“You should have asked me,” he sighs.
This isn’t off to a great start. My tone is cautiously hopeful. “I thought I’d surprise you with a nice dinner. I made pasta!”
He’s taken both chairs and already has them set up beside the van. They’re awkwardly far apart. Reid replies with much less enthusiasm than I had hoped for. “Cool. Thanks.”
The sound of swirling forks fills the air. That’s all—no casual conversation, no witty remarks. This was a failure. He’s walking away already as he says, “Thanks for dinner. I’ll make breakfast.”
My heart sinks. He calls back to me, “Leave the chairs. We can use them for breakfast.”
Maybe tomorrow morning won’t be so painful. I doubt it…but maybe.
I sit outside waiting for him to come back, waiting for us to be friends again.
25
We crossed the border into California this morning. Reid seems a fraction lighter—a little more himself—but he’s still not quite here. We actually spoke at breakfast—finally—but as soon as I brought up the competition, he shut down and changed the topic. I knew he probably would after I asked him if his knee was bothering him but I had to try. I’ve been worried about his knee, since I swear I’ve seen him favoring his good leg more than usual.
He’s been so hot and cold I’m hardly surprised when he randomly calls me. “We should stop at a diner for lunch.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, we deserve a break from cooking.”
This feels like an olive branch so I take it, but the diner he chooses is terrible—genuinely and truly terrible. I can barely choke down another bite of my food. It’s too salty while somehow also being flavorless.
Reid spits out his soggy sandwich as laughter tumbles out of him. I missed that sound. Leaning into the moment and to him, I whisper across the table, “Can we please leave?”
He throws a couple twenties onto the table and we bolt. Reidgrabs my hand and we race back to the vans as though we’ve just committed a crime. We’re giggling like school kids, and I’m drunk on it.
The laughter lightens the air between us for once, and I try my best to hang onto it. My phone dings in my pocket as he opens my driver’s side door for me. It’s Chloe. As soon as I see her name I’m tossed back into reality and the air is all heavy again.
Reid sees it on my face before I have to say a word. The moment is officially gone. His thick hands are in his hair, and he’s shifting his weight left to right. “How is she?”
I shrug. “The same.”
She was flown back home a few days ago—they transferred her to a rehabilitation center in Colorado. It cost a fortune. Thankfully, her family can afford it, but I feel sick thinking of all the riders who wouldn’t be able to if it happened to them.
I’m antsy for the season to end—antsy to get back to Colorado and do whatever I can for Chloe. I want to make up for being so distant these last few years, but I’m not sure how to do it. Her legs don’t work. I’m certain our lackluster friendship is the last of her worries, but it’s the one thing actually within my control.
My knuckles turn white as I follow Reid out of the parking lot. I can’t wait to see Parker tonight. He shares the same inner sunshine that his sister does, but he’s much more aware. Parker always knows when to push and when to pull. I never compare myself to him; not the way I do with Riley. It’s a little easier to enjoy his rays—I could use a tan.
The coast is cominginto view, and as I roll the windows down a salty sea breeze wafts in and fills the car with fresh perspective.One last race this season and I’m done until next year. If I manage to scrape by without any injuries, I can relax this winter and return with more confidence and less anxiety.
LA traffic is just as brutal as everyone says it is. It might even be worse. We haven’t moved an inch in approximately an hour, or at least it feels that way.
My phone rings. It’s Reid again. “Can we get In-N-Out?”
I can’t help but laugh—he sounds like the old Reid. “Sure we can.” I’m still hungry after our lackluster lunch.
Without a turn signal, he shoots his way across four lanes of traffic—I follow. There’s a cacophony of beeping surrounding us, but Reid doesn’t seem to care.
It takes way longer than it should for me to make my own way across, but it’s worth it once that iconic bright yellow and red sign comes into view. These burgers are unmatched—quintessential California.
Reid makes it there a whole five minutes before me. I get stuck behind an old guy and a public transit bus…purgatory. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the 405.
When I finally park, I spot Reid on the hood of his van, shoveling a cheeseburger down his throat. “Sorry, I couldn’t wait.”
He hands me another delightfully greasy creation and tucks some napkins into my shirt. I lean up against the van, and he leans down to put a strawberry milkshake in front of my face.
