Chapter 2

 

 

If my first day of classes hadn’t given me a headache, my dad’s power tools would do the job just fine. I’m officially a junior at the University of Louisiana Lafayette this year, and my first day of classes was a nightmare. Now that my core classes are done, I finally get to start the good stuff for my degree. Or so I thought. Physical therapy courses aren’t easy in the slightest. I’m weighed down with epic paperwork, textbooks, and a stack of one hundred vocabulary words I’m supposed to have memorized in a week.

All I wanted to do after school today was come to work and try to relax. But my dad had other ideas. He’s currently standing on the roof of the shop with a chainsaw in his hand. It’s so loud it’s echoing off the metal walls and driving me crazy.

I finish checking out a customer and then walk outside. Thirty Six Cycles is my dad’s motorcycle shop that’s located off County Road 36. (I know. He’s very creative like that.) The building is long and narrow, with a retail shop up front and mechanic bays in the back where our mechanics work their magic. People come from all over the place to get their bikes worked on here because we have the most skilled employees. In fact, my dad might be the least skilled of everyone.

I hold my hand up to my forehead to block the sun from my eyes. “Dad?” I call out.

He turns off the chainsaw. “Hi, Jenn. What’s up?”

“You, apparently,” I say. “What are you doing up there?”

“Just trying to get these branches down.” He uses the chainsaw to point to the massive oak tree. Its branches are extending out in all directions, some of which are hanging over the roof of the shop.

“It’s hurricane season,” Dad says. “One snapped branch will go right through the roof.”

I roll my eyes. Mom would kill him if she saw him up there. That’s about as dangerous as it gets, and my dad isn’t known for having good reflexes.

“You should call a professional,” I yell out to him.

He shakes his head, waving me off with the hand that’s not holding the chainsaw. “I got this, hon. Check it out.”

He cranks the motor again and then walks to the edge of the roof, aiming the blades at a large branch that extends about twenty feet from the trunk of the tree.

I want to close my eyes, but instead I get out my phone in case I have to call 911. Dad grips the chainsaw, struggling to get it through the thick branch. I hold my breath.

With a crack, the branch bends and sags, until finally it breaks free. Only instead of making a clean fall to the ground, it crashes into a nearby powerline.

A loud pop snaps through the air, and there’s a flash and smoke, and then the lights in the shop go off.

“Uh oh…” Dad says, watching the powerline all curled up around the downed tree branch.

“Would you please get down from there?” I say. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

He grudgingly listens, and once he’s back on the ground safely, I give him a look.

“The power’s out,” I say.

“Yeah… I figured as much…” Dad says, frowning. He scratches his head.

The front door of the shop opens and Rafael, one of our mechanics, jogs outside. “The power is out, Mr. Doherty.”

“Oh trust me, we know,” I say sarcastically.

Dad chuckles. “I’m gonna go call the power company. You guys can head home early. I don’t think this will be fixed anytime soon.”

Rafael lets out a little whoop. “Awesome! I think I’ll head to the track to ride.” He holds the door open for me as we walk back into the shop. “You gonna ride, too?”

I didn’t think I’d get to ride all week because of school starting, but he makes a good point. Getting out of work early means there’s some unexpected free time. The motocross track is like a second home to me, next to the bike shop. I grew up at both of these places and only ever went home to eat and sleep.

“Yeah,” I say after thinking about it for a second. “I think I will go ride.”

“Cool,” he says, flashing me a smile. “I’ll see you there.”

Rafael is like me in that we both love to ride but aren’t very good at it. I mean, I’m okay. I can hold my own. I’m just not a racer. My dad bought my first dirt bike when I was six and I was so scared of it that it took me a while to be able to ride it around the yard going slower than a lawn mower. But eventually I grew to love dirt bikes.

I’ve never raced, even thought that’s kind of what everyone else does. I just go up to the local track and ride for fun on practice days. I love the feel of the wind in my face, the speed of the bike, and the way that everything just blurs right on by when you ride. There’s no school work or chores or stresses when you ride. It’s just you and the dirt.

I do the best I can at closing up the shop for the day. Without power, I can’t shut down the computer or clock out, but I take the money out of the cash register and put it in the zippered bank bag which I lock in the safe in Dad’s office. I lock up the front door, smirking when I see Dad out front talking to the power company. He’s waving his arms around, no doubt trying to make it seem like something crazy happened to the tree branch instead of what actually happened.

