Chapter three
Cole
June
Jacksonville Training Center
The center was the premiere place to train, even without an injury. They had the best therapists and coaches on staff, plus state-of-the-art equipment. It was time to get busy. Time to get strong. Time to start focusing on next season, since this last one was over.
Missing the end of the season had put me out of the points race.
Not only did I not finish first or third, but I didn’t finish in the top five.
Chad Regal won again. Tate had been right behind him, taking second with only six points separating them.
Either one could have taken the championship.
It had been an exciting end to the season, but it sucked that it hadn’t included me.
Not that I cared. Fuck them—fuck points.
Concentrating on my stretches was more important. I’d established a routine with the physical therapist that worked my biceps, triceps, then some wrist exercises. When I finished them, I’d move to light weights, then some squats and lunges for lower body. That was only to warm up.
My trainer from the facility would set me on the harder stuff after that. I was making great progress but not enough. I was more than ready to get back on a bike, mentally, but my grip still wasn’t there.
Vick burst into the workout room. “Cole.” He gestured me over. “I need a minute, then you can get back to it.”
“What’s up?”
Vick had been staying at the center with me, making sure the team’s investment was going to be able to return to racing. As if I needed a babysitter. “Got a call from HQ. We’re going to have some visitors that I need to give you a heads-up on.”
“Visitor?” What had KTM cooked up this time?
“Yes, visitors.” He held up two fingers. “Two guys are doing a documentary on Supercross and injuries. They want to film some of your recovery.”
“What? No.” I didn’t want the world seeing me like this, so weak. It was too personal. “I can’t even get on a bike yet. Come on.”
Vick put a hand on me, cupping my shoulder.
“I know, but your contract is coming up for renewal. If you’re not playing the game and going along with SJA management…
” He was talking about SJA Motorsports/Hyper-fantasy league/KTM factory racing team.
My team. The team I’d been on for four years.
“Well, Cole, they may be looking at other racers.”
“You mean you. You will be looking.”
He held up his hand, and I was just as happy to have it off me. “I do what I’m told. And so do you.”
“That sounds very threatening.” It was the biggest threat.
One all the racers dealt with constantly.
If your sponsors weren’t happy, if your team wasn’t happy, if you weren’t placing in the top ten, top five, getting a podium, winning?
You could lose your ride. And I’d seen it happen.
You only wanted to jump teams when it was better for you, not the team you were leaving.
“It’s the facts. And you’ve been around long enough that we don’t need to have this conversation.” He clapped me on the shoulder again for emphasis. “Now play nice with these boys.” He pointed at me with his other hand, then turned and left.
He wasn’t wrong. I knew my place, but it pissed me the fuck off royally.
Especially with something like this. I could go along with it and show the world, my fans, how far I’d fallen, and then the team drops me anyway.
SJA Motorsports/Hyper-fantasy league/KTM factory racing.
I’d been with them since I’d come up to the bigger bikes.
They’d backed me, even throughout the bullshit with that stupid fucker, Parker Shannon.
But now they were pulling my strings. I couldn’t help thinking they wanted me to be seen in an unfavorable light.
Then they could drop me without guilt. Not that they really needed a reason.
The contract was up during the break between seasons. So, another month or so and I’d have my answers, no matter what I did. Not going along with the filming would be guaranteeing they dropped me. No matter what it seemed like on the surface, I actually didn’t have a choice.
Fuck it.
I picked the weights back up. The best thing I could do was get better. Fast.