been counted and separated into envelopes, and the track guys have revamped our motocross track into something worthy of an award.

I uncap the thermos I brought from home and down another gulp of coffee. It scalds my throat, but I ignore the pain and gaze out at the track from the tower’s second-floor window. Marty drives the water truck over the dirt, making sure it’s packed down and wet enough to ride on tomorrow. It’ll be another scorching hot Texas day, and the track needs to be watered frequently so it doesn’t turn into a dried out dust ball.

Dorothy walks in wearing a purple Mixon Motocross shirt and a pair of jean shorts that go down to her knees. Having her around helps make everything feel normal and safe even when it isn’t. She’s like the grandmother I never had, and I feel the sudden urge to run up and hug her. I’m just about to do that when a man wearing khakis and a crisp button up shirt enters the room behind her. The presence of a stranger ruins the moment, and even worse, there’s something intense about this guy that doesn’t seem quite right. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m pretty sure he’s not here for a casual hello.

I take another sip from my coffee, wishing the term liquid courage came from this drink and not the other kind of drink that I don’t have right now. “Good morning,” I say, meeting the man’s skeptical gaze. “How can I help you?”

He glances at Dorothy as if one look at me was all the evidence he needed to settle some bet between the two of them. “Are you the kid in charge?”

Excuse you?

I grip my coffee as if I drink it every day. “I’m the legal adult who is in charge, yes. What can I do for you?”

“Where is Jim Fisher?” he demands.  “Why isn’t he here? I drove all the way from Dallas this morning. We’ve had this meeting scheduled for two months.”

“What meeting?” I ask, taking in his clean-cut look one more time. Are we in some kind of legal trouble?

He snorts. “I guess Jim wasn’t as serious as he sounded on the phone. My money is clearly better used elsewhere. Do me a favor and pass the word onto Jim that I don’t appreciate him wasting my time.”

He turns toward the door, but I beat him to it, pressing my back against the cool metal surface. “You want to try that again?” I say, all of the worry and lack of sleep surfacing in the venom in my voice. “Who are you and what is the meeting about? I can probably settle this for you.”

“I am Mark Durant, an investor,” he says condescendingly. He presses his lips together but doesn’t try to move me away from the door. “Jim was seeking a half-a-million-dollar investment to open a second motocross track in Dallas. He assured me that our meeting today would show me exactly how successful he is in this business, but he’s ignored all of my phone calls and doesn’t even seem to be here, so I really have to question the integrity of the man who’s asking for my money.”

I take my time drinking another sip of coffee, but really I’m letting all of this information sink in. Dad was hoping to open a new track a few hours away? He hadn’t told me anything about it. Mark clears his throat impatiently, and I step aside. Something in the way he looks at me like I’m some kind of idiot doesn’t sit well with me.

I mock him and clear my throat as well. “Sorry you had to come all this way, Mr. Durant, but we won’t be needing your investment. We’re going another way.”

“Another way?” he scoffs. “Who the hell would invest in a chunk of dirt with a guy you can’t get a hold of who has no credit score because he claims he doesn’t believe in credit?”

Anger boils inside of me, reaching a tipping point in the form of full bitch mode. “Sorry not everyone is a slave to high interest credit cards,” I seethe, using words I’d heard my dad say about debt before.

“Whoa now, little girl,” the man says, holding up his hands in a joking surrender. “This is an adult matter, so you don’t need to get all upset over things you don’t understand.”

Dorothy steps forward and says my name, but I ignore her. “Jim is in the ICU fighting for his life right now, you dumbass. Had I known about the meeting I would have cancelled it, but I didn’t because we’ve all been busy keeping this place running. You know who would invest in a chunk of dirt with Jim Fisher?” I ask, standing to my full height. “Someone who wants to make a lot of money.”

I throw open the door. “Too bad that’s not going to be you. Now get the hell off my property.”

He leaves, and I slam the door behind him, then I sink to my knees on the cold floor. All the stress of this week and time at the hospital, and I hadn’t cried, but now it’s about all I can do. Exhaustion overtakes me, and my head feels swollen from all the tears. Dorothy pats my back, bending down as far as her old bones will let her.

