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I twist to face him. caught off guard by the agony in his face. “We can’t just think about ourselves anymore,” I whisper, swiping away the heaviest tears as they let loose. “We have to think about her too.”
“She shouldn’t be around me.” He leans back against the truck, his head hung, and his shoulders slumping forward. “You shouldn’t be.”
My hands seek him out, wanting to ease his pain.
And just like that, his hostile mood returns. Abruptly, his body tenses and he straightens his posture. “What should I do? What do you want from me? What does she want from me?”
“I don’t know.” I honestly don’t know. I have no idea what to do myself. My hands slip from his shoulders. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. Just that I’m trying to do right by her. . . and what Ava wanted. And that was for her to know who you are.”
“Do you really think that’s for the best?” he asks between his teeth. “I don’t know what everyone wants from me. Sponsors, promoters. . . they want me to be myself, and when I am that guy, when I do what I do best, which is destroy everything good and show them who I am, they don’t want the bad boy. I don’t understand what they thought I would do.” His expression is one of frustration, annoyance, and underneath it, honesty.
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this from him. Tiller and every other rider in the sport have the right to feel like the sport dictates how they behave. What did they expect him to do with the pressures put upon him? Do they honestly expect a twenty-three-year-old kid, who’s been in the spotlight since he was old enough to walk, would know exactly when and how to turn his aggression on and off?
But still, this has nothing to do with what’s going on with his career. This should be about River and the fact that he can’t just think about his career anymore. He has a daughter. “I know you’re frustrated, but again, this kind of thing can’t happen in her presence.”
Tiller stands, his eyes shifting toward me briefly, before darting back to the parking lot we’re parked in. He stands straight and steps toward me. He looks restless again. I want to take away his pain and his burdens, but I shouldn’t have to. “I’m sorry.” His hands frame my face. “That was a douche move and I know it. I didn’t mean to take any of that out on you or put you guys in danger.”
I nod, tears pooling in my eyes, but I don’t cry.
His chest expands in a deep breath and he shakes his head, his voice softening. “This is why I didn’t want her to know me.”
I know Tiller well enough to know when he apologizes, he means it. It’s then in a parking lot outside of Bakersfield with the warm morning air blowing through my hair, I finally understand him. He’s scared of the responsibility that comes with being a dad. He keeps his guard up because he fears he won’t be good enough to be someone’s father, and my father has just thrown that in his face.
I shiver despite the warm air. Goose bumps of a different kind graze over my skin. His lips brush against my neck once again, and it’s one of the sweetest gestures he’s ever made, followed by, “I really am sorry.”
I know what you’re thinking, or maybe I’m assuming I know. But you’re probably under the impression I was being reckless and put Amberly and River in danger?
Um, hello. . . I did. I’m not arguing that. I put myself in danger every day performing aerial maneuvers while soaring dozens of feet through the air without a safety net, regularly flirting with danger and death. I get off on that.
But when innocent lives are involved. . . I shouldn’t have done that, and I know once Amberly realizes how dysfunctional I really am, she probably already knows, she’ll leave and take the kid with her. I won’t blame her.
I won’t stop her. You and I both know a someone like me can’t keep them both.
“Holy shit, have you even slept?” Scarlet takes in my appearance as I sit outside, drinking a beer at nine in the morning. “And where were you this weekend?”
I didn’t tell anyone where I was going this weekend. No surprise there. I come and go as I please around here.
Twirling my cell phone around in my hand, I drop it on my lap. “Mind ya bisness.”
“Jerk.” Scarlet frowns, her phone in her hand beeping with messages, one right after another. “Fine.” She pulls out a notebook from inside her shirt like it’s a wad of cash. “Since you’re missing rounds five and six of After Dark, I’m assuming you’re coming to Seattle with us for round six in three weeks, right?”
Do you notice the way she raises her eyebrow? She’s waiting for me to argue with her. Which I’m going to. Leaning forward, I retrieve a cigarette from the pack and light it. Then I look at her. “I like Seattle so maybe I’ll go to that one. And I’ll go to Vegas, but the rest are out.”
She clicks her pen and makes some notes. “You gonna fake another injury?”
At first, I don’t respond to her remark because my shoulder injury isn’t fake. I’m more concerned with the fact that she’s using a notebook she pulled out of her tits to take notes rather than the thousand-dollar iPhone I guarantee does the same thing for her.
Taking my cigarette from my lips, I pull in one last drag and then take the tip and hold it to her notebook. The paper smokes, embers floating and landing on her bare thighs. She brushes them aside. “You ass. I need this book.” Frantically she pats at the white smoking paper, dropping her phone to the stone patio in the process as she tries to put the fire out.
“Why?” I chuckle, inhaling another drag. Taking my beer, I dump it on the notebook. “You have a phone for that.”
The beer splatters all over the table, and Scarlet. “God, Tiller. Why do you have to be such a dick all the time.”
“Relax, northwest.” I lean my head back against the chair, staring up at the haze-filled sky. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough.”
If only you knew, baby.