Believe in Spring (Jett #8)(10)

“I have a delivery for you, ma’am,” he says, handing over the flowers.

“Thank you,” I say.

He grins and then turns away before I start crying again. I close the door and set the heavy vase down on a nearby table. Flowers of all colors burst out of the vase. Pinks and reds and purples and even sunflowers. It’s absolutely beautiful and I can’t believe Jett would do something so sweet. We’ll be driving to Vegas in two days, so what am I supposed to do with these?

I take the little card off the flowers and open it up, surprised when I don’t see Jett’s handwriting on the card. I momentarily panic, thinking these flowers were meant for someone else, but then I read the message.



Cheer up, Sweetheart. The people who matter love you, and the ones who don’t can go to hell.

Love,

Clay, Zach, & Aiden



More tears roll down my cheeks, but they are of the happy variety. I can’t believe I’m smiling after spending the last hour feeling the worst I’ve ever felt. Having the approval of Jett’s teammates makes me feel a whole lot better. Maybe they’ll talk to him and encourage him not to leave me like the people on Twitter are asking him to do.

I lean in and smell the flowers and feel my heart start to repair itself. The world may be cruel, but there are still good people out there. And it sure as hell feels good to have someone on my side.





Chapter 8


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.”