Fighting For Light: A Dark Sports Romance (The Coldwell Brothers)

5. Cordelia

I watch Kai return to his trailer, and his strong, sweaty back glistens in the sun. Every time he launches himself and the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound machine into the air and lets go to fly, my heart stops. But I think for a moment, the world lifts off his shoulders, and he feels free, which is why he loves it so much. His next race is tomorrow, and I’m sure the nerves are building by now. They usually do for most of the team. I don’t get along with the other guys as much as I do with Kai. We’ve built a friendship for more than a decade. But he still hasn’t let go around me.

Last night still runs through my head. I watched the way he stood between a woman he didn’t know and a man who was clearly drunker than a skunk. He didn’t hesitate to protect her. Kai has never seen me as anything other than the coach’s daughter and his best friend, but watching him be the hero made me fall in love with him even more. The reality is, though, I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman who only loved one man who will probably never love her back.

I’ve never dated anyone long-term. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not waiting around for Kai…entirely, but I lose interest every time I go on a date. So it’s not for a lack of trying. I just know no one, and nothing will come close to him.

Instead, I’m focusing on other areas of my life. I never went to college and decided to stay with Dad and help him with the business side of things, like organizing the campgrounds and cross-checking schedules with corporate. Dad is not an organizer, and I’ve grown up around dirt bikes, dirty boys, and a father who thrives on the adrenaline. I know the sport and the business. My main goal was to have a better relationship with him since most of my teen years were spent with my mom, but there is only so much dirt and dirt bikes I can take. So, I started doing freelance graphic design work on the side.

“Cordi, I’m going to go get the boys ready. Will I see you out there?” Dad asks.

I look up from my laptop. I’ve been killing myself to meet this deadline for a client who hired me for website design and wanted to be done in time to photograph the race.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” I mumble.

Ever since I graduated from high school early, I wanted to be there for Kai. It’s not like his mom wasn’t. She and his little brother were as much as they could be, but Kai told his mom to stop coming as we got older. I don’t really know why. I figured maybe she was too busy with his little brother Liam, or maybe he didn’t want her to see him get hurt. Now, I make a point of being there.

After double-checking my grammar for the clothing boutique website I’m working on, I cross-check the color scheme to make sure it fits and complements the other marketing materials before sending it off. It’s hotter than Hades out here, so I throw on my cowboy boots and grab my baseball hat and sunglasses. Before I open the door, I remember my camera and head out. I’m also the team photographer for our sponsorships now. I can’t miss a single race.

The heat of the day immediately makes me sweat, and I’m glad I wore a dark-colored tank top. I roll my eyes as I walk past some motocross girlfriends in their crop tops and short shorts. Thank God for sunglasses. You wouldn’t catch me dead in a crop top or with my butt cheeks hanging out of my shorts. Chub rub is real, and I’m a little too thick for that.

I walk up the hill to where teams usually gather before they line up to race. There are only four of them now, which is typical for a team with their level of sponsorships and multiple world championships under their belts. They need to score the top four positions in this race to hold the top four spots in the overall standings. Freestyle is different in that the performance is judged and then scored.

Dad is talking to the team, and the guys are all suited up. I spot Kai with his jersey tucked in and his bike balanced between his legs. His big white number seven stares at me. He used to be one-twenty-two when he started on the Outlaw International Racing team. When he and the team won the championship the last couple of years, he chose a single-digit, seven, and as far as I’m concerned, the number belongs to him.

Kai’s helmeted head turns, and I swear he’s looking at me. I can’t tell for sure, but it’s a feeling. He’s staring. I look down at what I’m wearing, then spot a few other women looking much cuter. I wave, and he waves back. I knew it. I give him a thumbs up, and even though motocross is the furthest thing from surfing, he throws me a hang-ten sign. I stick my thumb and pinky out, throwing it back to him. We started doing it years ago before he was about to race. I was there, and words got caught in my throat. So I threw him the gesture, and it became our thing.

My heart twists in my chest with a longing I have only ever felt for him. I hate that I feel it some days. He doesn’t give me attention in that way because we’re friends, but he is everything I want. I know I shouldn’t say that. I’m old enough to know he keeps things locked up tight—it should be a red flag. But I’ve never been someone who pays attention to those. I prefer checkered flags, anyway.

