Chapter Twenty-One
Thorne
My helmet hits the ground, rolls once, and knocks against the side of my boot.
Nobody picks it up.
Nobody says a fucking word.
I’m still staring at Echo, waiting for her to answer the question I already know she can’t, because apparently some completely useless part of my brain has decided that if she tells me Wolfe’s alive, then he is.
Doesn’t matter what Andre’s been told. Doesn’t matter that Echo’s face is soaked with tears, or that Talon’s standing ten feet away with both hands locked over his head like he’s trying to hold himself together.
Doesn’t matter that Draygon hasn’t moved since he got off his bike.
None of it fucking matters.
I asked her to tell me he’s alive, so she needs to bloody tell me.
Echo’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
And that’s when I know.
Properly know.
Something inside me just switches off.
It doesn’t break. Breaking would mean I can actually feel something, and right now there’s fuck all.
My body’s still buzzing from the bike, fingers aching from how hard I gripped the bars all the way back, thighs tight, shoulders burning, sweat going cold beneath my leathers, but all of it feels like it belongs to some other bloke.
People are moving around the paddock. Officials. Marshals. Sponsor staff. Somebody’s talking low to Andre, and Sayshen’s beside Echo looking like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Reign’s sitting on the ground with his head between his knees.
I can see all of it.
I just can’t make any of it mean a fucking thing.
Because Wolfe was just talking to us.
That’s the bit my brain keeps snagging on.
He was just fucking talking to us.
I heard every second of it through my helmet.
Wolfe knew he was going down.
We all fucking knew.
And the second it happened, every part of me screamed to turn around, to get back to him, to do something other than keep riding away while he was somewhere behind us on the fucking ground.
Andre wouldn’t let me.
The thought punches straight through the numbness, and suddenly I’m looking at him instead of Echo.
“You made me keep riding.”
Andre’s head lifts slowly.
I’m already moving toward him, boots heavy against the concrete, hands flexing at my sides because if I don’t do something with them, I’m going to put one through a wall.
“He went down and you made me carry on like some fucking lap time mattered.”
Andre’s jaw tightens. “Thorne—”
“Don’t.”
The word comes out low and shredded.
“I was right there, mate. Right fucking there, and you wouldn’t let me go back.”
“The course was live,” Andre says, voice controlled, but there’s strain underneath it now.
“I know the bloody course was live.”
“There were riders behind you at speed.”
“And Wolfe was on the fucking ground.”
My voice cracks on his name.
Andre flinches this time.
Good.
He should.
“Thorne.”
Echo’s voice comes from behind me, small and broken enough that it cuts straight through everything.
I turn.
She’s crying so hard her whole face has gone blotchy, tears stuck to her lashes and running unchecked down her cheeks.
One hand is pressed flat against her chest like she can physically hold herself together if she pushes hard enough, and Sayshen is still close behind her, watching me like he doesn’t know whether to step in.
“Thorne, please,” she says, voice trembling. “Just... please.”
For one second, all the anger drains out of me and there’s just her.
Her shaking shoulders and red eyes.
The way she looks as fucking ruined as I feel.
Then Draygon moves.
He crosses the space without saying anything and wraps both arms around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest. Echo folds into him almost immediately, one of her hands catching at his forearm while he lowers his head beside hers.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
Her face crumples harder and I look away before that finishes me off completely.
When I turn back to Andre, the anger is worse.
Seeing Echo like that has ripped whatever control I had left clean out of me. She’s shaking in Draygon’s arms, crying so hard she can barely get a breath in, and every protective instinct in me is screaming for somewhere to put the blame.
Andre is the easiest target.
My jaw locks.
“I could’ve checked on him,” I say, voice rough. “I could’ve got to him. I could’ve at least been there.”
Andre’s expression tightens. “Thorne—”
“No, mate.” I step closer, fists curling at my sides. “You don’t get to stand there and tell me there was nothing I could’ve done when you never even let me fucking try.”
The hurt under the anger makes my voice crack, and that only pisses me off more.
“I was right there.”
My chest pulls tight.
“And you made me ride away.”
“You couldn’t safely turn around.”
“Fuck safely.”
Andre’s eyes harden. “Thorne.”
“No, fuck that.” I step closer.
“I wasn’t going to let you get yourself killed trying to reach him.”
“I don’t fucking care!”
The words rip out of me so loud people nearby turn.
“I don’t care if I had to dump the bike and fucking run. Fuck what could’ve happened to me. He was there, alone!”
My throat closes around the last few words.
“He was fucking alone, Andre.”
Behind me, Echo sobs into Draygon’s chest.
Andre looks wrecked now too, but I can’t stop.
“I could’ve gotten then, we both know it, and you, you made me ride away from him.”
His voice drops. “I made you come back alive. Because we all know thats what he would’ve wanted.”
I laugh once, sharp and broken.
“Yeah. Brilliant.”
“Thorne—”
“Yeah, well, he’s dead, so what he would’ve wanted doesn’t really matter now, does it?” I laugh, but there’s fuck all funny in it. “But who cares, right? You got me back.”
My chest heaves as I shake my head, staring at Andre through burning eyes.
“Just not all of me.”
The anger drains out of my voice on the last few words, leaving something rawer behind.
“Because yeah, I came back alive.” My voice drops, rough enough I barely recognise it. “But I’m not the bloke who left that pit this morning. Not anymore. Not without him.”
Maybe he sees it, because his expression changes slightly, but he doesn’t step back.
“You think I wanted to?” Andre asks, voice low. “You think I wanted any of you out there after that?”
“I could’ve gone back.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“Fuck off.”
“You couldn’t, Thorne.” His voice rises now, cutting straight through mine. “You were miles away on an active course with other riders still moving. You turn around, stop somewhere unsafe or lose your head trying to get to him, and then I’ve got another fucking rider down.”
