Love Ride (New Heights #1)

Chapter 1

Sharp drop-offs surround me as my bike teeters on the edge of a cliff. I can’t seem to convince my racing heart that this is normal—exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. As a professional Mountain Biker, this should feel normal.

It never does.

Every single time I stare down a disgustingly steep trail, my pulse rises into my throat. It doesn’t budge until I make it back on solid ground. Even then it sometimes sticks around and moves up into my skull, making me nauseous.

I’m not sure why I keep doing it. I can’t seem to stop though.

My life is reduced to terrifying trail after terrifying trail and all of the monotony in between. I lose myself to anxiety as I pump up my tires and tune my shocks, all the while wondering if I’ll be able to convince myself to plummet to my death at the next competition.

I used to love it. I’m pretty sure I still do, but lately I haven’t been able to get out of my own head.

This is my last year to prove to myself that I can do this.

I made a promise to myself, and to my friends, that I would give this pipe dream one more season before I’m done.

I’m twenty-five, it’s time to get it together.

I haven’t been getting any better…or braver.

This isn’t even a competition day—we have one of those this weekend—and I’m feeling like this already.

I’m not sure how I plan on dealing with the entire season.

Reid is a mile ahead of me by now, just like he always is.

Finally, I convince my legs to move, and I fly down the trail at a dizzying speed.

Once I’m flowing, the overwhelming sense of doom tends to quiet at least a little bit.

It’s hard to think of much else aside from not crashing.

My thick thighs are trembling from exertion.

At least on event days, the ski lifts carry us up to the start of the trail.

When we’re home, we have to bike ourselves up.

I barely register the trees, moving too quickly to let my eyes focus on anything—until I spot Reid waiting for me by the trail head.

He’s leaning up against the trail post, chomping on his beef jerky without a care in the world.

Sweaty and smirking, my favorite combination on him. The sight does nothing to slow my already hammering heart.

He leans forward to bump his fist against mine. “Addie! That was good.”

My eyes roll back. “We both know that was not good.”

Reid shrugs. “It was. You looked a little tense, but your form was perfect.”

He never looks tense—a natural on a bike. You’d think Reid has wings with the way he haphazardly tosses himself in the air.

This ride was supposed to make me feel more confident about tomorrow—and about the competition season as a whole. Instead, all it does is remind me how screwed I am this summer. Reid waves his half eaten beef stick in front of my face. “Come on, Addie. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

My voice catches, “Easier said than done.”

He looks at me with pity as he grabs my bike and our hands brush for a second. The gloves we’re wearing aren’t a sufficient enough barrier—it sends a shiver through me. He’s clearly struggling with both bikes, but he offered and I’m not risking touching him again.

I manage three deep breaths before I have to distract myself with my phone.

Since I committed to riding this season, I haven’t been able to focus on anything for long.

Another bead of sweat rolls down my cheek, and I’m once again pulled from my train of thought.

I try to wipe it away but end up adding dirt to the mix instead.

The air conditioning hits me, drying the salt to my face as I wait for Reid to secure the bikes to the back of the van.

This van will become my home after this weekend, and I still can’t wrap my head around that idea.

I stare at myself in the rear view mirror, making a feeble attempt to clean the dirt out of my golden strands as Reid finally climbs in beside me.

I’m trying to avoid making eye contact with him by focusing on rubbing the splatter off of my rosy cheeks. I can only avoid the pull of his gaze for so long before I’m caving. I turn towards him as he instructs me, “Leave it. It looks cute.”

He pinches my cheek between his thumb and forefinger. My pulse is right back in my damn throat. And my entire vocabulary has made itself scarce—I stare at him, dumbfounded, until he takes pity on me and expertly maneuvers the van out of the trail parking lot.

I’m so fucked.

Sinking into the mud, I look down and yank my foot free, trying to distract myself from the competition in front of me. Reid is riding perfectly, like he always does. Apparently, that fact isn’t reaching my nervous system. I grasp for air where there is none.