Dad dismisses the guys, and they ride their bikes over to get lined up at the starting line. The beginning of the race is always the most nail-biting to me. A good rider picks their line before the gates drop so they can get ahead of the mass. If you fall behind, you could cross rut and find yourself in a world of hurt, crashing into other bikes.

This team is one of the fastest Dad’s ever had. There’s nothing to worry about. We know the competition, but it doesn’t make it any less scary to me. I’ve seen some nasty accidents where guys lose control of the bike, fall off in the middle of the jump and break their backs, or crack their heads open because the helmet flew off their head. But it’s also an exhilarating thirty minutes. I don’t have to be on a bike to feel it. Dad stopped competing when he almost snapped his spine, possibly leaving me without a father or one who couldn’t be there to see me grow up. I was only ten at the time. He healed up and said he was done. I imagine the possibility of leaving me with only my mom made him open his eyes and decide to coach instead. I’m not scared of bikes, but I stopped riding when that happened. I’m all he has.

The engines braaap to life, and Dad stands next to me. “Hey, honey. I was wondering if you’d make it down here in time.”

“I do have a job, ya know…taking pictures,“ I tell him, shifting the camera strap on my sweaty shoulder. He chuckles and runs his fingers through his sweaty hair before putting his hat back on his head. He started growing it out a long time ago. Now it’s about ear length, and I’m amazed he’s kept it this long. He liked having it buzzed because of helmets. “Are the boys ready?” I ask him.

“Yeah, I believe so. It will be a good race. We know our competition now. They just have to play it right. And be smart about making moves and reserving energy.”

I scoff and glance at him. “Dad, you do remember who you’re talking about, right?” He grunts and looks at the track. “You and I both know these guys are barely restrained adrenaline junkies that want to go as fast, high, and kick up as much dirt as possible.”

“The dirt part would defeat the purpose, Cordi, seeing as it would slow you down if you’re more worried about roosting than ripping through the track,“ Dad chastises.

I roll my eyes and look in the same direction. “I guess we will see, won’t we?”

“You don’t have much confidence in the team this year, do you?” Dad asks.

I shrug and wish I grabbed a bottle of water. “In my opinion, they are a bit reckless now, especially with last year’s win. Kai is the only one with a good head on his shoulders,” I mutter.

Dad chuckles, and I plow forward with my reasoning. “He’s a smart rider. He knows when to cut in and when to wait for his moment. Jennings is a hothead who needs to be put in his place. Stewart gets nervous at the quads because he can’t handle the four jumps in a row. It’s like he loses brain cells or something. And last, but certainly not least, Rafe Taylor thinks he is way better than he actually is.” I glance at Dad.

His arms are crossed, and his lips are turned down in a frown. I can’t see his eyes because they are covered by sunglasses. He’s mad because he knows I’m right. The team is good. They are fast, but we only got here by the skin of our teeth. Kai carries the team half the time as it is.

“Yes, they are idiots. Yes, Kai carries the team. And, yes, they are all adrenaline junkies. But, with sectionals, we will leave everyone in the mud, and you know it,“ he grumbles.

Pinning my lips together, I keep other thoughts to myself and leave it. The potential is there. I’ve been around this sport all my life to know when someone is good, and having a dad who has won multiple Motocross World Championships teaches you every little nuance that exists about this sport.

The gates go up, and everyone goes quiet, signaling the start of the race. My cheeks puff out a deep breath, and my heart thuds in slow motion as the world slows down. I lift my camera, focusing on the team. Their bodies are taut and ready, as determination bleeds from every shift they make.

The gates drop, and engines roar past me. My camera is on burst mode, so I brace myself, moving with them as they fly past me, taking fifty photos with one click. It’s the best way to get action shots; it makes the photos seem more candid. They have a bit to go and will be circling the track for about thirty minutes.

Motocross is an intense endurance sport. People don’t realize until they see it with their own eyes or run all out for thirty minutes straight without stopping. That’s how tough this sport is. Kai flies past me, and I snap a few pictures of him slightly lifted from his seat, ready to hit the rollers, the larger hills that lay one after the other. Seconds later, the rest of the team follows with the mass of them trying to catch up.