Permanent Lines (6 page)

After saying hi to the guys at my trailer, I stopped over to registration to pick
up my number. My stomach just about hit the ground and I started sweating out of control,
nervous as fucking ever, when I saw the name and number sitting below mine. Amelia
Driscoll.

I leaned over, putting my right hand on the table and my left on my head, feeling
like I was going to have a panic attack.
Jesus fucking Christ, Merrick, get your shit together!

I don’t know why I never thought about her being here—she
did
race, after all! Maybe wishful thinking. God, I didn’t fucking know, but what the
hell was I gonna do now? Yeah, I wanted to see her, but how? I didn’t know what the
hell she thought of me, if she felt the same connection to me as I did to her—no,
I knew she did! There was no way she couldn’t. It was the best fucking day and a half
of my life—it couldn’t have felt like jack shit to her. But then again, why’d she
up and fucking leave without saying a damn thing to me? No! I couldn’t see her; too
many emotions were still flooding my head and body. I was a fucking tool when it came
to Amelia. Seeing her again might kill me.
God, when did I turn into such a pussy?

I stood up straight and rubbed my hands over my face, determination now humming my
veins—I couldn’t be here—I couldn’t race today.

Micah came up beside me, seeing what I was doing still at the check-in table. “Dude,
what the hell is taking you so long?”

“Did you know about this?” I said with more anger than anticipated, pointing to Amelia’s
name and number.

He looked down, his hands going into his pockets. “Uhh …” He sounded nervous, giving
me my answer already.

“What the fuck, man?” I threw my hands up in the air.

“I thought she backed out,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t want to make you anxious,
man.”

I exhaled, placing my hands on my hips and rocking from side to side, something I
only did when I was angry.

“Hey, do you know if this rider is participating today?” I heard Micah ask someone
beside me.

My eyes were shut, trying to calm myself, so I didn’t know who he was talking to.
Hopefully someone who knew what the fuck was going on.

“Should be if her name’s there,” the man said, and I could hear him flipping papers,
making my eyes open and watch him curiously. He had a clipboard in hand with some
sheets of white paper clipped to it.

I was staring at him in bleak anticipation, like my life depended on it, as he stopped
on the second sheet, sliding his finger down the page, looking for her name.

“Driscoll,” he said, mostly to himself, “uh no, actually.” He looked up at Micah and
my body visibly relaxed. “Must’ve been a late cancellation,” he added before picking
her number off the table. “Looks like I can get rid of this, then. Good luck!” He
smiled before walking away.

I exhaled, relieved, but still felt a clench in my heart. I didn’t know how I felt.
I didn’t know if I was happy or sad anymore. I actually felt like a damn basket case,
to tell you the truth. The girl was fucking with every part of me, and I didn’t have
a fucking clue what to do about it. But then it hit me—she was a
last minute
cancellation. Did she not want to be around me
that
much that she backed out of one of the biggest races of the year because I was going
to be there?
Why the fuck did she hate me so much?
I just couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Yeah, I’ve gotten involved with some crazy
ass chicks in my day, but Amelia wasn’t one of them—she was cool and nothing like
anyone I’d ever been interested in before. And we hit it off … perfectly, really.
That shit was real—a blind man could see it!

Before Micah could say anything else, I looked at my watch. I had to get the fuck
in gear; the race was starting in less than an hour.

Grabbing my number from the table, I pinned it to my shirt before walking in the direction
of my trailer. I didn’t have time to think about Amelia anymore, and to be frank,
I was sick of it anyway. My head needed to be clear and free of any shit so I could
focus on this race.

Because I missed qualifying yesterday, I had to start in the back with the extras.
It wasn’t ideal, but wasn’t something I was going to get my panties in a bunch over
either. As I sat there in line, waiting for the commentator to say whatever they say,
I focused. I never listened anyway. I took a couple deep breaths and ran my gloved
hands down the top of thighs, getting my head in the game.

It was only seconds later when the metal bar dropped, causing us all to jump forward
at once. There were a lot of racers, crunchy at the turns, and it took patience and
diligence to weave in and out of them. It wasn’t too long, maybe just a few laps,
before I noticed most of them behind me. My mind was cleared—focused. Nothing ever
got in the way of my game—nothing.

There were only two laps left, and it was just me and someone else out in the front,
neck to fucking neck. I got a flashback, almost like déjà vu. This was exactly how
Amelia and I were the day of our race, the day we met. I had no fucking clue it was
her, or a chick for that matter, that I was fighting for the checkered flag with,
but I knew that Amelia was the first person in a long ass time that gave me a run
for my money. She was hardcore competition and I fucking loved it. I wasn’t about
to brag, but I was a solid racer and the checkered flag was usually in my possession
by the end. Winner or not, though, I liked competition. It gave me an extra rush of
adrenaline—a high like no drug could give you.

I shook my head to release the thought, the vision of Amelia racing beside me gone.
Fuck!
I was too late. The bastard riding my ass took the inside of the last lap, pushing
in front of me, taking the lead, claiming first place.

“Fuck!” I shouted, mostly to myself, after slipping my helmet from my head. “Dammit!”
I swung my leg off my bike, pissed at myself as I stood next to it.

“Good race, dude.” I looked up to see Kyle Potter, the winner, with his hand out.