Freeride mountain biking is inherently dangerous. We launch ourselves into the air trusting that when we land, we’ll be in one piece. It’s especially dangerous when there’s a downpour like this.

The men are riding today, the women are riding tomorrow. Each event is different—sometimes we ride on the same day, but men almost always get priority.

Naturally, they don’t want to waste the good dirt on us women.

I think that’s what keeps me going. Some rebellious streak in me is determined to prove to myself, my parents, and this industry that women can compete at the same level the men can.

For years, the women’s division of freeride was hardly a thing.

Now we’ve finally started to make some waves.

I don’t want to be a coward who gives up and burdens us girls with a bad rep.

This trail is technical; full of sketchy drop-offs and rock slides.

One wrong move and Reid could be paralyzed…

or worse. Even the most confident rider can be brought down by a bit of rain, and I’m hardly comfortable riding in even a light drizzle.

A few riders decide to pull out at the last minute, not wanting to risk their bodies or their bikes so early in the season.

Reid isn’t one of them. Of course he isn’t. He’s never been one to take the safe path. I’m both envious of and annoyed by his recklessness.

Shifting my weight, I accidentally splash mud up onto the back of Damien’s calf. Damien is my cousin, well, not blood cousin, but that’s the best way to describe him. Our families have been friends and business partners for as long as I can remember.

I’m definitely closer to his sister, Delaney, but I love Damien too.

His wife died two years ago, and he’s been a single dad to their little girl, Josie, ever since.

I respect the hell out of him and his ability to make it look like he has everything under control, even when we all know he doesn’t—at least not all the way.

Damien’s staring down at me, judging me for my very obvious concern. “Ad, he’s gonna be okay, it’s Reid.”

“Yeah, I know.” I bite my lip, shifting back and forth again.

Damien grips my shoulder as he towers over me. “Stop splashing me, dammit, I thought I had some toddler-free time.”

His seriousness makes me laugh, and while I’m sure that wasn’t his intention, my shoulders still fall a fraction of an inch. Reid’s GoPro feed finally pops back up on the big screen, and he looks more confident than ever.

Rain drips off the visor of his helmet and right onto his handlebars.

He’s going to lose his grip and fall. I shake my head, baffled by my own thoughts.

My natural propensity to concoct the worst possible outcome in my head is a likely indicator that I’m in the wrong profession.

Worry has always been my default, but it’s gotten out of hand the last couple of years.

Reid and I couldn’t be more opposite in our riding style. Reid is a force, always the first one to send a jump, never holding back an ounce of anything. They call him ‘Hasty Hastings’ for a reason. Every event it seems as if he’s trying to prove how accurate that name really is.

My style is much more cautious. I approach every corner with precision and every jump with calculated intensity. We make a good team when we can get along long enough to actually listen to each other.

Reid finally makes it out of the forest and barrels down the final stretch of trail. There are two paths he can take. One features a massive jump followed by two smaller ones, and the other is a straightaway with a few smaller technical features.

I already know which one Reid is going to choose. As much as I wish he would be more careful, I know he never will be. Recklessness is in his DNA, and it’s a big part of why he’s become such a recognized name on the circuit.

Reid hits the first jump perfectly, and as he launches himself into the air, he lets go of the handles and leans back for a no-hander. It almost looks like he’s laughing. I’ve truly never seen someone look so free on a bike before, and the announcers agree.

Their voices are booming through the crowd, but I can barely hear them over the thudding rain. I catch the end of their praise. “Hasty lands yet another massive jump. Can’t wait to see what he does this season.”

The second announcer chimes in, “Oh he’s a shoo-in for rampage this year.”

Reid comes out of the air after what seems like an hour and takes the next two hills in stride.

He doesn’t attempt any tricks—he knows he’s already won.

