Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I was under the impression you weren’t hating the town,” Dad said mildly like he wasn’t in the middle of an all-out campaign to get me to stay. “The kids love having you around, and you seem to have made a friend in Jonas.”
This would be yet another great moment to confess that Jonas was way more than a friend, but I was a chickenshit who didn’t need another lecture. Also, the thought of coming out to my dad made everything else seem all too real. Once I told him, I might as well tell my mom in one of our sporadic phone conversations. Ditto my genius sister, who would undoubtedly say she’d always known. And once the rest of the Murphys knew, well, it was a short ride through the whoops to the whole damn world.
“I don’t hate the people in town,” I said instead. “I hate being trapped. I’m bored as fuck. Too much TV brings the headaches on. Ditto reading. The occupational therapist suggested I take up a craft. Uh-huh, as if.”
“Knitting not happening?” Dad laughed at his own joke. I didn’t. “I’m kidding. Never known you to sit still. Maybe it’s time to think about what you’ll do if you can’t race? Take some classes at the community college?”
Oh, fuck no. I was so not ready to have this conversation. “What would you do if you couldn’t be a firefighter?”
“I…I don’t know.” Dad went predictably pale and stricken. The son of a firefighter, he’d never imagined a different life for himself, whereas I’d never wanted to follow the family legacy. I’d wanted to blaze my own path, and now that was in jeopardy.
“Exactly.” I shot him a pointed look. “Riding isn’t a job. It’s my life.”
With that, we drifted into awkward silence, first me, then him fiddling with the stereo. Music made my pounding headache worse, but trying to eke out more conversation with Dad was even less appealing. We arrived back in Mount Hope as the too-early dusk settled over the town and neighborhood lights came on as folks returned home from work and school.
“You don’t have to walk me in,” I said as we exited the truck. Not for the first time, I noticed we had a similar manner of gesturing when we wanted to minimize a conflict. “I’m sorry for being so cranky.”
“It’s okay. You’re allowed.” There it was. He made the same gesture, the same resolute expression with the addition of a half-smile. Dad always had smiled easier than me, something I’d always envied him for. Despite my protest, Dad headed up the back steps with me. “And Denver volunteered us to help Wren with dinner tonight. Almost everyone will be home, so it’s a chance to catch up and see what everyone’s been up to.”
I suppressed an inner groan because the last thing I wanted was for him to know what Jonas and I had been up to lately. “Cool.”
I would have much rather been alone with Jonas and not thought about a damn thing. But Jonas wasn’t home yet, and being alone wasn’t an option, so I suffered through my dad kissing Denver hello while I washed my hands at the kitchen sink.
“Okay, Chef, put me to work,” I told Denver. Ever since my accident, I’d been making more of an effort to be friendly with Dad’s boyfriend. Anyone who’d dropped everything to come with Dad to the hospital deserved respect. Clearly, he planned on sticking around. “What can I make?”
“Salad,” Denver said at the same time Dad said, “You don’t need to help.”
“I want to help.” I clomped my way to the fridge with my cane and yanked out a package of mixed lettuce. “Trust me, salad isn’t that taxing.”
“Excellent.” Denver had a too-hearty tone as he shot Dad a look. “Happy for the help. Here’s a cucumber you can add.”
“Sorry.” Dad came over to the island where I was chopping cucumber on a cutting board. “It feels like I’m always saying the wrong thing with you.”
“You’re not.” I exhaled hard. I would be hard-pressed to deny we’d always been an awkward pair, but I’d never once doubted his love. “Or at least not intentionally. You care. I get it.”
Right then, John, the football-playing teen, came in with a gust of chilly air.
“Hey! I was hoping you’d be here.” He sidled over to the island.
“Me?” I was surprised because, unlike Rowan, John hadn’t shown much interest in my presence.
“Yeah. A couple of guys on the team are looking to do some motocross this off-season. I told them you lived with us, and they were super stoked. Would you want to meet them?”
“Uh…” I wanted to say no, but at the same time, I had a personal rule to never be mean to fans. But hell, this was Mount Hope, and I wasn’t supposed to be famous here. Guilt crawled up my back, lodging in the base of my neck as the resurgence of my headache. I supposed I should be happy my name was still out there. The sport hadn’t forgotten about me. Yet. “Maybe?”