Page 38

Usually, during the downtime of a freestyle event, I’m swamped with riders and patrons checking the products out and sometimes purchasing.
Cody’s stalling, smiling at River, but he wants to ask me something. Then he does. “I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tomorrow night.”
Do you see the flash of uncertainty in my eyes? What about the way I flick my eyes to Tiller’s—who’s watching me—and then back to Cody. “Like a date?”
He nods. “Yeah. I know you’ve been really busy with River lately. . . I just thought maybe a night out might help.”
He’s right. I could, couldn’t I? I know better than to taunt Tiller, I do, but then again, what’s he doing to me but making sure I’m never touched by anyone but him?
“Sure. Let’s do it,” I tell Cody, instantly regretting the words, the gnawing sensation of guilt eating away at the lining of my stomach. Deep down, I know what’s going to happen, but I’m still going to try. If not for me, for River, who deserves better than the life I’m subjecting her to by being around Tiller. Or at least that’s my reasoning for now.
Hours later, the heavy sounds of the event have disappeared and team trailers file out of the city and onto the highway. It’s late, later than I should have her out, but River’s asleep in my car and thankfully not present when Tiller catches me again as I’m closing up the merchandise trailer.
“What was that about?” he asks, sarcasm lacing his voice. He’s shirtless, holding a beer in his hand and it’s on purpose. The shirtless part. Maybe even the beer.
Drawing in a heavy breath, I let it out, preparing myself for what he’s going to say. I can never be sure with him. It’s always, usually, unexpected.
“When you’re with him. . . do you think of me?” His voice lingers, suffocating my mind like the vise it is for me.
And then I’m upset. I’m so tired of this game between the two of us, most of which I have probably created myself by allowing him to treat me like his own personal toy.
I shove against Tiller’s chest, trying to create some distance, but he’s drunk—fresh off the win—sleepy-lidded eyes and pink cheeks, so he pushes back, trapping me against the side of the trailer like he did earlier. “You can’t think about anyone but me, can you?”
“Tiller. . . ,” I sigh, sinking into the cool metal against my back. “You’re driving me crazy tonight. I need to get River in bed.”
He corners me, one hand on the trailer beside my head. Waiting, he brings his beer to his lips. I watch the action, entranced in everything he does. When he swallows, he stares at me. “Are you going out with him?” His lips barely move over the words, his eyes penetrating my soul with their depth.
“Yes, I am. Why do you care?”
Like he’s lost in thought, he swallows over what seems like a lump in his throat, his boots shifting, but his eyes never leaving mine. “Because I do.”
My eyes focused on his, my brow scrunches in determination. “I think you’re bi-polar.”
He shrugs. Like this kind of relationship, this push and pull is normal or makes sense.
“Tiller?” Ricky comes around the corner. “Time to head out.”
Holding his breath, Tiller steps back from me and gives Ricky a nod, and then begins to walk away.
I watch his retreat, lost in the rush of blood to my head.
His hands are in the pockets of his riding pants, head bent forward. My eyes move over his inked body and the skeleton with the crow on his back, wishing I understood the meaning behind it. Turning, maybe knowing I’m watching him, a smug smile comes over him. I know what that means. It’s in the way his eyes shift to mine and the faint condescending smile present.
The devil knows his art and always plays his cards right. He’s going to ruin my date.
Monday mornings around our place are usually fairly boring. Not a lot goes on, and you’d be surprised to know the house is somewhat empty.
It’s. . . I don’t know, around ten in the morning? I’m sitting in the hot tub drinking a beer and contemplating crashing at Nells’s place for the rest of the week. At least maybe then my mind might stop.
Leaning my head back against the stucco ledge, I stare up at the bright blue sky and the haze of the distant wildfires. It’s times like this—when I can’t get out of my own head—when I feel like the world is disappearing in front of me. Or maybe it’s me who’s fading away. There’s an empty burning in my lungs, and my heart hits my chest so hard I think it’ll break my ribs and rip apart my skin. And I’m not even high.
And there’s a void. A black hole in my head, deep inside my soul, slowly swallowing the rest of me. That’s what keeps me from sleeping and has me wondering what I’m living for anyway.
Maybe for me. Maybe for others. Does it really matter?
And when I can’t find my answers in the hazy smoke-filled sky, the anxiety turns into panic and I usually turn to substance. But the thing is, I don’t want to be high all the time, just to get through the day.
Do you notice the way my body is tense? The way my mind—no matter how hard I try—never strays far from her a girl with purple hair and the one at her feet with freckles dusted on her cheeks?