Chapter 15
Idon’t get to see Reid’s run. They don’t have a score board up on our trail, and I can’t get Robbie to tell me anything. I make a mental note to start being nicer to the announcers, so I can try to get insider information out of them in the future.
Robbie must see me getting frustrated and takes pity on me. He makes his way over towards me and covers his mic, even though he’s not being broadcast right now. “Hey, just so you know… Reid made first place. Not a scratch on him.”
My lip quivers with relief, and I lower my head in an effort to thank him.
I’ve always liked Robbie. Lots of the other announcers act like abandoned puppies when they have to film us girls, but he’s always been respectful.
Usually I hate when people lump me in with Reid, as if I’m just the uneasy girl that follows the legendary Hasty around.
This time though, I couldn’t be more grateful that everyone knows about us being friends.
I absolutely needed to hear that Reid is okay. It could be hours before I have a chance to lay eyes on him and see for myself that he has made it out of another ride unscathed. Right as I start to get a handle on myself, there’s a crack of thunder in the distance.
It sounds like it’s far enough that they won’t call the race. Close enough for me to be scared as shit.
The dirt already feels different—stickier with a shift in humidity in the air.
I’m swollen, my gloves too tight and my shoes too small.
The sky is getting darker by the second, and I already know it’s going to be raining for my run.
Just when I had the trail locked, the conditions have to go and change.
I’m blaming everything—the bike, the trail, the storm. Everything but myself when I know I’m exactly who’s to blame here.
I have the option to go first because of my qualifying score, but I’m pretty sure I’ll crash if I choose to do it. Nudging Blair I say, “You can go first again.”
Her brow is raised. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll go third again. Maybe that’s my lucky position.”
“Sure. We’ll see.” She scoffs.
As she starts to get ready to drop in, I fiddle with the ends of my hair and do my best to visualize the trail.
The first half is fine—it’s that big set of jumps I’m worried about.
If I don’t at least try to hit them, there’s no chance I’ll place.
If I hit them and I don’t land, I might never ride again.
I already know my performance from earlier isn’t going to do me any favors.
They’ll expect me to show them something more, and right now, I’ve got nothing.
My game plan is ready just in time as Robbie calls me up to the starting line.
I’m going to hit the jump but keep it classic and clean, nothing flashy.
If I can keep up my speed on the rest of the trail and avoid any slips or spills, I should still score decently. I’m pretty sure the entire circuit knows how I feel about racing in the rain, but I need to avoid letting them see how much it gets to me.
The descent is easy—the dirt is quickly turning to mud, but it’s not sludge quite yet. In hindsight, I should have gone first. That way, the mud wouldn’t be torn up from Blair and Meg. I feel a flash of pity for all the riders behind me.
I’m speeding through the first couple sections, dreading the jumps coming up. I have to focus, I know I do. If I can’t focus I’m going to crash, but I can’t get myself there. Gripping the handlebars harder, I try to ground down into myself and focus on the present.
The first jump comes into view. It’s bigger than I remember.
Water drips down my visor into my mouth in fat rivulets. It’s that cool mountain rain, and I try to find it within myself to appreciate it. The drone is whirling above me again, and I don’t even consider waving to it.
Someone needs to figure out how to make those things silent, because the last thing I need right now is a reminder people are watching me—Reid is watching me.
My bike rolls up the first hill slower than I wanted it to. I’m going to have to make up for my lack of speed with perfect timing. The edge of the jump is coming up ahead of me, and now that I’m here it doesn’t even look like that big of a gap.
I just barely land it—my back tire snags on the lip of the jump just a little, threatening to take me down.
My entire body weight shifts forward as I do my best to yank my back tire up onto the top of the jump.
I feel it lift and just before I tumble over the bars, I manage to lean back and catch my breath.
It wasn’t impressive or pretty. It was pathetic honestly, but I did it. That’s really all I care about at this point. All I want is to go back to that fancy hotel and enjoy one more night of scalding hot water before Reid and I start driving to Canada.
The rest of the trail is a breeze. It’s pretty much a straight shot down, and now that I have conquered the worst part, it all feels easy.
I push myself to go faster than I’m strictly comfortable with.
If I recover my time, then maybe I can still place somewhere in the top five. It’s unlikely, but possible.
Bombing down the last stretch, my pedals are moving faster than my legs can.
They’re dead, and all the tension in my body from the stress isn’t helping.
I damn near lose my footing as my tires skid through the muddy finish line.