I wanted to fucking spit on it, pissed that I wasn’t the one with the cocky grin on
my face. I never fucking lost and by the look on his face, he was happy as shit to
take the checkered flag from beneath my feet. I wanted to fucking punch the bastard,
but I knew it was a douchebag thing to do. I wasn’t a punk. He deserved the win. I
wasn’t all in. I was consumed, my mind taken over … by Amelia fucking Driscoll.

“It was a good race, Merrick.”

I shot back the rest of my beer before tipping the top of it to the bartender, signaling
that I was ready for another. “I shouldn’t have lost,” I told Micah without looking
at him, focused on the fresh beer making its way towards me. “Thanks, man.” I took
the beer from the guy’s hand with a tight grin. He did the same, slightly grinning
back, but didn’t speak any words before walking away. I had a tab rolling, and by
now it had to be a hefty one.

“Yeah, well …” Micah said but didn’t finish his sentence, taking a sip of his beer
instead, making me look up at him.

“Yeah, well what?” I glared, wanting to know what he was going to say. Micah and I
kept it real. I wanted to know what he was thinking, though I had a feeling it was
going to piss me off.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, honestly!”

“You got fucking burnt and you’re acting like a pussy over it.”

My jaw clenched with anger as the heat accompanying it filled my body.

“You wanted the truth,” he added, seeing the steam pouring from my nostrils, the bull
inside becoming apparent.

I did want the truth but I obviously couldn’t handle it. The truth fucking sucked!
“You have no clue what went down with Amelia and me!” I yelled. I felt bad yelling
at him because I never got into it with Micah. For the years that we had been friends,
we’d never lifted a fist or anything to each other, but today I was raging, my blood
so heated that I felt like I could go crazy on anyone … even him.

“Dude, I know—” he started but I cut him off, standing from my stool.

“You don’t!” I continued to yell. “No one fucking knows! She was …” I began to

explain, justify who Amelia was to me, but I stopped and waved it off, looking towards
the door instead.

“Where ya goin’?” He looked up at me, a mix of curiosity and fear filling his face.

I couldn’t just sit there; I was beginning to shake, I was so angry … at what, I didn’t
know. I was like a bomb ready to blow. I needed air, clarity … something.

“I need a cigarette.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” I turned and walked away with purpose,
taking long strides to the door. I couldn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling.
I was losing control of my emotions; it was becoming the norm and I couldn’t fucking
stand it. I didn’t know who I was anymore or what I was even doing. I wasn’t the psychotic
fuck that I was acting like, but Amelia—meeting Amelia, enjoying Amelia, being abandoned
by Amelia—brought out every side imaginable with me. I knew it was hard for people
to get. Really, I did. I didn’t quite believe it myself. Not many could understand
how connected I could get with someone so fast, but for fuck’s sake, it happened.
From the second her hair fell from her helmet at the finish line to the sweet glances
she gave me at the bar, to the sweet ass look she gave me before we fell asleep …
she had me—she stole everything within me and it’s like she took my normal self with
her and left this crazy bastard in its place. I hated not having her here. I hated
not being able to see her any time I wanted. I hated that I didn’t know if I would
ever see her again. I hated acting like a whiny romantic. I hated the unknown.

As soon as I stepped outside, I spotted a group of chill-looking guys shooting the
shit in a somewhat circle. It was balls hot out for the end of March. How anyone could
live in fucking Florida was beyond me. My ass would be sweating 24/7.

I noticed the tall guy in the middle pulling a cig from his pack. I walked up beside
him, scrounging up the most civil look I could. “Can I bum a smoke?”

He looked me up and down for a minute. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like to be judged
or sized up—it made me feel challenged, which made me feel like a raging lunatic.
I wasn’t looking for a fight, just a break from my all-consuming thoughts.

“Yeah, sure,” he responded, pulling one from the pack, and handing it to me along
with the lighter.

I hadn’t smoked a cigarette since I was fifteen, but it wasn’t rocket science—inhale
was the only thing to remember. And exhale, I guess. Don’t swallow the smoke. Damn,
smoking was difficult.

I cringed after taking the first puff. The thing tasted like ass; exactly how I remembered.
I wanted to throw the shit on the ground, but I couldn’t disrespect the dude that
just gave it to me, especially since I knew these cancer sticks weren’t cheap anymore.
“Thanks, man,” I said instead before turning to walk to the other corner of the building
where no other people were.

I rested my back against the cool brick. My body was boiling, half from the anger,
half from the Florida heat, and the brick felt soothing against my back. My blood
was still thick from the New York winter, so just the slightest increase in temperature
felt like I’d walked into a sauna. The 85 degrees plus a billion humidity in Southern
Florida made me miss the briskness of spring at home.

With my free hand, I rubbed my face.
What was I going to fucking do?
For the longest time, since I got to the city, really, I had my shit together. I didn’t
have family here, most of my friends even lived in Jersey still, but I was good …
content with how shit was going for me. My upbringing was less than stellar. My father,
the most brilliant man I ever knew, passed away when I was young, turning my mom into
a crack addict, which prompted my sister to take off. It was just my mom and I. I
kept us clothed and fed and made sure she didn’t OD on a daily basis. I don’t know
what I would’ve done if I didn’t have the guys and racing. Those were the only things
that kept me grounded, pushing me to continue on with the shitty hand of cards I was
dealt.