Page 163 of Law Maker
I jammed my hand under the stream of cold water. The cuts stung, pulsing with my erratic heartbeat. Pressing a wad of paper napkins to the wounds, I bolted back into the room. A fresh wave of self-loathing crashed over me as I grabbed my phone.
Ale picked up on the first ring. “¿Qué pasa?”
“I fucked up my hand.”
He exhaled hard. “Are you home?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be there in twenty. Don’t ride like that, got it? Wait for me.”
That tone—the one he used when I’d really blown it—hit harder than the glass.
Everyone had been tiptoeing around me, and I still couldn’t pull myself together.
I tossed the shards into the trash, then went downstairs to wait for the friend I didn’t deserve.
***
Ale drove me to the ER. Two hours and three stitches later, we sat in Grandma’s courtyard. I offered him a drink; I’d ruined not just my hand but his evening too.
“Whatever you want to say, I deserve it,” I said as Ale frowned into his whiskey.
His green eyes met mine. “You do. Because it’s your right hand, and you’ve got two big races in a week.”
“I’ll race anyway.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “You’re missing the point, mi niño. It’s not about racing. It’s about the stuff that is going on in here.” He tapped his temple. “And in here.” His palm pressed to his chest. “Fuck, Ash, I’ve known you for years. Don’t bullshit me. Don’t make me believe you’re okay.”
“I’m not,” I admitted, voice low. “Kaia has a new tattoo. A word that meant something to us. I saw it, and then I couldn’t stand looking at myself, and I lost it. If I’m honest with you and myself, I’ve lost it too many times—at Ethan, even though he deserved it. At my mother’s wedding, even though those two deserved what I said, too.”
Ale stayed quiet, gaze steady but free of judgment. I judged myself enough for both of us.
I’d hoarded too much anger and resentment, hoping they’d fade. They hadn’t. Dad’s death and my mother’s neglect left wounds no one could see but me.
Kaia had patched them for a while, but now that we were apart, I was back on the starting grid, terrified of the track ahead. I couldn’t race through fear. Couldn’t keep losing everything I loved because I was too proud to admit my fuckups.
“I think I need help,” I said.
And I needed to get it now, before going back to the States and trying to win Kaia back. She deserved better than a guy she had to fix.
“You do,” Ale said.
I let out a broken laugh. “Fuck. Tell me I’m wrong or something.”
“Then I’d be lying. And you don’t want a friend who lies.”
“Do you think you can get me a team? No bullshit. Be honest. You worked your ass off, and I won’t be mad if you tell me you can’t. I just need to know.”
Everything hinged on money, and I didn’t have much left.
Ale leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers behind his head. “I’m on vacation, kind of, but I’ve been busy.”
My pulse raced. “Wait. Does that mean—”
He smirked. “A potential team in the States? Yeah. Make a guess.”
“I don’t know.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “North Racing?” They were from Venburn—a superbike factory team, a notch above Forward.
