CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT TABATHA

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

TABATHA

It's been two weeks since Dash asked me to move in with him and three weeks since he won his race. The first week back from Florida was spent ninety percent of our time together. Now, we're lucky if we get fifty. I'm back in school now; my father got word that Rodger had transferred schools, to New York nonetheless. Guess he decided he needed to get away, or his father made him transfer. Either way, I'm not sad about it. He's out of our lives for good, and that's all that matters.

I've moved all of my stuff that I thought I needed to keep into Dash's house and put mine up for sale with a lot of help from my mother. I swear, it doesn't matter how old you are, you will always need your mother. Dash has been busy spending all of his time with my father. They are building him another race bike, and they are looking for another guy to join their team. I don't understand why they need another member, but Dash tells me that it's a common thing. I just nod my head and say yes, honey I understand what you're saying even though I truly don't.

I was in the middle of rearranging our furniture when he called to tell me to meet him at my parents' house. I swear I don't know why we just didn't move in with them. There's plenty of room, and I feel like we spend all of our time there.

I open the front door and can already hear them talking in my father's office. I make my way down the long hall and walk right in. Dash sits looking relaxed on the far couch with both arms fanned out across the back of the couch as he speaks to my father. When he sees me walk in, he winks at me and pats the spot next to him.

I snuggle up next to him and let them finish their conversation before I speak. "What's going on?"

"I told Dash to call you here to celebrate," my father says excitedly.

"Celebrate what?" I question.

"Two things actually." He smiles. "One, the fact that Rodger didn't press charges on Erik for beating the shit out of him." Dash chuckles. "And two, the fact that I just got off the phone with a company who wanted to sponsor Erik."

"Oh, my gosh, that's great!" I say excitedly.

"It is," my father agrees as he nods.

Then a thought hits me. "Did he need a sponsor? Is there a problem with funds?" I ask nervously.

My father laughs as if that was an absurd question. "No. Of course, not. If that were the case, I never would have asked him. I was planning to back him a hundred percent of the way, even though that's not how this normally works. Usually the rider, or racer, has sponsors. But it was not a requirement. Although we didn't need it, we are going to accept it. People saw that he won and they want him to represent them. That is fantastic news!" he finishes as he smiles brightly.

"What about Valerie?" I ask, hating to rain on his parade, but no one has mentioned her.

"Uh, what about her?" My father asks slowly.

I look from him over at Dash. "Didn't you press charges on her as well?"

Dash shifts unconfutable beside me. "No."

I pull away from him. "Why not?" I demand.

"She was not a problem," my father answers for him.

I spin around to face him. "Not a problem? She was the one who actually cut your brakes," I remind them.

Dash runs a hand over the back of his neck, and my father sighs heavily. "I told Dash not to press charges against her," he says simply. I go to speak but he holds up his hand. "It would have looked bad against Dash filing charges against a woman. Especially one who he was once engaged to." I grind my teeth. "It would have just brought her into the spotlight, and we didn't want her anywhere near it."

"But…" I turn to Dash.

"I swear to you," he states, looking me in the eyes. "I have had no contact with her whatsoever since the night of my party."

I cross my arms over my chest and fall back onto the couch. I hate how this works. How your celebrity status has to come first before your personal life. I hate how people who don't know you can judge you over things that they don't understand. I take in a deep breath, dropping the subject. It's two against one; I've already lost. "So, what do we do now?" I ask.

"We party," my father answers simply.

"Party?" I laugh. "Dad, you don't party," I remind him.

He nods. "I will tomorrow." He looks over at Dash. "We have five weeks until your next race. Tomorrow night, I will throw a party here at the house for you." He points down at his phone. "I already have my wife planning it. And it will be huge. There will be reporters, along with photographers. She has already ordered you a tux." Then he looks at me. "And she has already gotten you a dress. It will be…"

Dash raises his hand to stop him. "That sounds like an awful lot. You don't have to do all that for me," he says softly as if he's embarrassed.

"Son…" He places his forearms on his desk and leans forward. "I do. This is how this works. You're all over the news. Calls have been pouring in about you doing covers for racing magazines. More interviews. You're the kid with a dream who came out of nowhere. And after tomorrow night, you will be a household name."

Dash shifts uncomfortably on the couch once again. "No offense, sir. I am very thankful for everything that you have done for me. Given me my chance at my dream, but my dream was to race. Not become a star."

"It comes with the territory." My father leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. "Tell me, Erik. Why did you want to race in the first place?"