I grab my purse and my keys and send a text to my boyfriend Jay. Unlike me, Jay does race dirt bikes. He’s the fastest racer around here, and he wins every single race. He’s really bitter about not being picked for a professional motocross team yet, but I always tell him that he’s only twenty one and he’s got time. He usually disagrees with me, saying that most pro racers start their career right after high school.

I text him that I got out of work early and want to hit up the track, and when he doesn’t reply I assume he’s already there. Jay spends all his free time at the track. It’s admirable how hard he works.

When I finish closing up shop and walk out to the parking lot, my bike is already magically loaded into my truck bed.

I look around and then spot Rafael climbing into his truck. “Did you do this?” I ask.

He grins at me before closing the truck door and cranking his engine. The window rolls down and he leans out, smacking the side of his truck door with his palm. “Last one to the track has to unload the bikes!”

“Not fair!” I say, laughing. I scramble to jump in my truck but he’s already driving off.

Rafael is a good guy. He’s worked for my dad ever since he graduated high school, and my dad thought he had such a natural talent with bikes that he paid to send him to mechanic school. Now he’s in his thirties and married with two twin boys who want to grow up and be just like their dad. It’s really cute. Every time I see Rafael and his happy family at the track, I know that’s what I want for Jay and me someday. A happy motocross family.

The local motocross track is only a few miles away, which is probably why my dad’s shop gets so much business. They’re a popular track in the state and everyone who goes there drives by Thirty Six Cycles and eventually stops to get their bikes worked on or to buy race fuel or bike parts.

I pay the twenty bucks to ride and then look for Rafael’s truck so I can park next to him. But today’s my lucky day, because I see Jay’s motorhome instead. Jay only lives half an hour from the track, but he likes to bring his motorhome with him during the hot summer months because he can hook it up to the track’s free electricity and have air conditioning. Here on the Gulf Coast, air conditioning is a necessity during the summer.

My headache seems to vanish when I realize he’s here. I haven’t seen him in a few days and I’m missing him terribly. I’ve been so stressed over school starting and now all I want is to relax with my boyfriend and get some laps in on the track.

I park my truck next to his motorhome. His bike is here, so he’s probably inside cooling off. I check my phone. He hasn’t texted me back yet. Weird.

The roar of dirt bikes is louder as I climb out of my truck. There’s at least a dozen people out on the track right now, which is pretty busy for a Tuesday. I love that my favorite sport is getting more popular. It’s the greatest sport on earth. Not to mention, it has the hottest guys.

I smile to myself as I walk up to Jay’s motorhome. I pull open the door and loud music hits me. I guess that’s why he didn’t text me back. He couldn’t hear his phone over all this noise.

I step inside and look around, but he’s not sprawling on the couch like usual.

“Babe?” I say, walking toward the bedroom part of the tiny motorhome. The curtain is pulled back. Shit, I hope he didn’t get hurt and come back here to rest it off.

“Babe?” I say again, pulling back the curtain.

Jay is here, but he’s not hurt.

He’s balls deep in another woman. They don’t even notice me at first. They keep going it at for a few seconds, long enough for me to realize that the slut my boyfriend is banging is Miranda Brown, who has the nickname Track Ho for a reason. She’s been hooking up with every guy she can get her disgusting hands on ever since before we graduated high school.

My entire world seems to blur and then shatter before my eyes. Jay and I have been together for three years. We’re perfect together. We’re happy.

Or so I thought.

My voice feels strangled, but I mange to say something. “What. The. Fuck.”

Now they can hear me. Jay jumps and turns around, eyes wide like a rodent that’s been caught digging in the trash. And honestly, digging in trash is what he’s doing right now.

“Fuck,” he says. There’s so much emotion behind that word—I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or ashamed or pissed off.

I can feel tears lingering in my eyes, waiting to be unleashed, but the second I lock eyes with Miranda, fury takes their place. She’s grinning.

Grinning.

The bitch.

She’s wanted my boyfriend forever, just like she wants every guy who is even remotely talented at motocross. She doesn’t even ride bikes herself. She just rides the riders.

I’m going to be sick.

“Jenn,” Jay finally says after ten painful seconds of silence. Again, I can’t tell the emotion behind his voice. You’d think he would start pleading with me, giving me those clichéd lines of it’s not what it looks like.

I shake my head. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to keep seeing it.

I just want to be out of here.

I turn on my heel and race out of the motorhome, slamming the door closed behind me. I jump back in my truck and take off, not caring that I just wasted twenty dollars to ride. I can’t seem to care about anything right now.

All I know is that I am never dating a motocross guy again.