“Honey, you need to go home and get some sleep.”

I shake my head. “Why would Dad want an investor? I didn’t even know he was thinking of opening a new track. Do you think he’s out of money?”

Dorothy shakes her head. “No, honey. Your father is very good with money. People get investors for all kinds of reasons. But I think you made the right call with that one. He was a bad seed.”

“More like an asshole,” I mutter.

“You need to go home and get some sleep,” she says, her hand on my shoulder.

“I can’t. The races are tomorrow and everyone is showing up today. There’s still people to register and—”

“I’ve been registering racers since you were a baby, Hana.” Dorothy chuckles. “I’ll handle it for now. You get some sleep and come back this afternoon. That’s an order.”

I push up to my feet and nod. It’s only seven-thirty in the morning. A few hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt. Unlike the last few nights that I have sat up worrying about the track and Dad and Ash, I think I’ll actually be able to fall asleep without a problem now. My body has finally become so exhausted that nothing can keep it awake any longer.

Before I leave, I turn back to Dorothy, who has already started making copies on the copier.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck doing all of this without me or Dad to help,” I say, just as a yawn overtakes me. “I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Dorothy says as her gaze softens. “The motocross family sticks together no matter what.”

*

Waking up in the afternoon always feels wrong. Like I’ve fallen asleep in the real world and awoken on some strange foreign land, where morning is when the sun is starting to droop over the horizon. My thoughts are heavy and my chest still aches when I roll over in bed and remember back to last night and this morning. This has been a terrible two weeks, and tomorrow is the biggest business day of the year for Mixon Motocross Park. Although our staff most likely has everything under control, it still feels like it’s all up to me to make sure everything works out.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I immediately wish I were at the hospital with Dad instead of at home trying to run things like it’s a normal day. Staying home and working feels like a daughter’s betrayal of her father, but at the same time, being at work seems like something Dad would want me to do. He’d prefer me to be here, helping the track, right? Not stuck at the hospital fussing over him when that’s what the nurses and doctors are for.

Still, it doesn’t feel exactly right. In bed, I close my eyes and stretch my arms up over my head. Everything hurts. Sleep has only cured the exhausted parts of me, leaving all of the broken parts still aching for relief.

I am worried about Dad.

I miss Ash.

When I check my phone, I see two missed calls from Shelby and then a text from her.

Dorothy said she sent you home to sleep. Don’t worry about us, we’re keeping the track afloat and I’ve already signed in three extremely hot guys. Don’t tell Jake.

I smile despite the pain and check on my other text message. It’s from Teig, telling me that the doctor made him leave the room so he could talk to Molly. I let out a ragged breath and try to type something back to him, something comforting and assuring, but I’ve got nothing.

If Ash were here, he’d know what to say. It’s probably some kind of sleep-induced insanity, but I can’t stop the sudden urge to want to call him and tell him everything. It’s a few hours earlier in California, but he’s no doubt practicing for the supercross race tomorrow. He’s currently ranked second in the whole nation, and after missing three races from his broken arm, he said he has to place at least third tonight or he risks losing a podium finish for this season.

Not finishing in the top three would be detrimental to his rookie career and he might even lose his sponsorship. His racing reputation would crash; he’d lose endorsements and have to build it all back again. I know how important the supercross race tomorrow is for him, so I can’t call him. I can’t text him, and I can’t give into my selfish desires to make him listen to all of my problems just because I know he’ll have something to say that will fix it all and make it all seem a little better than it really is. He needs to be focused right now.

As much as it hurts me to go without hearing his voice, I leave the phone in my pocket and decide to give him this night to himself. After the race tomorrow, maybe I’ll call him.

I head back to the track to finish setting up for tomorrow morning, and I tell myself that ignoring Ash is for his benefit, not mine. The truth is something I bury deep down in my subconscious, because there’s work to be done, and I don’t have time to spend on the thought that Ash and I aren’t really together and that my problems aren’t really any of his concern.