Dash looks at him with an intense stare and no emotion on his face whatsoever. A few silent yet awkward seconds pass before he speaks. "I used to hate being at home," he admits softly, and I know he means when his parents would leave him there on his own. "I was always looking for things to keep me busy. One day, Blake and I found this abandoned dirt bike on the side of the road. I talked his mother into stopping, and we threw it in the back of her truck. It took us months to get it to run." He licks his lips before taking a deep breath. "Once we got it to run, we spent all of our time on it." He chuckles softly. "We even fought over it. It was never about the racing. Although, I liked to go fast. I liked to see what it could do and then push it a little more. So much to the point it broke on us all the time." He speaks softly as he stares over at my father, but I don't think he's really seeing him. I feel like he's back in that time of his life. "Blake's dad ended up finding us an old beat-up motorcycle and put us on that. We were unstoppable. It was faster and more durable. It became an escape." He blinks a few times as if he just returns to us. "It was never about the race. It was about the power that the bike allowed me to have. It was about the freedom I felt when I was on her. When I'm on a bike, I'm free. And who doesn't want to be free?"

I sit next to him on the couch trying not to let the tears fall from my eyes. There's so much about Dash that I think he keeps hidden. Mainly because he was never asked how he felt. Or what he wanted. His parents never cared.

My father smiles softly at him, and I know he understands exactly what he is saying.

***

I hang up my phone as I walk into our bedroom. "Well, my mother has officially covered everything," I say, tossing my phone onto our bed. "And I do mean everything. She even has a tux picked out for Blake and a dress for Jackie," I say in awe of her. I swear that woman can accomplish anything in a matter of seconds.

Dash pulls his shirt off and sits down on the end of the bed as he stares down at the floor.

I crawl on the bed behind him and softly run my hands up his smooth back. "What's wrong?" I ask.

He reaches up behind him and grabs my right hand. He pulls it over his shoulder and kisses it before he wraps it around his neck. "Nothing."

"Hey," I say as I pull him to where he has to lay down on the bed, with his feet still planted on the floor. I look down at him. "Why are you lying?" I ask softly as I run my hands through his hair.

He sighs. "Because this isn't what I asked for."

"I know, but you won your first race. Why shouldn't you celebrate it?"

He stands up and turns around to face me. "I did. I celebrated it with you. Why do you think I followed you back to the trailer after I won instead of doing the interview?"

"Uh…" I don't have an answer.

"Because I didn't want to do some stupid interview."

"You did that interview with me after the pics leaked," I remind him.

"I did that interview because it was how I felt about you, not because of my racing."

I sit up on my knees and stare at him confused. "I don't understand what you're trying to say," I say truthfully. "I don't understand why you don't want the world to see how great you are. You won your first race…"

"God, I wish people would quit saying that," he all but shouts, causing me to scoot back on the bed. "It was just a stupid race," he adds with a growl.

"Whoa. A stupid race?" I question shocked. "How can you even say that?"

He runs a hand through his hair and his muscles flex at the motion. "You wanna know why I don't want a party with reporters and photographers?" He doesn't allow me to answer. "It's because I don't want to rub it in people's faces. I don't want to plaster that I won all over the papers or the TV. Yes, I won; we celebrated at a nice quiet dinner afterwards with my friends and the crew. Let's leave it at that."

This isn't like the Dash I know. The cocky one who thinks he's the best. The one who gives that sexy smirk and gets everything he wants. Why would he not want to the world to see…? Unless… "You're afraid." He narrows those beautiful gray eyes at me. "Afraid that you won't win the next one." Of course. Like my father said, he came out of nowhere and won. Winning will bring haters. And those haters will laugh in his face if he were to lose the next one.

"Babe, it's okay to be afraid. But you're gonna win the next one," I tell him.

He gives a right laugh. "Because you can see the future?" he asks sarcastically.

"No because I know how hard you have worked. And how hard you're going to continue to work." I crawl over on my hands and knees to the end of the bed and place my hands on his face. "There's nothing wrong with being confident, Dash. There's nothing wrong with celebrating your victory. You don't have to mention anything about the next race or the fact that you're going to blow everyone out of the water." He rolls his eyes, but his lips tug at the corners. "Let the world see what you have accomplished. Let the world see the support system that you have. There are other people out there who believe in their dreams; let them know that they can be achieved."

He places his hands on my face and leans forward placing his forehead against mine. "I love you." His voice is soft.

"I love you, too." I reach out and undo the button of his pants. I look up to his beautiful gray eyes as I slowly undo his zipper.

"What are you doing?" he asks softly.

"I wanna show you how much I love you."

He gives me a soft smile. "I like the sound of that." His pants fall to the floor and he steps out of them and then removes his boxers. I reach up, bring his face down to mine, and kiss him as I pull him onto the bed. Ready to give him everything that I have.

He rolls us over to where he's straddling me and I smile up at him.