His primary competitor, Cole Sampson, wiped out on the first downhill section and his score never stood a chance at winning unless Reid also crashed—which he never does.

His front tire skids through the puddle of mud at the end of the trail and he makes no effort to minimize the splatter. Reid hands us his muddy helmet before waltzing over to the podium.

I can barely tell what color his helmet is, it’s caked so thoroughly with mud.

The only clean spot on his face is a small ring around each eye.

Somehow, the mud makes his eyes appear even more green than usual.

He looks right at me, beaming as wide as he can.

His teeth are stark white against the rest of him.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

I don’t reply, assuming he’s talking more to the cameras than to me. But he’s making direct eye contact with me, looking like he wants some sort of praise. I’m not giving in. “Go get your medal, hot shot.”

“I’ll let you touch it later.” He winks at me.

I’m pissed off that his wink always makes me blush, but it does…

every time. I pray it fades by the time he gets back from talking to the press.

Two skinny brown-haired girls are fawning over him, trying to offer their t-shirts to clean the mud off of his face.

He ignores them and walks straight over to the photographer.

She starts posing him. Reid lifts his gold medal, pretending to bite it without any prompting.

He adds his signature smirk, and I swear I can hear the girls around the podium purring.

Damien stifles a laugh. “Let’s head back to the car.”

We trudge through the mud towards Damien’s Range Rover where his daughter, Josie, is playing with her Aunt Delaney in the ridiculously large trunk.

Pausing to look at myself in the rear view mirror, I’m suddenly jealous of them staying out of the rain.

Fruitlessly, I squeeze out my frizzy blonde braid before placing a soft kiss to little Josie’s forehead.

Kids have the softest foreheads, I don’t know how they do it.

Delaney rubs her eyes and sits up straighter before smiling softly. Her tone is cautious. “How did he do?”

Most people in our lives are involved in at least one dangerous sport, but we all hold our breath until we know for sure that everyone is safe. People die mountain biking all the time—an unfortunate reality that I can never seem to forget.

Damien replies before I get a chance to. “He crushed it per usual. No broken bones. No concussions.”

There’s a muffled ‘thankfully’ at the end that I think he meant to keep to himself.

Delaney slumps back down against the side of the car. She looks me up and down, taking in my disheveled state. Disgust covers her tanned face. “Why are you guys covered in mud? You weren’t the ones racing.”

Her brother ignores her and grabs us some baby wipes to clean off. I try my best to comb my fingers through my hair again, but it’s no use. It’s getting puffier by the minute.

This is a home competition—well, as close to home as we’re going to get for the rest of the season. The track is only an hour away from Sterling Summits, the mountain and resort that Damien’s family owns. We all grew up there crowded around each other, running and racing down the slopes.

I’m glad we’re so close to home. The reality of leaving for the season still hasn’t hit me.

Plus, I could use one more soak in the hot tub and an extra night wrapped up in my plush duvet.

I’ve been riding the circuit for a few years now, but I usually pick and choose which competitions to participate in.

I’ve never treated it like a serious thing—something that could actually be a career for me.

This year though, I’m determined to give it a real shot, even if the idea terrifies me.

It’s time to make something of myself aside from being a disgraced rich kid.

Hopefully it doesn’t rain again tomorrow for the women’s event. I enjoy riding in mud, but I’m not nearly as confident as Reid when it comes to rain or lack of visibility. I’m even more nervous after seeing some of the guys drop out today.

Reid drove here in his own van, so the rest of us are headed home without him.

We load up into Damien’s perfectly clean SUV.

Opting to sit in the back with Josie, I read her The Very Hungry Caterpillar again and again until she starts to drift off to sleep.

Damien’s going to be pissed when he realizes she’s sleeping.

He likes to keep her on a schedule, and car naps are not featured on those plans.

Josie looks pretty damn cute with her little hand propped up by her cheek, though.

Plus, it’s always fun to ruffle his controlled patience.