Blindness (46 page)

They’re calling my name. I have to go, and
all I want to do is hop off this bike and run to the blue
Port-o-potty 100 feet away. The whole thing has me chuckling, but
there’s no use dwelling on it. I’ll have to hold it—I can piss in
about 45 seconds.

I pound my fist with one of my old riding
buddies and flip the front down on my helmet. I hate wearing these
things; everything in here is so fucking small. I swear I think I
always hold my breath the entire time, all the way until I slide my
helmet off again.

I cruise by the front row before I rev my
engine enough to loop around and climb the hill. I know I’ll never
spot Charlie here amid the hundreds of family members that sit in
this section, so I look for Jessie’s purple hair. That lame-ass dye
job has saved me more than once—if I could, I’d make her sit on my
car so I could find it in a crowded parking lot.

I’m about to give up when I see the flash of
purple, and I notice her hands waving for my attention. Charlie is
clinging to her arm, her face buried in her shoulder, so I stop at
the side for just a few seconds to pull her away and kiss her in
front of the arena full of people.

When I pull away, she’s smiling again, her
eyes blinking rapidly with embarrassment, because they just showed
her face on the big screen. I kiss my thumb, and then press it to
her lips one more time; she giggles. I carry that with me as I ride
the rest of the way up the hill.

Once I’m at the top, all sound fades away,
and everything looks just like home—I’m right back at the pits,
only the lighting is better. I’ve done this—every single thing I
have planned for today—at least 100 times over the last month. My
nerves are like ice, and my bike feels like it’s just an extension
of me. I can feel everything, but I also feel nothing. No pain. My
leg is meaningless up here as I look down at the line of dirt and
the giant gap between both sides.

I’m ready to fly. I know my grin is cocky as
I open up the throttle, and when I feel the speed building as I
rush down the ramp, and back up again, my body is overcome with the
most amazing calm. The ground is rough, but my arms take every bump
and melt it away until suddenly, there’s nothing.

It’s the same sensation you get when you’re a
child, finally learning how to swing your way to be even with the
bar of the swing set. That little bit of slack—the moment when the
chains go limp, and you’re actually free falling, nothing there to
hold you. Yeah. That’s what I’m feeling right now—and it’s fucking
glorious!

My first trick is simple, just a single flip
on the bike. I land it clean, and I can hear the crowd roaring. I
hope Charlie’s seeing this, because it’s all for her. Thinking
about her only makes me push myself harder, and I make the turn for
the next ramp and rev the bike for more speed.

God, I’ve missed that sound—the way it echoes
off the building walls, off the crowd sitting in the stands. The
next two hills are smaller, so I play with them a little, pulling
my legs up and swinging my body to the side not once, but
twice.

Damn, that felt good. It was easy. Like I
just did this yesterday.

I manage to glance at the clock, and I still
have 20 seconds left. I can pull off two more big jumps if I go for
it now. I haven’t told Charlie about any of this, but Jessie knows.
She was worried, but that’s her job. She’s like my sister after
all.

When I’m back at the top, my body feels
invincible. My heart is actually beating outside my chest, the
adrenaline burning through my veins, and I go full speed down and
up again, this time, twisting the bike totally to its side and
kicking my legs in the opposite direction. My mom used to hate it
when I did this trick. Dad made her come out to watch when I was
learning, but she always left after this one. I wonder if Charlie
made it through?

There’s no time to ride by and check for her.
Not if I want to do one more. So I speed by quickly, my mind
imagining her there, hearing her voice in my ears as I ride by.
She’d think I’m fucking nuts, I swear, if she knew how often I
pretended to talk to her.

I get up to the top in seconds, and I know I
have to go for it now if I want to make this last move count. I
take a deep breath in and power forward, pushing the bike as fast
as it will go, until I’m flying again, away from it all.

Here it is—this is the moment. I let go from
the bars, and I turn with the bike, both of us 200 pounds, gliding
through the air with no hope for safety—only my best jump and fate.
It only takes a second, but that’s enough. I hear her voice in my
head, see her face, her smile, feel her—it passes through my heart
all at once. That little inkling that tells me I’m being stupid and
careless.

“Jesus, Cody. Put your hands back on the
fucking bars,” I say to myself. And I do. I grip them, and my feet
find their place, and I land the bike cleanly, but with enough
force to slide it to the side until I come to a stop.

I went too far. That was too far—and I think
I might have just lost her. I swear, if she’s still here, if
Charlie is still in the building, I’ll never attempt this fucking
trick again. The crowd is literally screaming the roof off the
arena, and the flashes are everywhere. I’m running through the
loose dirt, trying to get to the stands, trying to find my girl,
but this goddamned helmet is blinding me.

I hate this fucking thing. I finally unsnap
it and fling it from my head, tossing it to the ground along with
the goggles. Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?

