“Jace! I said don’t be rude! Look, it’s been five months, okay? A lot has happened since then and I just want to say hi and tell you I miss you. I really think we could be good together.”
I exhale slowly. “You should have thought about that before you fucked that dude.”
I don’t say his name because he’s not worth it.
“Jace! Come on! Stop being stupid! Where are you? Let’s go to dinner or something and talk.”
I’m feeling pretty damn vindicated that she has no idea I’m not still in California. “Stop calling me,” I say. “I don’t want to hear from you again, or I swear I’ll break this phone in half.”
It’s a little dramatic, but at this very moment, I believe it. I’ll throw the damn thing into the fire. I am so done with this girl and all the bullshit she’s put me through. I hang up and don’t wait for her answer.
It feels pretty awesome to have told her off, though. Tomorrow will be a better day.
Chapter 6
I’m refreshed the next morning. Before I’ve even poured a bowl of cereal, I feel like a new man already. Maybe telling her off was exactly what I needed, the last piece in the puzzle of starting over my life. The drive to the bike shop takes forever, especially in this slow ass rental car, but eventually I get there and I get my tire and head home as fast as I can. I’m aching to ride my bike again. I feel useless without it.
I usually have a mechanic at the races, someone we hire to take care of my bikes and fix anything that goes wrong so I can focus only on the races. But out here, I’m all alone and I’m happy my dad made me learn how to take care of a bike myself. A lot of these rich ass idiots from Cali only care about riding the bike, not fixing them. But it’s a skill you need to know. Not to get all philosophical and shit, but knowing how to take your bike apart and then put it back together again makes you one with the bike. You care more about it when you understand how it works.
I quickly change out the popped tire for the new one and then throw on some riding gear. The stuff I wore yesterday smells like a rank ass locker room, so I grab a clean pair of red and black gear from my suitcase. Motocross gear is kind of like a jersey mixed with protective equipment. The pants have breathable areas so you don’t sweat your balls off, but they also have thick patches of leather on the inside so the muffler pipe doesn’t burn your legs. My jersey is mostly a mesh fabric to keep you cool and my last name, Adams, is printed on the back of it.
It feels great to be back out here, soaring over jumps and sliding full throttle around the massive sweeper turn I put at the back of the property. I ride all day, only stopping for lunch and to refill with gas, and then I get back on my bike and ride some more.
At dusk, I figure I can ride a few more laps before it’s too dark to see. And then my chain busts.
Seriously? What else is going to break on this stupid thing? Maybe I’m riding it too hard. Maybe Fate is just being a huge bitch to me right now.
I pull off my shirt and wipe the sweat from my face, then push my bike back up to the house where there’s a porchlight so I can assess the damage. The good news is that I have a new bike chain already, so I won’t have to waste time driving to the nearest shop tomorrow.
I pull off the chain and study it, wondering what made it break. Dirt bike chains are thicker and stronger than regular bicycle chains, but they also go through a lot more damage when riding.
A shadow moves in the upstairs balcony of the house next door. I don’t bother looking over. It’s probably that old guy deciding if he wants to come yell at me again. Then there’s a small crashing sound, like glass breaking, and I still don’t look up.
The shadow talks. “Oh my God, no!”
It’s a female voice, and it sounds like someone younger, not like an old woman. But it also sounded really fake and weird, so I ignore it. Then she talks again. “This sucks!”
She sounds distressed, and I put two and two together. She must have just broken something. I look up, but the shadowy figure has disappeared. A few seconds later, a girl walks out the back door, bending down to where whatever she broke has landed.
I can’t help myself, I walk over there.
“Hi,” I say, waving so she doesn’t get scared out of her mind when she turns and sees some strange dude standing here.
“Hello,” she says, standing and facing me. Oddly, she doesn’t seem surprised at all to see me here. Most girls freak out when guys appear in the dark. We shake hands. “I’m Bayleigh,” she says, her lips twisting into a nervous grin.
My stomach tightens. When I’d heard her cry out, she sounded younger, like a kid. Now I see she’s not a kid at all. She’s my age. And she’s really cute.
But I am not allowed to think that because I’ve sworn off women and dating and everything that goes with them.
“I’m Jace,” I say remembering that we just shook hands. “What happened?”
She cradles some broken glass in her hand. “I dropped it, and it rolled off.” She frowns and tosses the pieces down to where the remnants of a snow globe sit on the concrete. “It’s definitely not repairable.”
“That blows.” I take a deep breath and keep the conversation light. “Do you collect snow globes?”
“It was my mom’s.” She nods toward the room with the balcony. “That room was hers and it still has all of her stuff in it.”
“So this is your grandparent’s house?” I ask.
