Camden by Shey Stahl

 

Do you see that guy sitting in the den of the Sawyer mansion? He fears he will never live up to the ones who taught him. Fun fact for you: in this den, I’ve witnessed drugs, too many arguments between brothers, and occasionally sex. And now here I am, years later, signing a contract that ties me to these brothers once again.

I hold the pen steady as I sign, my eyes never lifting from the paper. The ink spills across stark white in a rush with my half-assed attempt at my name.

Isn’t it funny how the more you sign autographs, the less legible your name gets?

Maybe it’s by design because the moment you’re asked to give one is the point of no return. From then on, you’re a shadow of the person you once were. If you don’t believe that, you’re not famous enough. I don’t say that to be rude, or even conceited, but the people who really experience fame, they’re not who they used to be. Some part of them has changed, I guarantee you. Maybe not their morals, or whatever other bullshit they spew at you about never changing and being a real person; they’re not. They can’t be. It doesn’t work that way.

“Are you sure about this?”

No. I push the contract across the table separating Ophelia and me. My eyes lift to hers. “I think so.”

Tucking black strands of hair behind her ear, she laughs and it’s genuine. “You don’t sound so confident.”

A chuckle works through me as I slide the pen to her. “I am.”

Am I telling her the truth? I’m not sure, but as I look around the den at the legends that occupy the walls, I wonder how much of me is trying to please them rather than myself. Framed by rich dark wood, they blend in with the black walls, but the men in them don’t. They’re colorful displays of the finest athleticism. I focus in on the one of Tiller when he won X Games for the fifth time. That guy in the photograph, he had more to do with my career than he knows. When I was ten, not long after I climbed that fence, he gave me my first dirt bike. I stared blankly at the blue-and-white bike, unable to form a response. My dad wouldn’t buy me one and I’d been riding whatever bike they let me have. One day I came over and he took me out to the shop, pointed to a brand-new Yamaha YZ65 that still had the plastic on the seat. Hailed as a badass with a frozen heart, I didn’t see Tiller that way. Sure, he scared the shit out of me, but still, he had a soft spot for the kid who jumped the fence.

“Is it really mine?” I asked Tiller, staring wide-eyed at the bike.

I remember what he said to me because it was the first I’d ever seen him smile like that at me. “It’s a shame that dad of yours can’t understand the passion in your eyes now.”

That dad? I don’t know if you can use the term that dad on him. Jerad Rivera, he’s more like a sperm donor who wants to dictate my entire life.

I will tell you this though. From that day on, Tiller Sawyer, aka, the Wild Cat, was my best friend. I idolized that crazy motherfucker and wanted to be just like him. And now look at me, signing with their team and confused as to what it means.

Or maybe I’m just confused because of River.

Believe it or not, I didn’t set out to fall in love with River. But it happened before I could stop it and somewhere along the way, we became this. Whatever this is. Every time I’m near her lately, there’s a heaviness that hovers over me, waiting to consume me entirely. It’s the kind that makes it hard to breath. There are times when I live my life in excess because, you know, it feels good. And by excess, I mean speed, adrenaline hits that make most guys pussies. I do it because I don’t deny myself much. But this girl, she hits harder than any adrenaline rush and I force myself to deny her. It’s not easy, as you’ve seen so far.

Ophelia stands from the chair she’s seated in, tucks the contract away in her bag and shakes my hands. “I’m so proud of you, buddy.”

I smile. “I guess I should say me too?” I tease, not knowing what else to say. Thank you sounds conceited.

Stepping closer, she wraps her arm around my shoulder. The best she can at least. She’s about a foot shorter than me. “I’m really glad you crashed my wedding.”

“Roan’s a better guy,” I tell her, thinking about that day. I remember staying up all night making that damn map because I couldn’t, wouldn’t, let Ophelia marry anyone but Roan. It ended in me getting arrested, at thirteen, but I wouldn’t trade that day for anything.

Ophelia’s eyes lift to the framed photograph of Roan winning the Roof of Africa two years ago. “He is.”

We stop at the wall of memories. Dozens of wins these guys have secured and so carved their names into the book of legends. I lean into the pool table. “Would you have actually married him?”

