With my gaze to the floor, I see a pair of lime green Hey Dudes approach me. My wife has a dozen pairs of these shoes. I wish more than anything that these shoes in front of me belonged to her and not a stranger. This woman is probably a few years younger than me. Maybe in college. She bites her lip and holds up her phone toward me.
”Is this you?”
Her phone screen displays my social media profile.
“No,” I say, stepping around her.
“Wait!” She follows me, scrolling through my recently posted photos. “This has to be you! I’ve followed you for years, so I know what you look like even if I haven’t met you in person. You’re Jett Adams, right? Son of Jace Adams? My mom was like totally obsessed with Jace when she was younger, and she raised me to like motocross too and?—”
”I have no idea who that is,” I say. “Sorry. It’s not me.”
”But you’re wearing a Team Loco shirt.”
I stop, both because I’ve been caught in a lie, and because I’m at the end of the terminal. I can’t keep walking or I might miss boarding for my flight. “I’m really not in the mood to talk to anyone.”
Her eyebrows lift up into a really pitiful puppy face expression. “We don’t have to talk. Can I get a selfie with you? Maybe an autograph?” She sees the look on my face and says, “Just a selfie is fine. Please?”
Dad always taught me to be respectful to fans. He had his own issues with overzealous fans, too, but at the end of the day the fans are what make motocross so popular. The fans give us a reason to get paid to do the sport we love so much, and if we’re mean to them then we risk losing everything. Plus no one wants a bad TikTok video about them to go viral.
I take a deep breath. On the positive side, this girl hasn’t said anything about my house burning down, so maybe that hasn’t hit the news yet. She’s not being overly crazy toward me and she did ask nicely. She doesn’t know that this is the worst day of my life and that I’m going absolutely insane with worry as I wait to get home to be with my family. She’s just an innocent fan.
”Okay.” I run a hand through my hair. “Sorry I lied. It’s just been a really long, stressful day. We can take a selfie.”
”Really? Oh-my-god-thank-you-so-much!” She squeals, jumping up and down, and it’s an effort not to roll my eyes. I am seriously NOT that famous. Especially not anymore—I quit professional racing years ago. Besides being Jace Adams’ son, I’m basically a nobody.
She puts her phone in selfie mode and stays a respectful distance away from me as we lean in to take the photo. I smile, let her take a few of them so she can pick her favorite, then tell her I really need to get going. Luckily, she doesn’t follow me.
It’s so freaking weird posing for fan photos knowing everything I own that’s not in my suitcase has been burnt to a crisp. This is probably an exciting day for her but it’s a terrible day for me.
But at least they’re both okay. I just need to get home to them.
I head back toward the waiting area and dig a hoodie out of my suitcase. Pulling it on, I lift the hood up and sit in the chair closest to the loading door. I need to disappear from any fans until I’m back home and my life is put back together.
By some miracle—a middle of the night flight, I assume—I get the entire row to myself on the plane. I slouch against the window and close my eyes, trying desperately to get some sleep before getting home. Sleep doesn’t come to me, not even a tiny bit, so I stare out of the window instead, watching the earth fade to pitch black as we fly higher.
My thoughts are on Keanna and Harper. I never, ever want to leave them again. Not even to run to the grocery store. I need them in my arms now, safe and secure. I have no idea what could have caused the fire in my house, but I will find out and make sure something like that never happens again.
My dad meets me in the baggage claim area. It’s six in the morning. The sun hasn’t even risen yet but he’s fully dressed, waiting inside the intercontinental airport for me.
“Dad, you could have waited in the truck,” I say, lugging my suitcase off the luggage return.
”Could have. Didn’t want to.”
He takes the suitcase from me. I’m a grown ass man, capable of carrying my own suitcase, but he’s a dad. And it’s been a really long twenty four hours. So I let him carry it as we walk out to his truck.
”The girls are sleeping next door,” he says. He means at Park and Becca’s house, Keanna’s parents. My parents and her parents are neighbors. We bought a house across town, but now I guess…we’re homeless.
”How are they?” I ask. “How’s Keanna?”
”She’s a strong woman,” is all he says.
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. I should have been here. Not in another state. I should have never left them. Just for some silly race to feel like a professional racer again. Guilt claws at me.
Dad speeds the whole drive home, just like I knew he would.
Dad parks at his house and I thank him, then run over to the Park’s next door. I press my thumb to the front door lock and it opens. We all have access to everyone’s house in this family. The Park home is quiet this time of day. I know my way to Keanna’s old bedroom by heart, and I make my way down the hall, quietly opening the door.
She and Harper are asleep on the queen-sized bed. Harper has wriggled all the way over, wedging herself between the bed and the wall. I’m surprised her head is still on the pillow because that kid never stays in the same spot when she’s asleep.
