I’m just a random regular wife. I’m no stunning supermodel, and I don’t have some incredible smart brain to go cure diseases and solve world problems. I didn’t invent something incredible that brings in lots of money. No one stops me on the street and asks to get my autograph.
What do I do? Why am I even here? What’s the point of my one, boring life?
That fear tugs at me again. The wild, endless thoughts of Jett having so much fun out there on the track tonight that he decides to quit his day job and go back to racing professionally. I’ve been thinking I’d hate that idea because it would mean he’d be gone, and he wouldn’t care about us anymore. But that’s not true.
I know deep in my heart that he loves us more than anything. I’ve never questioned that. Yet my chest hurts and my thoughts are spinning in swirls of anxiety and stress over the whole subject of motocross racing.
My chest tightens, and my throat gets a huge lump in it. My heart quickens, and it feels like I can’t breathe.
But technically, I can breathe. I’m breathing right now.
This is a panic attack.
Calmly, and quickly, I stand up, tossing my hair over my shoulder like there’s not a thing wrong because I don’t want to talk to my parents right now. I just need some fresh air.
I push open the back door and step outside into the crisp, still warm October evening. The soft rumble of dirt bikes at The Track next door usually comforts me, like a familiar white noise machine in the background. Right now the sound grates on my nerves.
I take a deep breath and shake out my arms, wishing I could slough off the stress like a physical object that’s stuck to me. But these feelings are all intangible, yet sticky, gooey, and not going anywhere.
I’m just a wife and a mom.
I have no other talents.
All this pent up stress and anguish—it’s not about what my husband’s passions and dreams are. It’s about me, and how I don’t have any passions or dreams. He’s living his life and becoming something awesome. And I’m just here. Stagnant.
Chapter 12
Jett
It turns out that you don’t always get to keep a giant check after it’s presented to you for the cameras. That's okay, because the real fifty thousand dollars is deposited electronically, but it would have been cool to bring that huge plastic check home.
And the important part here is that I won the money. My muscles ache in places they haven’t hurt in a while, and I’m not sure I still have the endurance to do it again next week, but luckily I don’t have to. This was a one-time thing and I can’t wait to get back home with my huge pile of money—well, digital money since again, they didn’t let me keep the check—and share it with my family.
I debate calling Keanna and telling her or just keeping it a secret, but then as the team and I walk out of the greenroom after the races, and cameras flash in my face and reporters call my name, I realize there’s no way I can keep this a secret from her. Someone has probably texted her already with the news of the race results.
I answer some questions on camera, take a few photos, and then tell the guys of Team Loco that I have an early flight to catch so I need to skip going out to dinner with them. Technically, there’s plenty of time for dinner, but I’d rather FaceTime Keanna and Harper while lying on my hotel bed with the air conditioning on full blast.
I take an Uber to the airport at six in the morning. I am somehow exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Three days of racing was a lot, physically, but I am so pumped to have this extra cash. We still haven’t received a dime from the insurance money, so this will help.
The flight is short and easy, and soon I’m grabbing my suitcase off the conveyor belt and walking toward the exit. I scan the line of cars for Dad’s truck. When I don’t see it, I look again for Park’s truck. Confused, and hoping they didn’t forget about me, I look slower down the long line of cars waiting to pick up passengers.
Then I see Keanna’s car. What the hell?
I jog over and she steps out of the car, a big smile on her face. “Hi babe!”
”What are you doing here?” I ask, kissing her quickly while loading my suitcase in the trunk.
She puts her hands on her hips. “What? You’re not happy to see me?”
”Of course I’m happy to see you, but you didn’t have to drive all the way out here. My dad’s usually the one to do that.”
She shrugs. “I missed you a lot and I begged to come get you. Trust me, your dad did not like it one bit.” She laughs.
I hug her quickly then jump into the driver’s seat so no one honks at us for taking too long.
“Bad news,” she says, buckling her seatbelt and kicking back with her feet on the dash. “I’ve already found a way to spend allllll that money you won us.”
I laugh. “How’s that?”