Ophelia’s eyes shift from the photo to mine. She’s smiling, but I can tell she’s lost in a memory. “No, I wouldn’t have. I remember standing there, trying to force the words out when Roan intervened. I didn’t love him. Not like Roan.”

“I guess it’s a good thing we destroyed it.”

“I still have the map. It’s framed on the wall in our bedroom.”

“That was a work of art.” I remember Tiller throwing the map at my face, waded up, but you better believe I went back and got it. Right before I was arrested. Wasn’t the last time they landed my ass in jail either. Tiller’s bachelor party, jail. Roan’s thirtieth birthday? Jail. Shade’s thirtieth? Almost jail. For some reason, as I’m thinking about all the times these guys have gotten me into trouble, and once a lawsuit, I think about the women who stand by their sides. Always loyal. For Ophelia, that wasn’t always the case. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” She doesn’t hesitate.

But I do.

I draw in a breath, unsure if I want to ask this next question. I pause because it gives away what I’m desperate to keep hidden. “If you could have talked to Roan as an outsider back then, before it all went to shit, what would you have said to him?” I’m fishing for something here. Can you see what it is? Roan and Ophelia, they’re exactly like me and River. One’s too old, one’s too young.

Ophelia draws in careful breath. “I think I would have told him, she’s vulnerable, and whatever you do or say to her, she’s going to believe. If you say to her, not yet, I can’t, but she sees you with other girls”—her eyebrows raise and I know she’s been there before—“that’s making her believe she’s not good enough for you. Not that she can have you when she’s older….”

That’s not the case with me. I’m never spotted with other women. I’ve slept with a handful of women in my entire life. I don’t make it a habit to sleep around because it’s not my thing. I don’t want the lifestyle these guys had.

I saw the parties and the women, but I also saw the aftermath. Ophelia crying in the bathroom because Tiller took her virginity but she didn’t love him. I was there that night.

I saw women line up to suck Shade’s dick every night back when they had those parties. He never knew their names and kept his sunglasses on the entire time. It was cold and ruthless, just like the Sawyer brothers were.

I saw Roan kiss a woman in front of Ophelia to prove a point, one I don’t even think he knew at the time.

I saw the women Tiller so easily disregarded the next morning on their walk of shame out the front gates of the mansion.

I talked Scarlet off the ledge four years ago when Shade was photographed with another woman at a nightclub in Germany. It wasn’t what the media played it to be, the girl had been trampled in a bar fight and he was helping her up. But in those hours before Shade was able to call Scarlet, I was the guy Scarlet was bawling her eyes out to.

I remember Roan’s words of wisdom when I was fourteen and girls became an obsession for me. “Don’t be like us, Cam-Man. This lifestyle you’ve seen, the parties, the women, we’ve fucked up a lot of relationships in the process.”

For that reason, I play my moves carefully, and even more precisely with River. I don’t want to treat women like that. I’m not saying Tiller, or even Roan and Shade were bad guys back then either. They were simply living the lifestyle that’s given to professional athletes. Hell, anyone with money. You get your thrills where you can and women, they’re part of it.

I stutter on my next question. I shouldn’t ask it, because it’s none of my business but after spending the last month with Roan, I’m curious her side of it. “Why’d you sleep with Tiller back then?” It’s well-known, because Roan refuses to let it go, that Tiller took Ophelia’s virginity at a party. As the story goes, Roan, who’s six years older than Ophelia, had told her he’d have sex with her when she turned eighteen. Sound familiar? I know, fucking predictable.

If I had a brother, and he slept with River, I’d probably feel the same way Roan did, but I’m curious what Ophelia was thinking and, up until now, I’ve never asked.

Ophelia’s eyes lift to the photograph of Roan, Tiller and Shade at the Baja race two years ago when they won. “I never thought I was good enough for him. So, I thought, I don’t know. I was hurt by his denial.”

I can see that. I was ten when all this went down, but I remember the arguments that took place between Roan and Tiller, and Roan and everyone else. He was a monster to deal with in the wake of that night when Tiller destroyed any respect Roan might have had for him. They never got along, and still don’t.

