Chapter 23
Iset my alarm at the crack of dawn, wanting to drop off Reid’s bike beside his van before he wakes up.
Today I’m skipping the race. First, I’m stopping by the hospital.
I’m not sure if I can do any good there, but I have to try.
I owe it to Chloe after being so absent from our friendship for the past few years.
I’ve always missed her. We used to be so close, nearly inseparable.
I pushed her away while she was trying to comfort me.
After Skylar died, she tried to be there for me, like any good friend would, and I punished her for it.
Skylar’s death fucked me up more than I could have ever anticipated.
She filled the motherly role in my life I was always craving.
When she died, a giant piece of me went with her—the piece that was learning to let people care for me.
So when Chloe wanted to stick around while I sobbed my eyes out, I shut her out.
It’s my default coping mechanism. I figured it’d be easier to end our friendship right then, instead of risking the possibility of losing her the way we lost Skylar.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Those two years I missed out on seem like an eternity.
Still, Chloe never stopped reaching out her hand. She’s never stopped doing everything in her power to keep our friendship alive.
I’ve brushed her off again and again, and it took her almost dying for me to snap out of it. Something in me said it would be easier if I pushed her away, so I stopped letting myself rely on her, just in case she left me. I feel like the biggest asshole in the world for it.
After the hospital, I’m going to a nearby spa.
Spas aren’t really my thing, but I need something physical to force myself to get off of the carousel that is my mind right now.
I’m going to get a massage and enjoy my own company.
Admittedly, I’ll probably watch Reid’s run online, but he doesn’t have to know that.
I’m not cold-hearted, so I wash his bike and lube the chain for him. I may be pissed, but I still want him to be safe, and I want him to be fed, so I make him a breakfast sandwich and a coffee. Wheeling the bike over to his side of the camp spot, I balance the coffee on the seat.
He’s opening the door before I can even knock, shirtless and sweating. The sight is agonizing. Reid smiles broadly at the bagel, and I almost regret doing it. He thinks this is simply a gesture of affection, but it’s actually an apology.
I hand it to him and then roll his bike into view. “I can help you secure it, if you want.”
“You’re not coming to the event?”
The desire to apologize is strong, but I hold back. “Not today. I’ll watch online.”
He nods, and his hair bounces a little. A yawn escapes his mouth, and he covers his face with the inside of his flannel.
Is he crying? He can’t be. This is the unshakable Reid ‘Hasty’ Hastings.
His throat bobs the same way it did last night, as if he doesn’t trust the words that are going to come out. “Okay.”
Watching him load up his bike is sadder than it should be. It feels a little like I kicked a puppy and left it out in the rain. The hospital is even worse. How could it not be? Chloe is fucking paralyzed.
I keep asking her mom what I can do to help. She keeps saying the same thing over and over again. “Nothing, Addie. We’re just glad you’re here. Chloe has missed you so much.” She says it to make me feel better, but it has the exact opposite effect.
Chloe is sleeping most of the time I’m there, and I let my fingers trail up her perfectly toned forearm. She’s a much better rider than me. I’m the one that should be laying in this bed, not her.
The idea of ever even getting on a bike again makes me feel sick—but I have to.
I know I do. Chloe would be pissed as hell if I blew a shot at Red Bull because of her injury.
She’d want me to keep riding, keep chasing.
The tears I’ve been holding back finally start streaming down my face.
I’ve never felt so guilty in my life—it’s swallowing me up.
It’s deeper than guilt. Something I’ve never experienced. My audiobook does nothing to distract me from the depth of my misgivings.
The spa is gorgeous, and though I think I should feel at peace, it instills the exact opposite feelings. I really must be broken. I’m always so conflicted against the backdrops of my life, never quite meshing with anything or anyone.
My massage is awkward, just as I worried it would be. The woman keeps telling me to relax, but I can’t. My lungs won’t fully puff up, and no matter what I do, I can’t stop contracting my muscles. She seems pissed at me for that. Her annoyance makes it even harder to inflate my lungs.
Reid’s run is coming up soon. I still don’t know his position, and I’m regretting skipping the race right now.
He wouldn’t have missed my race. I’m being a shitty friend, all because of an almost kiss.
It probably didn’t mean anything to him, just a momentary lapse in judgment, but it meant everything to me… Or it would have, if it was real.
“The massage is over,” she lets me know gently, as if I’m going to be disappointed. It’s the most relaxing portion of my day so far. I can’t wait to get off of this table. The robe they give me is comically large. It devours me, and I can’t find my phone within its gargantuan pockets.
Finally I find it and immediately start trying to stream the event.
It’s not working, and the same clip of the crowd plays over and over again on repeat.
In my white-ass robe, I make my way into the tranquil zen garden, hunting for better service.
I find it just over the edge of the koi pond and hold up my arm at an awkward angle until the video loads.
