Page 53 of Off the Mark
“That’s a hunky name.”
I rolled my eyes, still smiling, and glanced at Dad. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, by the way. He comes from a nice South Philly family.”
His face lit up. “Then what the hell is he doing with a Maddox?”
I snorted. “Careful, you’ll scare off Penny.”
She slapped her hands on her thighs and laughed. “Scare? It’ll be a cold day in hell when I ever get scared—”
I left them to their banter and scrolled through some of the recent posts, many of them about riders here at the championships. Quinn and Riley were in a few, with so many hyped-up comments my eyes widened. I spotted one about my night out in Philly and skipped it with a grimace.
Then I found it. A carousel of images of Rowan and me: when he bandaged up my knuckles at the race, when we hugged hello in the lobby, a photo of us mid-laugh at the diner.
My heart performed a neat backflip in my chest as I took it all in. The ease, the intimacy, my relaxed body language and delighted expressions.
This is what you wanted, I reminded myself. Because as I quickly scanned the comments, they were…positive? The caption read:Has the Bad Girl of Moto finally found true love?
I fought another eye roll even though fans were eating it up with a spoon. The top comment, with hundreds of likes and replies, read:Goddamn, if a man looked at me like that? I say good for Charlie, snagging a boyfriend who looks like he wants to devour her on the spot.
My face flamed at the mental image that invoked. I set the phone down and blew out a shaky breath, feeling overheated in the stuffy hotel room.
“The pictures of you and Rowan sure are popular,” Penny said. “It’s nice to see you getting some love from the fans. Much deserved, if you ask me.”
I arched my brow. “I can’t decide if I should tell him you called him aginger hunk of burning loveor if it’ll only inflate his ego to an unmanageable size.”
She shrugged. “I like a man with red hair. And he seems to likeyoua whole lot.”
I was always into the warrior girl on the horse. Obviously.
“The championship weeks are always intense. Having Rowan here makes it a lot easier.”
Dad winced in sympathy. “I know the last couple races were tough.”
I nodded, rolling my lips together. “My headspace was all messed up for the first one. And the second, I couldn’t break into the pack at the front. I was slow off the gate. I’m just stuck living in Loser City. Population: me.”
He fixed his face in mock sternness. “Now you know I only allow you to sayonemean thing about yourself per day.”
I held up a single finger. “That was it, I swear.”
Penny scooted back outside to the garden, leaving the two of us alone. He tipped forward, brows snapping together. “What’s going on with that headspace of yours? Are you feeling worried because of…because of the eviction?”
I nodded but forced a smile. “It’s part of it. You know I’d do anything to save that house for you, Dad. And feeling like my sponsor’s about to cut me every time I lose is taking me out of that racing mentality. I’m…I’m overthinking out there, less instinctual. It’s distracting. And Dempsey made it clear that I was already a risky proposition for them. Makes me feel like I’m about to get dragged to the principal’s office and given a condescending lecture on how I’m disappointing them.”
Both of my dad’s dogs jumped onto the couch to sprawl across his lap. He scratched them behind their ears for a second before directing his focus back to me. “No wonder you’re distracted, that shit gets in your head and stays there. You’re not a risk, Charlie. You’re a sure thing, and they better start believing it.”
I pressed my hand to my stomach to soothe the quiver of apprehension that was gradually building the more I talked about Bettencourt. I’d never even told Dempsey this, because whateverthiswas seemed careless and shortsighted when I said the words out loud. Being sponsored by the company that owned the majority of energy drink companies in the world—the ones featured at NASCAR and Formula 1 races, on banners in the backdrop of Olympic events—was supposed to feel like awindfall.
I’d first felt this quiver the day I signed the contract. In the end, money’s money, and this wasthe mostmoney I’d ever been offered. A life-changing, game-changing amount.
Signing it was easy.
And yet—Bettencourt leaned hard into that “family-friendly” image, a phrase that had been used often in the past to hide all manner of biases and hate. The implicit understanding was that wearing their name on my back meant hemming in parts of myself and my core values that they didn’t like. As if being an outspoken woman in a sport dominated by men was somehownotfor families.
“Risk or not, they signedyoubecause you’re one of the best,” Dad continued. “I wasn’t signing with sponsors this big and flashy when I was your age. You got their attention by blazing those trails like a bat outta hell.” He grinned. “No one knows how to fly better than we do. Take it one race at a time, one start at a time, one lap at a time.”
I sucked in a long, steadying inhale, then released it. Grinned back. “You’re right. I’ve got one more race before the championships. It’s mine for the taking.”
“It’s yours for the taking,” he repeated. He shifted on the couch, clearing his throat. “And when it comes to the eviction, listen, I…honey, I’ve been thinking. About the house and the money. I’m not exactly rolling in it, never have been, and this isn’t the first time I’ve been behind on the mortgage. Maybe—” He coughed again. “Maybe it’s time we sell it.”
