Girl on Track

34| Biggest lie

At last, we pull away. He takes a step back, turning around so that his back is facing me. Then, with a deep exhale, he runs a hand down his face. "I should have finished the race," he says. "They'll think I took off because I was afraid of losing again."

"Forget about them," I say, stepping forward, but even I know that it's not that easy. As someone whose pride sometimes gets in the way, I know how much this must hurt. "You didn't lose because you're not good enough, Tyler. You lost because your dad was watching, the same reason you came second in the qualifying round."

Slowly, he turns. The look on his face is heartbreaking. "I don't think I can go back out there. He's going to be so disappointed in me."

"Then we won't." I gently take his helmet and gently slip it over his head. "We'll go to the hospital and get your arm checked out."

He shakes his head. "I'm fine, it's just a sprain."

"Tyler," I warn, but he's already pulling me closer. My breath catches, my skin on fire where his hand is holding my waist.

"I'm fine," he repeats. "I promise."

I exhale slightly, surprised at how easily I believe him. If I promise is all that it takes, I'm in big trouble. "Let me at least put some ice on it or something. I'm not letting you just leave it."

If I could see his face, I imagine he'd be smirking. "Worried about me, sirenita?"

"Mildly concerned. What's it going to be, Tyler? Ice or the hospital?"

Briefly, he sighs. "We can go back to mine. My dad won't be back for a few hours." 

I'm about to say fine, but the thought of us being alone in his house makes me nervous. "It's fine, we can go to mine."

He shrugs and says, "All right, let's go."

I grab my bike, slipping on my helmet before leading the way to my house. While I'm not exactly thrilled about him meeting my parents, it's better than going to his house. Right now, he seems vulnerable, a side of him I rarely see; I don't trust us alone.

It's not long before we pull up to my house. He hesitates when we get to the door, looking up at the house like he's afraid to go in. "It's either this or you're going to the hospital," I say. "Your pick."

He takes off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. "After you, then."

I turn the key in the lock and let the door creak open. Silence answers back, leading me to call out, "Hello?" but no one replies.

"Looks like no one's in," Tyler says, and I feel my stomach drop.

"They'll be back soon," I say, closing the door behind us. "Come on." I lead him into the kitchen and have him sit on the breakfast stool, where he watches me rummage through the freezer for peas.

I pull out a bag and turn around, following his gaze to Dad's lotion on the table, the one Mom had bought from the internet.

Voice low, he says, "Does he ever miss racing?"

A lump forms in my throat that I'm forced to swallow back. No matter how much time passes, the reminder makes it feel like I'm back there, watching him crash all over again.

"I guess." I close the remaining distance between us and tell him to take off his jacket. He peels it off, followed by his sweater until all that he's wearing is a t-shirt. My gaze trails his arms, remembering the way they had held me in the hot tub, strong and tanned and safe.

"He never talks about it?" Tyler asks.

I shake my head, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "It's too hard for him to talk about, but sometimes he'll get this look in his eyes when I put on my helmet, like he's remembering what it felt like. He lived and breathed it, you know? Not racing for him must feel like drowning."