Ophelia stands in front of me. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and River, but if there’s something there between you, take this advice from the girl that was in River’s shoes.” I straighten my posture, nervousness working through me. “Don’t lie to her.”

I snort out a laugh. “Uh, thanks for the advice.”

She smiles, touching my shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Camden. Better than these crazy bastards. I know you won’t hurt her, but River, she’s like Tiller. She destroys relationships before they destroy her.”

She’s right. She does.

Ophelia and I step out of the den together where Wyatt rushes toward me, her arms wrapped around my waist. I apparently have an effect on girls because Ariah follows, as does Roan’s oldest daughter, Tallulah who’s in the house now. Did you know all the Sawyer brothers have had girls? Not a boy yet to carry on the family name.

Wyatt latches herself to my leg, holding on tighter. “Take me for a ride.”

I pick her up over my shoulder and spin her around a bunch of times before I feel like I’m going to pass out from dizziness. “Okay, I’m going to crash,” I tell her, flopping the two of us onto the couch.

Her cackles fill the house, along with the rest of the kids who decide to pile on top of me.

The Wives and their kids occupy the mansion most days, as this is where they get their work done together. Believe it or not, they all work. It’s not like they’re living off their husbands. It’s not an easy job either. When Scarlet’s not keeping tabs on me, she’s trying to rein in Shade, Tiller, Roan and now River. She has her hands full for sure. I like to think I make it easy on her, but that’d probably be a lie if you ask her. Amberly, she runs their apparel company and works closely with the shock company Roan started with Lane Riley. And Ophelia, she handles all the contracts.

As Ophelia gets the kids off me and gathered around the table for lunch, Scarlet’s the first to greet me. “You have about an hour before you need to meet with Yamaha.”

I groan but become very much aware of who’s in the kitchen watching me over her cup of coffee. I’d forgotten about that meeting where I basically need to tell Yamaha that even though they gave me my start, I’m leaving them. I didn’t want to, but I valued my friendship with the Sawyer brothers and if there was anything in life I’d been working for, it’s to be accepted by them and to race for them. When I signed with Yamaha it was more about me proving I could handle responsibility and make a name for myself outside of them.

And I did that.

Scarlet’s in my face, handing me my phone she spends more time going through than I do. I wouldn’t survive this life without her. My eyes lift to River in the distance. I notice what she’s wearing. An oversized T-shirt that’s hanging off one shoulder, and her exposed skin is tempting me in ways I don’t need. That kiss last night flashes in my head and I’m reminded of how flimsily that thread I’m holding onto is lately.

River, she takes every opportunity to walk around half-dressed. I believe it’s to torture me, but she’s been doing it long before her interest lied with me, so I don’t know for sure.

She makes her way over to me. “Can you give me a ride to my house?”

I nod toward the door. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary for us. I take River to dinner sometimes too, and nobody is the wiser. Aside from Scarlet. She stops me by the door as River slides on a pair of shorts. “What happened to thinking about it?”

I smile at Scarlet and slide my phone in my pocket. “I did think about it.”

Her eyebrow curves. “And how much of that decision involved her.”

“Knock it off.” Pushing against her shoulder, I scowl and notice the maid cleaning the waterfall near the entrance is giving Scarlet the same glare. “What is she doing? Why is she glaring at you?”

Scarlet regards the maid over her shoulder for the briefest moment. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“Why?”

“Because of a small incident with me and Shade in the waterfall.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You fucked in it again, didn’t you?”

Do you notice the way Scarlet bats her eyelashes? That’s what she does when she’s avoiding telling you the truth. “I’m not talking to you about this shit.”

“You talk to me about your lady doctor appointments,” I note, bumping into her as I walk by. “And, you made me buy you tampons when I was seventeen because you said it’d make me a good husband someday. That’s involving me.”

“That was one time. And I’m right, it will make you a good husband.”

“That’s debatable.” I turn on my heel and walk backwards to the foyer with my hands raised up.

Her lips flatten and twist into a frown. “You should be nice to me.”

“Why?”

“I’m almost forty,” she says, as if this should entice me to treat her better. In fact, I treat Scarlet pretty damn good.

“So?”

