I flush those memories away with all I know: Hannah is a mother, she has a new man, she doesn’t want me, and as painful as it is, it keeps her alive. I don’t know for sure that Alex would do anything, but I know what he said when we made our arrangement.
Hannah seems happy now. It’s a good life she’s built for herself in Omaha.
He wanted me to know what he knew, which was more than I did: Hannah was expecting, she was living with some artist, she was better off without me.
He could get to her anytime he wanted to, if he had to.
So I will finish eighth this weekend, not a car earlier or a car later. I wish I could brag about how much skill it takes to come in on an exact position. Flat out winning is probably a hell of a lot easier. That’s why I pretend I’m a nobody when I meet up for a race or two in Reno. It’s the only way I can remember what winning feels like.
I tell everyone my name is Tommy Judge.
3
Bristol woke up at four this morning. She was confused. I was confused, too. She’s taken to shouting “Mommy” at the top of her lungs whenever she wants to summon me. It’s only a code red situation about ten percent of the time.
Today, it was because she was thirsty. And lost. And the room she was in was too dark. That’s because, technically, it was night. Whenever the sun isn’t up, it’s night. At least, that’s what my circadian rhythm is trained to believe. Bristol Bea Judge is rewiring that theory, though.
I could have handled the jarring wake-up call if that’s all it was, but because I’m at home—home home—and my mom is literally fewer steps away from my daughter than I am, Bristol’s four a.m. summoning drew two Judge women to her beck and call.
Nothing like getting a full-on, not-yet-dawn lecture about child rearing from the mayor of Camp Verde. All the coffee in the world isn’t going to keep me awake for a full day today. I’m trying, though. I’m on my third cup and the sun is finally up. My mom is finally done pampering my daughter, giving her exactly what she wants so I’ll have to undo this damage when I get back to Nebraska.
“She’s fast asleep again. Oh, Hannah, you shouldn’t drink that. You’ll never get back to sleep.” My mom turns her back to me and bangs pans around the stove to whip up some breakfast.
“Yeah, the coffee will totally be the thing keeping me up.” I roll my eyes and rub my temples, cringing as my mom bangs two pans together.
“I couldn’t help but have noticed . . .”
I gulp down the rest of my cup of brew and try my best to rush my way out of the kitchen. There are about a million things Amanda Judge could have noticed that she wants to point out—the bags under my eyes, the baby weight I haven’t lost, the way I tuck my daughter in at night.
“. . . Jorge is sleeping on the floor.” She finishes the statement as I stand, almost free. Not fast enough. I squeeze my eyes shut since my back is to her.
“Just being respectful,” I say.
I’m honestly surprised Jorge hasn’t come downstairs already. He’s an early riser. Maybe he took my advice and is avoiding time with my mom at all costs.
“Ah. Okay, I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t trouble in Lover’s Lane.” My mom chuckles at her annoying joke. I play along and shake my head as I rinse my mug and leave it to dry.
“Nope. No trouble at all. Lover’s Lane is just fine.” I meet her eyes for a beat, ready to make a break for it, but the second I turn to dart from the kitchen I’m met with a hard chest and hands that brace me upon impact, wrapping around my shoulders.
“Whoa. Hey, there,” Dustin says.
He’s not supposed to be here. Fuck, does he have a key now?
“Well, what a nice surprise,” my mom says, stepping around me and kissing the cheek of the man she literally paid to leave me.
Dustin’s eyes are wide and an uncertain smile stretches his mouth wide open, his teeth together in a straight line.
“Yeah, well—” He sighs and moves his gaze back to me, suddenly realizing his hands are still on my shoulders, his touch still burning through my nightshirt, scorching my skin, making me remember things. He drops them to his sides and takes a few steps back as they find their way to his pockets.
“It was a quick trip. Supra blew a gasket and was smoking pretty good. I did a quick fix, but I wanted to get back and take care of it the right way. I’ve got a lot of things to deal with at the track, too.”
“Dustin. It’s Thanksgiving. You can let track business rest for a few days. Why don’t you join us for dinner tomorrow? Plus, we have the Santa Hike! You guys used to love that hike,” my mom suggests, suddenly full of glee that this boy she thought was the root of my undoing is in our house.
“We were four,” I add to her sales pitch. “Santa isn’t real.”
“Oh, Hannah. Santa’s as real as you let him be. Besides, it’s fun. Bristol will love it.”
My eyes flit to Dustin’s just as my mom mentions our daughter, and he quickly looks down. I shouldn’t have come home. Being here isn’t appropriate. I’m the intruder. My therapist said it was a good step, though. I have a lot of baggage to work through, and one of the biggest suitcases is packed with my relationship with my mom. The only relationship that’s messier happens to also be in this kitchen right now.
“I’ve got a lot to do, so maybe . . . if I have time. I’ll call you. Or I’ll let Tommy know.” Dustin holds up a hand and backs out of the kitchen. I’m both relieved and sad to see him go. Problem solved when my mom snags his wrist and directs him to one of the kitchen chairs.
“Well, you don’t have to go right now. I’m making breakfast. Hannah here had an early morning because she didn’t prepare Bristol for waking up somewhere new.”
“Oh . . . my God!” I let my face fall into my hands as I groan. I cannot win with this woman.
I should take this as my cue to leave, but instead, my body settles into the chair I just abandoned, familiar nerve endings firing away from being near Dustin. My inner voice is shouting to ignore them, but it’s been so long since we’ve been in the same space. And last night, when I interrupted the proposal, and Dustin was there—that’s not how I ever imagined us running into one another again.
He just came back from Vegas, too. From doing who knows what with Alex. This is the entire reason I built in all this space between me and Bristol and him. I should leave.
I should get up right now.
I should not be sitting here next to him.
He leans toward me. I glance his way.
Hazel eyes.
Fuck.
“Your mom used to tuck me in while I was already asleep on the sofa or in Tommy’s room just so she could remind me where I was. Woke me up out of my sleep and everything. Jarring as hell. Don’t listen to a word she says,” he whispers, winking then glancing to my mom’s back to make sure she didn’t hear.
My lips curl automatically on the side closest to him.
“Thanks,” I mouth.
He nods then clears his throat, sitting up straight as my mom drops a plate in front of each of us.
Such a stupid interaction, but it’s the most normal thing that’s passed between us in years. I wish I could hold his hand. I wish he were still my Dustin, the man who would refuse the lure of money if it was tainted, who would find a way to get us both out of here and into the Supra so we could speed down the highway. I don’t know this Dustin.