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once found off-putting. I look beyond the difference in our ages, beyond the tattoos and the bad-boy attitude. I can see the real Jason Shepard…and I like what I see. “You have to go,” I finally say, the very speaking of the words makes me want to cry.
     
    “Let me stay,” Shep says softly, as he kisses the top of my head.
     
    “No, you have to go. Charlie can’t know. Not until after the race. After that, come back to me. But until then…” I say, my voice trailing off.
     
    Shep heaves a great sigh. “I know. No distractions. It’s going to be hard to…to ignore you this next week,” Shep says softly. “To see you every night and yet not be able to touch you.” 
     
    “I know. But we must do what we must.”
     
    Shep doesn’t move and I don’t either, not wanting to give up this closeness. Finally, Shep begins to disentangle himself. “Claire, I can’t tell you what this means to me,” he says sitting up. He turns to look at me, touching the side of my face.
     
    I touch the side of his face in return but say nothing, not trusting my voice.
     
    ***
     
    The next week passes in a blur and Charlie and Shep join me for dinner each night as we agreed. Shep and I strive to act normal around each other, but I find it difficult to not let my gaze linger on him. The desire to kiss him each night as we part is so strong that I take to telling them goodbye from the kitchen, using the mundane task of cleaning up the meal as a distraction. 
     
    “I’m going to the race,” I announce Friday night.
     
    “Claire…” Charlie begins.
     
    “No.” I state firmly, my tone brooking no argument. “I’m going.”
     
    Shep and Charlie look at one another. “I’ll take care of her,” Shep says. “Don’t worry.”
     
    Saturday Shep arrives about six p.m. with a box. “Headphone,” he says, pulling them from the box. “So you can listen in and hear what is going on.”
     
    I notice that Shep isn’t wearing his Kings of Chaos jacket. It is one of the few times I have seen him without it. I take the headphones. “Thank you, Shep. For everything,” I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls back, avoiding the kiss. “Not now. Later. I have to focus.”
     
    I smile, but don’t press the matter. “You find me to be a distraction?” I ask as I put the headphone back in the box.
     
    “Claire, you are the only thing I have been able to think about all week.”
     
    “That’s sweet,” I say with a smile. His words giving me a warm feeling. “Tonight, I want your head in the game. Then, afterwards, I want you to bring me back here. Can you do that? Can you think about nothing but Charlie for the next eight hours?”
     
    Shep takes the box from me. “Let’s go,” he says, all business.
     
    ***
     
    We arrive at the “track” a little before eight. There are already a few people there. I recognize a man from the Kings of Chaos . Like Shep, he is not wearing his jacket. “Let me explain the rules,” Shep says, as we dismount his bike. “Nobody is here. You talk to nobody, unless it is business. You recognize nobody. Understood?”
     
    “Understood,” I say firmly.
     
    “Good. There are no spectators, so you will be helping me. Just stick close to me, okay?”
     
    “Got it,” I say.
     
    I help Shep set up a table. As more and more people arrive, a few of whom I recognize from the Kings, I start directing traffic as Shep instructs. I notice that there is a steady stream of bikes entering the track. Shep explains they are checking the track for debris. As darkness descends, Shep hands me a small but very bright penlight. “Don’t shine it into anyone’s face,” Shep instructs. “We have to protect the racers’ night vision.”
     
    At 11, a train of bikes leave the starting line. Each bike carries a passenger, delivering the corner marshalls. At midnight, I sit with Shep at a table. We are flanked by two men with pistols prominently displayed on their hip. Each rider, wearing their