Her eyes widen and she blinks a few times. “That’s middle-aged. I feel like any day now my tits are going to form an alliance with my belly button and my life will never be the same.”

“You still have two years before you turn forty.” My phone starts ringing and I glance at the screen before sliding it back into my pocket. I ignore my stepmom’s call for the third time today. Believe me, if you knew her, you would too. I look up at Scarlet again, smiling. “And your tits are never reaching your belly button.”

“Thank you.”

I laugh. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

Scarlet rolls her eyes. “Every day I question why I help you.”

I pull her into a side hug. “No you don’t. You love me.”

“You know I do. But don’t forget, Yamaha. Three p.m.”

“Got it.” I turn to walk out the front door.

River meets me outside, her bag on her shoulder and a smile on her face. My smirk forms as I make my way around the front of my truck, my hand running over the back of my neck. Inside the truck, I fight to urge to peel her from her seat next to me and onto my lap. I want to play out the images I have in my head and more. I don’t want to hold back any longer and the more I’m around her the weaker I get.

I know the reaction I have on her. It’s written in the tension of her muscles and the way her cheeks flush involuntarily. “They officially own you.”

I lean in knowing I shouldn’t, but I do. It’s like a damn instinct at this point. “No, you do.”

Her brow furrows, her cheeks pink. “You’re just saying that.”

I wonder if she was too drunk to remember last night, but by the way she’s watching me, I don’t think she was. “No, I’m not.”

We’re quiet and she’s looking at her phone, but then I remember I need to stop by my dad’s house to grab my other helmet. I’m not going to have time in between dropping River off and getting to that meeting with Yamaha.

“I need to stop by my dad’s house.”

“Okay,” she mumbles as I turn right out of the main gate.

I drive slower than needed and nothing is said between us when I pull into the drive of Jerad Rivera’s house. I sit and stare at it, breathing heavier than needed. It’s nothing compared to the Sawyer mansion but still, probably more extravagant than most homes in Pasadena. We used to live in Santa Monica but my mom loved Pasadena. So, we moved here, to this house, and then she died a year later. I was four months shy of seven years old and still remember the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when my dad took her away to the hospital one morning and I knew that was the last time I’d ever see her again.

“Your mom home?” River asks, reaching for the door handle when she spots the Beamer in the driveway.

“Stepmom,” I correct, because Rachel Valentine, she’s not my fucking mother. She’s the ho my dad married to replace my mom. She’s materialistic, hates me and fucks more cock in Santa Monica than just my dad’s. To be fair, he’s never been faithful to her either. Still, I don’t like her. She treats me like a possession. “And I think she’s home but I don’t know. She’s been calling me all morning.”

“Still a bitch as usual?”

“Always.”

Together, River and I exit the truck. It’s not the first time she’s been to my house. She used to sneak over here all the time. But for some reason, I fear her being here today. Maybe because of what happened last night.

Outside, I wrap my arm around her and kiss her temple. It feels natural and not the first time I’ve done this. Fuck, why do I keep torturing myself like this? “You practicing the double in the foam pit later?”

“I plan on it. Wanna head out with me?” Goose bumps trail across her forearm where I’m touching.

I lean in and the gleam in her eyes soak up every word. “I have a meeting with Yamaha but I can meet you back here later.”

“Are we going to talk about last night?” she asks, watching me.

My eyes shift to hers and then lower, to the swell of her tits under the shirt hanging off her tan shoulders. I want my mouth on every inch. I want to spin her around, lay her on the seat of my truck and show her what last night meant to me. My pulse quickens and blood rushes to my swollen cock. “Later.” I pull away knowing I’ve taken it too far now.

She notices and laughs, keeping step with me. “I’m holding you to that.”

“I know you will.”

Inside the house, Rachel’s there. Do you see her? The tall blonde with fake tits, too tan, and sky-blue eyes? Don’t let the looks fool you. Her beauty is skin-deep. She quickly makes conversation with River while I grab my helmet from the garage. I need my other jerseys too but they’re up in my room.

I’ll say this first. I don’t like my stepmom. Never have. She’s a pretentious material bitch. And though she’s married to my dad, she’s no more a parent to me than our housekeeper. In fact, I’ve never listened to a word that comes out of her mouth.