My chest heaves.
“I could’ve done something.”
“No.”
“Don’t fucking tell me—”
“You could not help him.”
That shuts me up.
Not because I want it to.
Because somewhere underneath all the rage, I know he’s right.
Andre’s eyes are wet now, and seeing that takes some of the fight out of me in a way nothing else has. He looks fucking wrecked too. Not like the bloke in charge of all of us, not like the man who always has an answer or a plan.
Just someone who lost Wolfe too.
He drags in a breath and looks toward the course.
“I had Wolfe down and three of you still out there.” His voice catches, and he has to stop before he can force the rest out. “I wasn’t losing another one of you, Wolfe wouldn’t have wanted me to.”
My jaw tightens.
The anger is still there.
Fuck, it’s everywhere.
But it isn’t really his.
I know that.
I don’t actually blame Andre for keeping us moving. I know exactly what would’ve happened if I’d turned around on a live course, and I know Wolfe would’ve ripped me a new one for even trying.
But knowing that doesn’t make any of this easier.
It just leaves me with nowhere to put the hurt.
I look away and scrub a hand over my face.
“Fuck.”
Andre doesn’t say anything.
Neither do I.
Because we’re all hurting, and for the last five minutes I’ve been throwing mine at him because he was standing close enough to take it.
The realization makes something in my chest cave in, and I turn away before the rest of me goes with it.
I keep walking.
“Thorne.”
“Fuck off.”
Draygon follows anyway.
I cut between two transporters until the noise of the paddock dulls behind us, then turn on him so fast he nearly walks into me.
“I said fuck off.”
His eyes are red, jaw clenched hard enough to show through his skin, but he doesn’t move.
“No.”
That one word sends the rage straight through me. I turn around, and shove him, hard.
He rocks back a step and steadies himself without lifting a hand.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Draygon, I swear to fucking Christ, move.”
“You wanna hit something?” He steps closer instead of backing off, arms dropping loose at his sides. “Hit me.”
I stare at him.
He taps his own chest. “Go on. If that’s what you need, fucking hit me. Better me than putting your hand through metal.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what I need.”
“Then tell me.”
“I need him!”
My voice tears apart on the words.
Draygon’s face twists, but I’m too far gone to stop now.
“I need Wolfe back, mate. Can you fucking do that?”
“No.”
“Then you’re no use to me either.”
The second it leaves my mouth I know it’s cruel.
I don’t care.
Or maybe I do, and that only pisses me off more.
Draygon steps into me when I try to move past him, and I shove him again. This time he catches my arms.
“Get off me!”
“Not while you’re like this.”
“Like what?” I wrench against his grip. “Fucking grieving?”
“Like you’re about to tear yourself apart because you can’t tear the rest of the world apart instead.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah.” His voice cracks. “Fuck me. Hit me if you need to, Thorne, but stop acting like you’re the only one who fucking lost him.”
That does it.
I rip one arm free and swing.
My fist catches him across the jaw.
Draygon’s head snaps sideways.
For one second, everything goes dead still.
Then he turns back toward me slowly, thumb dragging across the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t hit me back.
Somehow that makes me even angrier.
“Come on then, mate!” I shove his chest. “You fucking offered.”
“I offered to be your outlet, but I’m not fucking fighting you.”
“Then stop following me!”
“No.”
I grab the front of his leathers.
He grabs mine.
And suddenly we’re chest to chest, both of us breathing too hard, grief turning into something ugly because neither of us knows where the fuck else to put it.
“STOP!”
Echo’s scream cuts straight through us.
We both freeze.
She’s standing a few feet away, tears pouring down her face, Sayshen somewhere farther behind her like he followed but knew better than to come closer. Her whole body is shaking, one hand pressed against her mouth as she tries and fails to pull in a proper breath.
“Echo—”
“No.”
Her voice breaks.
Then she marches straight at us.
“Fucking stop.”
She wedges herself between us and shoves at my chest first, then Draygon’s, forcing us apart even though she’s half our size.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Neither of us answers.
Her face crumples.
“He’s dead.”
The words come out as a sob, and fuck me, they hit harder than Draygon ever could.
“He is fucking dead, and you two are back here beating the shit out of each other like that’s going to change anything.”
“Echo, I—”
“No, Thorne.”
She shoves me again, weaker this time because she’s crying too hard.
“Wolfe wouldn’t want this.”
My jaw tightens.
“Don’t tell me what he’d—”
“He wouldn’t!”
She screams it so loudly I shut up.
“He loved you.” Her hand smacks against my chest. “And he loved you.” She turns and does the same to Draygon. “He loved us, and he would fucking hate this. So stop.”
Her next breath caves in.
“Please.”
That’s what finally kills the fight.
Not Andre or Draygon.
Her.
Echo standing between us, absolutely fucking shattered, begging the two of us not to make this worse.
My hands fall to my sides.
Draygon releases a breath and steps back.
Echo looks between us, tears still spilling down her cheeks. “I can’t lose anyone else today.”
Fuck.
Whatever fight I had left dies right there.
Draygon reaches for her first, pulling her against his chest, and she folds into him like she’s finally run out of strength to keep herself upright.
For a second, I just stand there watching them.
Then Echo reaches one trembling hand toward me, and that fucking finishes me.
I cross the space and let her pull me in, one arm wrapping around her while Draygon keeps hold of us both. Nobody says anything. There isn’t anything left to say.
Wolfe should be here.
He should be taking the piss out of how fucking dramatic we look, wedging himself into the middle because apparently personal space has never applied to him.
Instead, there’s just the three of us holding onto each other where there should’ve been four.
I bury my face against Echo’s hair and close my eyes.
For the first time since my helmet hit the ground, I stop fighting it.
But fuck, does it hurt.