This is a great test for my brakes. They catch for a second, and I’m worried they’re going to let me down and send me flying.
I manage to stop the bike before I ram right into the podium. Thick mud splatters all over Blair and the platform. Of course she has stationed herself over there, assuming she’ll be called up. She probably will be, but it’s still not her classiest move.
The crowd is gone—barely anyone is left, and everyone still standing there looks bored as hell. It’s not surprising, because people always clear out before the women’s race is over, but it’s never been quite this bad.
Reid runs over again, and he looks just as proud as he did when I came in first place. Sometimes, I forget that the crowd gets to see every move—every moment of hesitation, every mistake, and every win.
He knows exactly how scary that jump was for me in the pouring rain. He’s proud of me for overcoming my fear, not for my actual performance. I think that means even more to me.
Before I can protest, he rips off his rain jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s kind of pointless since I’m already soaking wet and caked thoroughly with mud, but it’s a sweet gesture and I can’t help but enjoy it enveloping me as we stand there waiting for all of the riders to finish.
As I predicted, the rest of the girls struggle to make it down the mountain at all, let alone hit any features. The two girls who are newbies decide not to ride at all. I respect their decision, but it isn’t any less awkward seeing them take the gondola down.
Somehow, I manage to place second. I slowly take the podium, but it’s hard to enjoy a win that doesn’t feel like a win.
The weather and the race order are the only reasons I placed at all.
I know that, and all of the other riders do too.
Blair doesn’t seem to be having the same issues.
She’s holding up her plaque and showing it to the crowd as the cameras follow her.
Trying to get a rise out of me, she teases, “I guess it wasn’t so lucky after all.”
A couple of reporters try to catch my attention. I hold my tongue back from defending myself to Blair—I seriously need to start considering my public image.
They probably want to ask what made me freeze up and why I rode so poorly the second half of the day. I have no interest in answering any of those questions.
My eyes plead with Reid. I want out of here.
He covers my body with his and marches us through the crowd, thick mud squelching behind us.
The dirt soaks into my soul, and my skin feels too tight, my shirt too small.
Competition day is always a lot—sounds, lights, cameras.
Adding the storm on top of it all is sending me over the edge.
Dark storm clouds loom over the mountain—almost as menacing as the peaks themselves. I still can’t believe I made it down that.
Once we make it to the parking lot, the noise is finally at a manageable decibel and I notice my best friend is missing.
“Where is Riley?”
Reid looks apologetic. “She’s hanging in her car.”
He doesn’t have to apologize. It makes sense that she went to her car, given the torrential rain. It does sting a twinge, though. Riley hates biking, I get that. Stupidly, I expected her to stay through the whole race rain or shine, like Reid does.
Not everyone is like Reid, though. I take a moment to look back at the mountain we just raced down and the menacing sky looming behind the peaks. Reid pulls me into a side hug and I slip in the mud, but he catches me before I go fall.
He smiles down at me. “I’m so proud of you, Addie.”
My heart swells hearing my name come out of his mouth that way—heavy with affection and pride. I want to hear it again.
The moment is gone just as soon as it started. There’s a swarm of riders piling into the parking lot now that the women’s runs are over too. A group of guys approach Reid and I, obviously a little drunk. One of them slaps Reid on the back. “Hey man! You coming to the party?”
My teammate looks to me for approval, or something like it which I can’t quite name. Before he can reply, another guy comes up. It’s that same guy from the bar. He starts clapping as he gets closer. “Baddie Addiiieeeee.”
I hate the way he draws it out, but it makes me blush anyways. A flash of recognition hits the rest of the guys. “Addieeeee, you crushed today.”
Everyone nods in agreement and that guy with the scary blue eyes says, “You both should come!”
Chloe joins the crowd and hugs me. “Yeah, Ad. You should come! You deserve to celebrate.”
I hate how nice she still is to me. She deserves a far better friend than I can be. I wish she’d realize and spare herself the heartbreak. But if she’s going to keep giving me chances, I’m going to take one—eventually.
My plans for rekindling our friendship are interrupted by another swarm of soaking wet riders. We’re quite literally surrounded by them asking us to come hang out tonight. Reid looks unfazed. This kind of thing happens to him on the regular. But it has never happened to me.
I want to relax in the hotel room but everything in me is screaming ‘take advantage of this.’ Wyoming Addie is a bit more wild and daring. Maybe I can hold onto her for one more night.