“Why do you keep calling?”

She regards me with hatred. I fucked up her plans. Did I tell you that she didn’t know about me until after she and my dad eloped in Vegas? She didn’t. At least he was smart enough to have her sign a prenup, but in many ways, he trapped her in a marriage. She was eighteen, he was thirty. She’s the daughter of a Russian client he represents. I don’t know the entire story, but she’s pretty much a trophy to him and hates his fucking guts. I can’t blame her on that, but I can blame her on the way I was treated growing up. “Because I was looking for your dad.”

I stare at her. I can’t blame her for the way she treated me. She’s eight years older than me. I’m essentially like a younger brother to her. I stand in the kitchen, watching the tears in her eyes and knowing they’re probably fake. “How would I know where he is?”

Her lips press together in a firm line. “Because he’s your dad,” she points out. Do you notice the sarcasm in her tone? Told you she’s a bitch.

“You mean sperm donor? He doesn’t deserve the word dad.” I could go further and say this woman before me doesn’t even deserve stepmom, but I hold back for now.

Do you notice the way Rachel’s mouth forms an O at my dig? She pauses for a beat and then gives me the look. She’s offended. That look right there is predictable. Despite her feelings for him, she thinks I should worship Jerad. When in truth, I can’t stand the motherfucker. Ask me if I give a crap what she thinks.

Nope. Not a chance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see River. She snorts, her hand on her hip, the other twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. She does this when she’s nervous. It’s then I look at what Rachel is wearing. Less than River. She’s in a bikini, her tits hanging out and the ass a doctor gave her too big for her bony frame. River gives her the once-over and then her eyes shift to mine. Wide, curious. I once had someone ask me if I fucked my stepmom, and if I hadn’t, why not? It was Tiller, about a year ago. With the way River’s watching me, I think she’s wondering the same thing. Though I get this same look anytime there’s another woman in front of me and River’s present.

I do not, nor will I ever find my stepmom attractive. Excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth.

Rachel lets out a groan. “Why is Jerad such an asshole?” she asks me, slapping her cell phone on the counter as I’m walking through the kitchen and to the stairs.

I try to control my frustration but it comes out in a groan. “What do you want me to do? You married him.”

Rachel sneers at me. “You’re just as mean as him.”

I don’t argue with her. It takes too much effort and I’m not willing to put that much into her. “I’ll be right back,” I tell River and walk out of the kitchen.

Down the hall, for some reason a photograph on the wall catches my attention. It’s of me and my dad the day of my mom’s funeral. I want to reach inside that photograph and hug that little boy. I want to tell him he’ll meet three brothers who will change his life. I want to tell him when he’s eleven, a scared little girl will force her way into his life and make him forget.

When you’re young you think your dad is like a mythical human being who can do nothing wrong. Then they do. They fail you. He failed me.

Continuing up the stairs, I grab my jerseys out of my room. I don’t live here anymore. I actually bought a house about ten miles from here. As you can see, I don’t spend a lot of time there. I moved out the day I turned eighteen and my dad “legally” allowed me to. Believe me, I had everything packed up before my birthday and was gone at midnight. The only reason these jerseys are here is because they were shipped by Yamaha and I forgot to change my address with them. I swear, if I didn’t have Scarlet helping me, I’d be a shit show most days who would have forgotten where he parked his truck, probably left the door wide open and the engine running.

Downstairs, River’s waiting for me outside. “Drive you crazy too?” I ask, stepping down off the front steps of the porch. I look back at her but keep walking, my gaze instinctively falling lower.

“She’s a fuckin’ trip.” Following me, River adjusts the shirt falling off her shoulder. I want it to fall lower and to the ground where my heart lies beneath her feet. I don’t say that as if she’s stepping over my heart, but maybe, in a sense, she is. Despite not wanting to, my eyes drift to her long-tanned legs. If I could, I’d carry her upstairs but there’s those fucking morals again.

I rub the back of my neck, trying to do something with my hands before I reach for her. “Try living with her.”

“You’ve met my family,” she teases, keeping step with me. When I open the door to my truck for her to get in, her eyes burn with just as much need as mine do.