The purple flashes through the throngs of
cameras and VIP sponsors along the wall, and I push my way through
to get to it. When I see her there, her arms wrapped around
Jessie’s bicep like she’s clinging for her life in the middle of a
hurricane, my heart stops.

I will never attempt that jump again.
Ever.

There are actual tears in her eyes when she
finally looks up from Jessie’s arm. I reach for her and lift her
over the wall to cradle her. “I know baby. I know, I’m sorry. I got
carried away, but I’ll never do that again. I shouldn’t have made
you watch,” I say, hugging her closely and pressing my lips to her
ear. “God, I’m sorry, Charlie.”

She’s clutching my jacket, and I can feel the
wetness of her tears along my neck. That was such a selfish prick
thing to do, and I can’t believe I made her watch it.

Her grip finally loosens, and when she moves
her head back to look at me, I reach up with my hand and smooth the
hair away that’s matted to her face. All I can do is give her my
stupid smile—the one that says, “I’m a total fuck-up, but you love
me anyway.” But before I do, she starts laughing, almost
uncontrollably.

“That was beautiful, Cody,” she says. “You
were amazing!”

“Yeah? You…you thought that was…amazing?” I
say, still waiting for the other, bigger shoe to drop.

But it doesn’t. She just nods up and down,
with verve. And then kisses me again, the same kiss we started 60
seconds ago. The crowds are closing in on us, and there are a dozen
people battling for my time and attention. But I’m only giving it
to one—everyone else will have to wait.

“You really…liked that?” I say, sliding my
hands along her frame, down to her waist.

“Ooooooh, I don’t know that I would go that
far. I didn’t
like
any of that, and I’m pretty sure I need
to watch your next run from a trailer somewhere. Somewhere far
away, and with a bathroom,” she smiles. “But I would never ask you
to stop. You’re too good. You were meant for this.”

I kiss her again, this time longer and
deeper, and I don’t give a rip who’s watching. I hear the people
around us start to actually, “Oooooh,” and I think one of them is
Jessie. They can
oooooh
all they want. And the people who
suddenly find me relevant again, well…they can wait. Because I
know, despite what Charlie said, there’s only one thing on this
earth that I’m meant for—and she’s right here in my arms.

Acknowledgements

I am enormously proud of this story, and I
thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading it. There are
several people who I want and need to thank, but the biggest credit
goes to the amazing members of the reading and blogging community
who have spent time reading my words, sharing their opinions and
encouraging others to read my books. The book blogging community is
rich with wonderful people—people with no vested interest other
than the goal of encouraging reading and fostering support for
authors. I know I am where I am today because of them. Please, if
you are able, take the time to visit their sites, comment on their
reviews and share in the experience—they play an important role in
the literary community, and I am incredibly grateful for them.

Blindness
came to me when I was
finishing
Waiting on the Sidelines,
and I couldn’t wait to
see where it went once I started. Many heartfelt thanks for my
special beta-reading team for previewing chapters and taking the
journey early to help me make sure everything was just right. I
couldn’t do what I do without you!

Thank you, Tina Scott and Billi Joy Carson,
for your kick-ass editing. My words are better for having gone
through your microscopes. Thank you Lesley Thompson for knowing how
to take what was in my head and transplant it on a pair of pretty
sexy arms.

Finally, as I will always say, thank you Tim
and Carter—my boys. I love you and can’t believe how lucky I got in
life. My little family of three is perfect in every possible way,
and I am strong because of you both.

If you enjoyed
Blindness,
I would
love it if you would share your thoughts with others. Please
consider posting a review, lending the book or recommending it.
(Amazon reviews are truly the best gift you can give an author.) If
you do post a review, please let me know so I can thank you and
share your review on my websites. You can find me on Goodreads or
at
www.littlemisswrite.com
.
Please also consider liking my facebook page at
www.facebook.com/GingerScottAuthor
and following me on Twitter @TheGingerScott. And if you’d just like
to drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you. I love email (I do a
happy dance; honestly, I do!).   

About the author

Ginger Scott is a journalist and writer from
Peoria, Arizona. A proud Sun Devil, she is a graduate and associate
faculty member of Arizona State University’s Cronkite School of
Journalism. When she’s not tapping feverishly on her MacBook during
the wee hours or reading in the dark on her iPad, she’s probably at
a baseball diamond somewhere watching her son or her favorite team,
the Arizona Diamondbacks, take the field.

Also by Ginger Scott

In addition to
Blindness,
Ginger
Scott is the author of the powerful and character-driven
coming-of-age romance series
Waiting on the Sidelines
and
Going Long.
She is also busy working on another new-adult
romance. For the latest information on new projects, book signings
and more, be sure to follow her on Facebook or visit her
online.