I swallow hard and nod. Toying with Holly’s heart isn’t something I ever want to do. It’s the main reason I fought against my desire to sleep with her in the first place. She’s the relationship kind of girl, and I knew that when I slept with her. Now I just have to figure out where she and I go from here. All I know right now is that I want to be with her. The rest I’ll have to figure out. “I understand.”

Bill smiles. “I know you do.”

HOLLY

The next week flies by. Every moment of every day is spent working on organizing the race. Trip received confirmation back that the band will play at our race the very day he called them. Trip seems very excited that Black Falcon is coming here because he went to work getting graphics made for the signage for the event. Working alongside Trip has been great. Not once has he laughed at my ideas, or tried to take over like Jackson would’ve done if he’d been the one helping me.

We haven’t slept apart since that first night we had sex. Sleeping with Trip has quickly become something I crave. Every little touch from him ignites a fire in my belly that only he can extinguish—something he is always eager to do.

I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve been a complete horn-dog lately. Trip has a crazy effect on me. It’s like I can’t get enough of him. Even when he’s with me, I’m constantly thinking of him, which is making my job confirming all the riders for this weekend difficult.

I press end on my cell phone and grin at Trip, who looks up me from his computer screen. “Charlie Chance just confirmed. That’s one hundred and fifty riders in total for an open-class race. I think we’ve got enough bikes to have some great heats in the 125 and 250 classes.”

Trip closes his laptop. “That’s great news. One hundred and fifty is the goal, right?”

I nod. “Yes. It’s the perfect number for our small race. The next one we do can go bigger. How’s the budget looking?”

“It’s completely under control. We’ve sold enough pre-order tickets to totally fund the event. This will give the track a great boost to get back on its feet.”

“I’m excited to meet the band and thank them in person for all they’ve done,” I say.

Trip sighs. “About that…there’s something I need to tell you.”

Pain appears in the expression on his face. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like he’s being tortured with his own thoughts. I reach for his hand, willing away the hurt in his eyes. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. We’ll work through it.”

He sucks in his lower lip. “I’m actually—”

Before Trip has time to tell me whatever he was going to say, Dad bursts through the office door. “Trip come quick! Jackson is beating the hell out of Max. I’m not strong enough to break them up. I need your help!”

I suck in a quick breath as Trip flies off his stool and toward the door. I’m right on his heels as he comes to a skidding stop on the front porch. My eyes lock on the grotesque display of human behavior before me. Max lies on the ground in a curled up ball, while Jackson towers over him, shouting slurs.

My hand covers my mouth. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Jackson did an excellent job of hiding his true colors from me. I know Max told me how Jackson treated him, but never imagined I would witness this scene.

Jackson yanks his leg back and kicks Max square in the stomach before he bends down and says, “I’ll give you something to really cry about to the cops, you fucking homo.”

I gasp as Trip pushes forward and leaps over the banister, landing on Jackson’s back. A cloud of dust engulfs them and they immediately begin tearing into each other. It’s hard to tell where Trip ends and Jackson begins. They roll around on the ground, both trying to gain the upper hand. Trip’s size finally overpowers Jackson and he takes control.

Trip slams his fist into Jackson’s face, and Jackson’s head rocks back. “Why don’t you pick on someone who isn’t afraid to fight back?” Trip punches him again. “You fucking coward.”

Trip’s hands wrap around Jackson’s throat as blind rage takes hold of him. I grab Dad’s arm.

Oh God, please don’t let Trip kill him. Jackson isn’t worth Trip going back to jail for.

Jackson reaches up and shoves the heel of his hand into Trip’s face. Jackson is having trouble getting air because of Trip’s hold because his face turns beet red.

Max groans and rolls onto his back on the ground, just as sirens blare in the distance.

My gaze whips to Dad and panic sets in as I think about Trips past brushes with the law. I don’t want him to get into any trouble over Jackson. “You called the cops?”

He nods. “I had to, honey. There’s no way I can get involved physically. Besides, after what Jackson did to Max, the cops need to witness his handiwork. That boy needs to serve a little time.”