She reaches for my face but I pull back knowing I can’t start this now. “I have a meeting with Yamaha.”

I can’t get wrapped up in anything at the moment and I know I will if I allow myself to get closer.

 

I’m gonna skip some time for you. Couple hours will do because let’s face it, meetings with the suits are boring as fuck. I go to that meeting with Yamaha and it’s uneventful in comparison to now. Do you see River and me on the track? We’re the ones bathed in the sinking sunlight with red cheeks. We’re caught up in a moment, one where I’m excited she landed the double on dirt for the first time and she’s high on adrenaline. It’s a deadly combination for us.

Tossing her helmet on the ground, she launches herself at me, squealing in delight as she wraps her arms around my neck. “I did it!”

I don’t say anything. My words are trapped in the dryness of my throat and the hard thump of my heart. It’s compressing every other reaction. I hold tighter, welding her to my chest because I can’t let go of her. I never want to. I want to exist in this moment when our connection to one another outshines everything else. We’re two kids, addicted to adrenaline.

With the rich fumes of two-stroke fuel invading my senses, I stare at her. She opens her eyes and looks at me, flushed cheeks, and I can’t look away. I feel like a king around her and she’s willing to do anything I want. I whisper her name like a prayer. “Riv….”

Hooking my arm around her waist, I lift her up onto my bike with me. I shouldn’t have, I know, but ever since that kiss, we haven’t been able to stop. Okay, I haven’t been able to. I haven’t, because do you see that guy on the dirt bike with the girl straddling his lap? He’s fucked. And wishing he was fucking, but that’s beside the point. You want to know why I avoided kissing River until last night? Because I knew this would happen.

Tiller used to tell me, don’t drink the Kool-Aid unless you’re ready for the punch. I’m not sure what he was talking about, because most of what Tiller says doesn’t make sense, but maybe he was talking about this. Eve taking a bite of the apple.

Grinding herself into my straining cock, River takes the lead. I use every single ounce of self-control I have not to moan into her mouth. But I do keep my feet flat on the ground and roll the bike forward a few inches against a rock. This particular move gets me another jolt of pleasure through my entire body.

She moans, long and deep into my mouth. “You smell like dirt and racing fuel,” she mumbles into my lips.

“You smell like my weakness,” I grunt, hunching forward and letting my hands slip to her ass. Without thinking, and you know I can’t around her, I lift her ass and then slowly drag her down my cock. I fight the urge to reach my hand inside her pants and dip my fingers into her wet pussy. River shivers, her thighs squeezing me tighter. Our mouths are open against one another, kissing, panting, eager for more. She moves faster, her hand fisting my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid to see the look on her face when I lean away from her back. “Riv, we gotta slow down.” I hold onto her hips, over her riding pants, but my fingertips graze the bare skin under her jersey. I can’t make myself stop, but I also won’t give up so easily. I’d feel like a goddamn predator if I did. I’m trying so hard to do right by her, but fuck, she’s making it so goddamn difficult.

I can feel her threading the hair at the nape of my neck between her fingers. “Why?” She shakes her head. A love grown in secret and bound by a promise holds her defiant and refusing to let this go. She grabs hold of my jersey with her fists, moans, and rocks her hips into mine. “You promised me.”

Do you see me there? I can barely keep it together. I’m weak, I’m unshakable still, but I’m swaying. My breath catches, a shiver working its way up my spine. I want to make her keep doing that but I hesitate. “When you’re eighteen, I’m yours,” I assure her between kisses, knowing it’s a lie. I know the way it works. I’ll find another excuse to delay and lag back on the start because she’s a track I can’t compete against. “Until then, I can’t.”

She holds my face in her hands and forces me to look at her. “What’s a few weeks?”

I’m lost in her dark eyes, desperate to move, eager for more and dying to kiss her again. “My career or jail.”

“Nobody is going to throw you in jail for having sex with me,” she whispers, dropping her hands from my face to my chest.

Unable to stop myself, I hold tighter and kiss the tender skin under her ear that enticed those goosebumps earlier. “Tiller would.”

Her back arches into me and sends pulses through my already-hard cock she’s rocking into slowly. “He wouldn’t find out.”