At the same time, three texts roll in from Chloe’s mom, letting me know her last procedure went well and they managed to straighten out her spine a bit.
Relief washes over me thinking about the possibility of her getting some movement in her lower body one day.
At first I figured I shouldn’t be out here with no clothes on, but I spot at least three old ladies out here in robes too.
Once the video loads I hear the roaring crowd, and it’s somehow louder than yesterday.
There’s a brief speech from the announcers about Chloe and her condition.
They breeze over it in a way which fills me up with rage.
Reid’s third. I take a seat and let myself breathe for a few seconds.
Apparently, spas aren’t for me. I’d be better off with a bubble bath back home instead of a massage, no matter how luxurious it is or how soft the robes are.
I can’t stop thinking about who wore this particular one last—all it does is make me miss mine from home.
Something about laying on a strange slab of foam and having a stranger rub their hands across my bare skin doesn’t scream relaxing to me.
The first two guys are fast, and they crush the jumps. I already know Reid will somehow do better.
He’s up next. The guy before him, Cole, is probably his strongest competitor, but he didn’t land anything impressive.
Reid has this in the bag, and I’m sure he knows.
They announce his name and pan through the crowd—they’re going wild, and for the first time I notice how many people are genuine fans of him.
There’s literal merch with his nickname on it.
I can’t believe he never bragged about it before.
Both announcers are talking excitedly about how big their expectations are for this run. “We always know what we’ll get out of Hastings.”
The other announcer replies, “Yeah, something equally idiotic and masterful.”
He shoots down the first rock garden with intense force. His wheels are spinning so fast it’s almost hypnotic. The announcers break me out of the trance. “We know he already received his invite to Red Bull again this year.”
“No surprise there.”
“If he were any other rider he’d be taking it easy right now. Saving himself for Rampage. But we know that’s not what he’s about to do,” the guy with the deeper voice states.
Reid hits the first jump hard and immediately launches into a seamless backflip. The announcers are almost screaming, “Hasty wastes no time getting inverted!”
He rides even harder after. I’m not sure how it’s possible. I haven’t seen the men’s trail, so I don’t know what features are up next. My free hand clutches my chest, and I can barely breathe.
Something about seeing this from a distance is making me more anxious. There’s something special about sharing the fear with the crowd, collective inhales which don’t fall until we all watch the rider reach safety.
He’s bombing down the second half of the trail like it’s nothing. Several drones hover over him. It makes me wonder why I’ve never seen more than two drones at a female competition.
Reid approaches a drop—it’s made of wooden slats—I had no idea they’d have drops here. They’re different than jumps. Usually, this kind of massive feature is only at Rampage. Whistler stepped up their game this year—I guess they want to see what the riders are made of.
Drops offer an opportunity to achieve much bigger tricks. I’m terrified to see what Reid is going to pull. It doesn’t look like he knows what he’s going to do either, but he’s riding way too fast. His timing is all off.
He launches off the platform anyway and smirks at the camera as he tries to yank his body and his heavy ass bike in a circle.
The stupid smirk cost him. He doesn’t turn fast enough or hard enough. There’s no way he’s going to land this. 360s are easy on BMX bikes, but on a heavy full suspension they’re challenging for even the best rider. If your speed and timing are off, you’re going to fail.
Reid completes a 180 and lands—barely. I see him nearly lose his footing—that’s going to cost him a few points.
But he’s facing the wrong way. He tries to make it look intentional by throwing up a peace sign to the nearby camera and continuing backwards. This move is called a ‘fakie,’ and he’s bringing a whole new meaning to the term.
I’m not sure at first if it’s only obvious to me that this was most certainly not his plan. I’ll give it to him, he’s playing it off well with this whole goofy daredevil performance. The announcers notice though, and they comment on it. “What in the world is he doing?”
“I have no clue. What a weird moment to pull that move. His time is suffering right now.”
Reid catches on to the unease and yanks himself forward onto his front wheel.
I’ve never seen him do a rear nose manual this way.
He pulls his brake too hard and his front wheel slips, forcing him to tumble right over his handlebars and into the gravel hard.
I’m immediately reminded of his last big crash—when he tore his ACL.
It’s a stark reminder of his mortality, even though he seems fine.
He gets up and back onto the bike right away, but his cheeks look red even through his full-face helmet as the camera pans to zoom in.
I’m not sure what’s gotten into Reid—I’ve never seen him throw a ride.
He rides around the last jump in defeat and slowly conquers the rock garden before the final shoot.
This run is over, and he knows it. Everyone knows it.
There’s blood streaming down his chin, and I’m not there to wipe it off. The video won’t pause soon enough.
I don’t need to see the rest.
I’ve never regretted missing something more in my life. My borrowed robe is flapping in the wind, and I’m racing so fast to get to him I almost leave the spa in the thing.