Jett

 

This isn’t the first time I’ve lost a race. It’s just like the unstoppable adrenaline I get before the gate drops—losing makes me feel like shit. I’ll never get over it. I’ll never lose a race and be like, meh, oh well. It always sucks.

This time my shitty third place finish wasn’t due to me competing with faster racers than myself. They didn’t have better agility or speed, or even bikes that were faster. In fact, their bikes are exactly the same because first and second place went to two of my teammates. That’s a good thing—Team Loco on the podium—but it still sucks for me.

The reason I lost is because I can’t stop worrying about Keanna and the stupid drama that comes with being even mildly famous in a professional sport. It’s not like I’m Ryan freaking Reynolds or anything. I’m just a guy who races in a sport most people don’t even care about. I can’t even imagine the bullshit real celebrities go through. I let the trolls online get in my head. I let it bother me, agitate me, and screw up my racing tonight.

I love Keanna with all my heart, but I tell her a teensy lie when I get back to the hotel after the San Antonio race. I squeeze my wrist and say it’s been hurting. An old injury must be acting up again, and that’s what made me ride so shitty. I think she believes it.

The guys sent her flowers, which I didn’t know about beforehand, and that seems to have cheered her up. I wish I had thought of it, but I’m glad someone did. I know she likes being included in my life, and there’s no better way than for Team Loco to show their support of her. I love those idiots. They’re really good guys.

Keanna barely says a word while we eat dinner with the guys at a local Mexican restaurant. Then when we turn in for the night, she falls asleep quickly and doesn’t wake up. I know, because I can’t seem to stay asleep. I keep waking up and looking over at her, wanting to make sure she’s okay. I wish she’d let me talk about it. But I guess talking won’t help much. The sad fact is that jealous girls online will always be mean to her because they want what they can’t have. It’s not her fault. It’s not even about her. It’s about me. I wish she’d realize that.

I finally fall asleep while watching her angelic face while she sleeps.

In the morning, Keanna insists on bringing her flowers to Vegas so she has something pretty in the hotel room. We put them on the floor in the back seat of my truck, surrounded by our suitcases and bags to hold the vase upright. She doesn’t say much as we get coffee and breakfast at a drive thru fast food place, but she keeps looking back at the flowers and smiling. I’m glad she seems a little better today.

After a couple hours of driving, I look over at her and grin. “Want to get fake IDs and go gambling once we get to Vegas?”

She rolls her eyes. “Breaking the law is against your Team Loco contract.”

I sigh. “Yeah. And plus I’d have no idea where to get a fake ID.”

She smiles a little, and it warms me up inside. “How are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. I don’t want to act like she’s fragile and breakable because she’s stronger than that. But I also would hate to say anything to make her feel worse. I know it’s going to take her some time to get over what happened. I’ve seen her check Twitter a few times since we started driving.

She shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t really seem fine…” I say carefully.

She looks over at me and then unbuckles her seatbelt and slides across the front seat. She rests her head on my shoulder and loops her arm through mine. I love being close to her. I kiss her hair while keeping my eyes on the road.

“It just sucks,” she says after a moment. “It just really sucks.”

I’m not going to insult her by making up some stupid comment like it’ll get better, when we both know these things take time to heal. “Yeah,” I say. “It does.”

Within minutes, she’s asleep in the middle seat of my truck, her hair falling over my shoulder. She’s not stressed when she’s sleeping, so I stay quiet and let her rest for the remainder of the journey.

“Baby,” I whisper a few hours later. “We’re here.”

She sits up and blinks. “We’re here already?”

“You slept a while,” I say with a laugh.

She yawns. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, seeing her face as we pull up to the famous city she’s been wanting to visit. The barren Nevada landscape is a beautiful as it is different from Texas. We turn onto the Strip, which is really close to our hotel.

“Here we are,” I say, watching her while I drive.

She gazes around, but her expression doesn’t change. “Cool,” she says after a while. “The mountains are pretty.”

That’s not even close to the type of response I thought she’d give me. I wanted to see her face light up. I wanted her to smile so big it reaches her eyes. I wanted her to do that cute bounce up and down in the seat thing she does when she’s really excited. But even the allure of Vegas doesn’t help take away her pain.

I grit my teeth as I follow the GPS to our hotel. I wish I could personally curse out every asshole online who said those things to my girlfriend. I wish I could expose their secrets and embarrass them just as badly as they embarrassed her. I haven’t even checked Twitter lately. I know it’ll just piss me off more.

Still, I put on a smile and try to make Keanna’s day better any way I can. Once again, we check into a new hotel, and she’s happy when we’re up on the nineteenth floor and she can look out at the city below.

I set her flowers on her nightstand and walk up behind her while she’s gazing out the balcony window. I slide my hands around her and hold her tightly.

“I love you so much,” I whisper.

“I love you, too.”

I lean forward and kiss her cheek. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

She turns around to face me, and I keep my arms around her. Her hands wrap around my neck and she peers up at me with this sad smile.

“I’m okay. I’ll be okay. I’m actually more worried about you.”

I frown. “Why would you worry about me?”

She shrugs and looks away. “I don’t know.”

“Baby, I’m fine,” I say, squeezing her closer to me. “I’ll win this race. I’m not the least bit concerned.”

She nods. “That’s good.”

Damn. Something tells me she didn’t mean she was worried about my racing ability.

We settle into the hotel’s oddly comfortable couch and watch some TV. The Vegas arena doesn’t open up early and won’t let us in to scope out the track like the other two had done, so there’s nothing to do but hang with my girl. I’m totally fine with that, because she’s the only thing in my life I truly care about.

Clay texts me around dinner time, asking if we want to go out to eat with them.

 

Me: No thanks, man. I’m spending time with my girl.

Clay: She feeling better?

Me: Honestly, not really. I thought Vegas would be special but it didn’t help.

Clay: So make it special

Clay: Fuck the haters and make it special, dude.

I read his text and think it over in my mind.

Me: You’re right. Thanks.