Trailing my hands up her side, I groan, knowing what she’s doing. “Yes, he would.”

“Please.”

“Come on, Riv.” I bring my hands to her face. I slide my thumb gently over her lip, forcing my words out from my lips. “Don’t make me do this.”

She stiffens. “I’m not making you. I just don’t see the problem here.”

Gathering the fabric of her jersey between greedy palms, she pulls it over her shoulders and lets it fall beside her and onto the ground. She’s left bare-chested in front of me and a lump lodges in my throat. It feels like it’s going to strangle me. “Still wanna say no?”

I’m not surprised she hadn’t been wearing a bra out here on her bike. Hell, I bet you a million bucks she’s not wearing panties too. “It’s not that I want to say no,” I assure her because despite how badly River wants you to believe she’s a badass, me denying her fuels her insecurities that she’s not good enough for me. That’s not the case. So, I draw in a breath, steady my rapid beating heart and give her a little more. “That’s what you’re misunderstanding here.” I think back to when this started. Before the over-the-shoulder glance back at a girl I swore to protect turned into me tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Before the temptation to kiss her became a line I swore I wouldn’t cross. But you can’t ignore River Sawyer. She’s a million memories glued together of two kids trying to ignore the pull to one another. “I want to, but you have to be eighteen.”

Her hands seek, her breathing heavy, hands cool to the touch. I can’t make out her face, but the adrenaline hits me in waves, the pull to give her what she wants so tempting. “Why?”

Twisting toward me, her lips find mine again. I’m eager, practically fucking desperate in my need for her. I tell myself, slow down, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Not when she begs me this way. “Because. Stop asking before you piss me off,” I warn, taking a firmer grip on her hips and savoring the feeling of her rocking into me once more.

That’s when I put an end to it. “Stop.”

Her head falls to my shoulder and I remember what Ophelia said to me this morning. “I want you, Riv. I do. I’ve wanted you for longer than I should.” I force her to look at me and flex my hips forward. “Can’t you see that?”

She drops her hands to my stomach and palms my erection between us. “You’re so fuckin’ hard and all I want is to be like this with you forever,” she whispers, her insecurities surfacing.

My breath catches and I fight with myself to rock into her again. Just once more wouldn’t hurt, right? Savor the feeling for later when I need to jerk off in the shower again? Can’t hurt.

Fire dances in her eyes. She wants to say more but then her expression shifts when she hears the rumble in the distance. “Shit.” She sighs, her eyes on the shop.

My heart races even faster but I can briefly see the white and blue of Roan’s Husqvarna in the distance. Thank God it’s not Tiller. I pat her thigh with my hand. “You should go inside.”

She stares at me for a moment before sighing, her lips swollen with the taste of me on her tongue. “I don’t know why you’re so loyal to them.”

I don’t know either, but I do know she’s smells like me and I’m not bent about that.

River slides off me and reaches for her jersey. She doesn’t put it back on but instead slings it over her shoulder and rides the opposite direction on her bike. Topless.

She’s going to be the death of me. I’m sure of it.

Within in a minute, Roan rides up to me and shuts his bike off. Removing his helmet, he nods. “Was that River?”

My throat tightens and panic rises. I want to give him a bullshit answer, but I can’t. He knows too much already. “Yeah.” I avoid eye contact like the pussy I am. “She was practicing the double. Landed on the dirt finally.”

Roan sighs, but it’s not disappointment. He knows where this is going; he always has. Probably because on a drunken night in the hills of Eisenerz, I confessed I’d been messing around with River. He laughed, said he already knew, but this particular look tells me big brother Roan is coming out. He observes me for a moment and then lays it out for me. “I’m not about to tell you how to live your life Cam-Man, but I’m warning you now, the Wild Cat isn’t someone to mess with when it comes to River.”

Shit. He saw. Groaning into my hands, I mumble, “Don’t you think I know that? I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

He smiles in a nostalgic way, remembering him and Ophelia, I think. They’re six years apart and he wouldn’t have sex with her until she turned eighteen. But… her dad, Carl, he’s not nearly as scary as Tiller. “You’re in dangerous territory, kid. It’s the path to the dark side.”