The first thought that enters my mind is Trip’s past. He’s been in trouble for this sort of thing before. If the police show up and see this, his past may cause him major problems.

I rush off the porch and my dad yells for me to stop, but I don’t listen. My own safety isn’t important right now. I reach Trip just as I hear a car coming down the long gravel driveway. He’s so focused on hurting Jackson that he’s oblivious to everything else going on around him.

I grab his arm and pull. “Trip, let him go. The cops are coming. They can’t see you like this.”

It takes a couple more hard tugs before he realizes I’m right there with him. “Holly, get back. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I shake my head furiously. “No. Not until you back away from him. He’s not worth it, Trip. Come on. Please,” I beg.

Trip’s gaze shoots from me to Jackson and then back to me before he releases his fingers. Jackson gasps for air and begins to cough, while Trip stares down at his hands. “What the hell am I doing?” It’s almost as if he’s whispering to himself more than me.

I help him up to his feet just as a police cruiser skids to a stop in the gravel in front of us. A young male officer jumps from the car and leaves his door wide open as he slaps his hat on his head and approaches Trip and I, his hand near the gun holstered on his side. The distinct sound of hard-rock music blasts from the car, like the guy was pumping himself up on the ride out here.

The stocky cop is about half a foot shorter than Trip’s six-foot height, but appears to be about the same age. The officer’s brown eyes roam around, accessing the situation before his sights turn back to Trip and I. I stand behind Trip, clinging to his arm, while the cop determines if the tattooed man standing before him is an immediate threat.

The cop clears his throat. “I’m Officer King. What’s going on out here?”

I open my mouth to explain, but Trip beats me to the punch. “This guy”—he points down at Jackson—“came out here uninvited and started beating on our friend over there for no reason.”

Officer King nods. “I see, and I suppose you stopped it?”

“Yes. I couldn’t stand by and let him get away with hurting my friend. Max has a restraining order against him. It should be on file.”

Jackson pushes himself up at the same time Max does. I race over to Max and help him to his feet. “Are you okay?”

Max nods. “I think so. It’s not as bad as last time. Thank God for Trip, huh?”

I hug Max. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Maybe now the law will actually do something about Jackson.”

“On your feet,” the officer commands while glaring down at Jackson. “I need to see some identification from all of you.” The guys all fish their wallets from their back pockets and hands Officer King their drivers licenses. “You all stay put while I run these through.”

Max and I walk over and stand next to Trip, while Jackson keeps a safe distance, leaning against his car.

Trips clamps Max’s shoulder. “You all right, buddy?”

Max winces and Trip offers an apologetic frown. “I’m okay. Thank you for what you did. I owe you one.”

“Any friend of Holly’s, is a friend of mine.” He slings his arm over my shoulders and pulls me into him.

Max grins at me. “Your girl, huh? I always knew you had a thing for him. I should start a dating service with my mad relationship-predicting skills.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re lucky you’re wounded, because that would’ve earned you a smack.”

Max laughs and then winces as he grabs his ribs. “You know you love me.”

Trip and I both chuckle. It’s good to see Max hasn’t lost his playful spirit, and my heart aches knowing he’s been going through hell for so long and I didn’t stop it.

A moment later, the officer returns from his vehicle with a mean scowl on his face. He hands Max back his license first and then turns to Jackson, “I’m going to need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

My mouth drops open at the same time Max says, “Holy shit.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I say as I watch the cop cuff Jackson’s hands behind his back.

“You can’t do this, you know,” Jackson says over his shoulder to Office King, who is busy reading him the Miranda rights. “Do you know who I am? You won’t be able to hold me long. I have money and lawyers.”

Officer King tightens the cuffs and Jackson winces. “I know exactly who you are. Ask me if I give two shits that you’re some dirt bike hot shot. We have pictures on file of what you did to Max over there. We’ve been looking for you. Seems you’ve been hiding from us over the last week. The guys down at the station will be happy to finally meet you, especially your new cellmates. They love meeting celebrities who hate homosexuals.”

“No. You can’t do this. Please,” Jackson begs as the cop leads him to the back of the cruiser and shoves him inside. I chuckle when the door slams in his face.