I regard the track once more. It looks different from the first time I jumped the fence. Trees are taller, there’s a pond in the middle and if you sneak out to the outer edges, a fire pit at the base of a jump. A year ago, they added a gnarly whoops section I broke my ankle on twice, and last year, boulders the size of cars. And if you’re not familiar with whoops in motocross, they’re evenly spaced hills about three or four feet high and usually around ten feet apart. Most riders can glide easily across the peaks with little effort, but one wrong move of the front tire dipping too low, or the back kicking out, and you’re screwed.

Staring at the track, I think about all my time spent out here and it centers around two kids who used to sneak out past midnight when the adults were partying. We had this track and our sunrises.

“How’d you do it?”

He raises an eyebrow, scratching his jaw that has a permanent dusting of coarse hair. “Do what?”

“Get Ophelia to wait.”

“Is this what that’s about?” he motions in the direction of where River disappeared in the distance. “Her?”

I shrug. I don’t know how to say it to him, let alone admit it to myself that I’ve been messing around with her. I know she’s off-limits. I know it should stay that way. Remember when I said I made a promise to Tiller? I did. I was eighteen at the time and had a face full of mashed potatoes and he forced me to promise I’d never fuck his daughter.

I agreed for two reasons. Hear me out.

One, it was the only way to get him off me.

Two, River was twelve at the time. Before you ask me, no, I had no romantic feelings toward her at that time other than I’d kill any son of a bitch who touched her in a way she didn’t want.

But when River was sixteen and begging me to give her something more than a friendship, I made her a promise. One I swore I wouldn’t ever take back. And to that girl, one I didn’t want to break.

Roan leans on the handlebars of his bike. “Cam-Man, if she means anything to you, hold out. Don’t give in to her just because she wants you to.”

I nod, because he’s right. I’m waiting for a reason and, you know, it’s a good fucking reason whether River thinks so or not. “Do you wish you would have with done things differently with Ophelia?”

He shakes his head almost immediately. “No, never. It played out the way it should have. I think I learned a bigger lesson through all of it that way.”

Learned a lesson?

“Even with the Tiller incident?”

His eyes darken and I can tell, even all these years later, it still bothers him. “I think that taught me more.”

“How so?”

“Who to trust with the ones I love.”

I’m the same age Roan was, only River’s a year younger than Ophelia would have been when their shit hit the fan. And now look at them. Thankfully, I don’t have a brother for her to fuck because you can bet your ass she probably would to get back at me.

Taking the goggles I so carelessly dropped, like my self-control when River landed the double, I regard Roan one last time. “Do me a favor?”

He nods.

“Don’t tell Tiller I was out here.”

There’s a smirk now. “I don’t tell that fucker anything.” He throws his head back laughing. “He can suck my nut sac.”

Told you they’re still at it.

“What did Yamaha say?”

For some reason, I think back to the day Tiller and I were in Vegas. I was eighteen and a carful of Supercross riders in a limo heading back from an autograph session we’d all been at were beside us on the freeway. Tiller being Tiller, he pulled his fucking pants down, laid his dick on the window and gave them the finger. “Never go with the suits,” he told me.

I can laugh about it now, but a month later I did just that, and not because of Tiller. I did it because, like it or not, it was just another way for me to prove to these guys I had what it took without leaning on them.

I think back to the faces of the suits and the disappointment they held, a mirror of the man who’s spent his life degrading me to nothing for his own pride. “They were upset,” I say, looking over at the track I cut my racing teeth on. Every single jump, trick and maneuver to gain that extra little sliver of speed, I learned here, from the one next to me, and the other two who live their lives one whoop at a time. “Said I owed it to them.”

“Let me tell you something I wish someone would have told me at your age.”

I make eye contact with him, waiting. He sighs and then his eyes drift to the track. “You don’t owe anyone anything. You are responsible for you, and how you take how they treat you. You don’t like it, change your reaction to the information.”

I think about what he says. I think about it as he takes off on his bike, and long after when I’m lying on my bed that night. He’s right though. You’re responsible for how you hurt, love, break and heal. It’s all on you. And you know, my shoulders are getting pretty fucking heavy these days.