Wilder
Racing is in my blood.
My grandfather was a racer, both my father and uncle were Premier Racing International stars, and my cousin and I are set to follow in their footsteps.
It’s a part of me, it always has been, and this year is supposed to be my year.
I’ve had my sights on this goal for as long as I can remember, and I’ve spent the last three years at The Academy, working my fucking ass off to finally claim my spot in the PRI league.
That’s what I should be focused on, that’s what they should be questioning me about, but instead of being asked about that, or anything about my hard work or fucking race career, I’m being asked about my damn brother.
Where is he?
Have you spoken to him?
Is he in rehab?
Will he be around for your season?
Question after pointless question, that have me wanting to ram my head into a fucking wall, but it isn’t just the questions that piss me off.
Yeah, they make me hate the press even more than I already do, even if I already know all the answers to their bullshit questions.
No, what pisses me off most is the look in my father’s eyes every day, at the fact that my younger brother doesn’t come home.
Jason never really fit into our family, and he despised that fact.
So much so that he went out of his way to rebel against the racing in our blood.
Instead he played football, drank too much, and touched things that didn’t belong to him.
I pulled him out of countless messes over the years, desperately trying to get through to him, but he never listened to me.
Caden and Casper, warned me I was wasting my time with him, but I thought above all people that the twins would understand.
Jason was my brother, my blood, it was my duty to try and protect him, but it turns out you can’t save someone who refuses to be saved.
The twins might look identical, but they are polar opposites in every other way.
Casper is like me, racing is in his heart, his blood, and when he joins me in the league next year, I have no doubt he will knock my ass off the top spot I am planning to claim for myself this season.
He’s smart, funny, outgoing, and everyone who meets him can’t help but fall for his Miles charm and good looks.
Like I said, he’s just like me.
Caden is completely different, not because he isn’t a good racer, he is, but it’s not in his heart like it is for Casper and me.
And that’s because I’m pretty sure Caden Miles doesn’t have a heart.
I heard his dad tell mine a few years ago, that his eldest twin has Antisocial Personality Disorder, and being closer to Caden than I ever was to Jason, I know his father is right.
He’s the one who killed my brother afterall.
I knew Caden liked to play with his toys, but I wasn’t aware of how far he would go, not until the morning he came to me and told me Jason was dead.
We haven’t spoken about it since, and nobody outside Caden, his right-hand man, Bobby, and I know the truth.
Hence why I’m asked about it every time I do a fucking interview.
I told my dad to stop signing me up for them, but he has pointedly chosen to ignore me.
It is about to be my rookie season after all.
“I love my brother, but I thought we were here to talk about racing,” I toss back without pause, pulling my attention from the man who asked the question, and calling on the next.
Do they think I was born yesterday?
Like I haven’t been trained in media just as hard as I have in racing.
I know what to expect when I step out here, but still they try.
I’m guessing it’s because I don’t exactly shy away from getting myself splashed across the headlines outside of racing.
So I can only presume they think I’m dumb enough to trip up here too, but I know better than that.
Out there whatever I do is my personal business, who cares what my last name is, but here on the track, I’m nothing if not professional.
Jason’s disappearance is no secret however, so I’m asked about it three more times during the course of the next fifteen minutes.
Each time I grind my jaw even harder, trying to keep my composure.
I’m grateful I can’t see my dad’s face at the side of the room, because I’m sure he isn’t keeping his expressions in check as well as I am.
Still, I keep my face neutral, answering the questions I deem fit and dismissing the ones about my brother, until I feel like I am ready to explode.
Escaping the media segment later than I should, I scoff at my lack of time before the next race.
They are running pre-qualifiers to give us all a ranking before the season kicks off, and just because I know I will rank high, doesn’t mean I want to be late.
There are already whispers about what kind of season I’m going to have, which is only natural given I was the top PRI pick from The Academy.
And if it was just that, I could handle it, but they are all talking about me being in my father and uncle's shadow, and how it won’t be long until Casper is here next year battling against me.
Racing is fierce competition and all they want is a good show, they don’t truly care who ends up on the podium.
And that’s what it all boils down to, they don’t give a fuck how talented I am.
It doesn't matter how good I proved I was over the last three years, or that I earned that first pick spot on skill alone, no, the only thing they care about is my last name, and the sordid story they can spin about my family.
My best friends, Knox Walker and Beckett Ford, managed to leave on time, but then they weren’t being asked questions about their missing brother, so I guess that’s on me.
I contemplate texting Caden and cursing him out, while he’s still pretending to be a normal member of society back at The Academy with Casper and Bobby, but the fucker would just respond with a middle finger emoji.
Instead, I ignore the calls of my name from the reporters when I step down, and avoid my father’s stare completely, as I rush back inside so I can get ready for the next race.
I usually spend the last bit of time before a race inside my changing room, listening to music alone.
It calms me and riles me up in equal measure, a pre-ritual of sorts so to speak, and I’m grinding my jaw at the fact I don’t have time for it today.
I knew the transition from The Academy would be hard, and I am more than ready for the challenge, but I could do without all the bullshit that comes along with it.
I just want to race.
The Academy is the only racing school in the entire country, and people come from far and wide to try and earn a place there.
Whether they are hand-picked and given a scholarship, or they battle their way in, it only trains the best of the best racers aged eighteen to twenty-one.
Both my father, Cooper Miles, and my uncle, Camden Miles, sit on the board, but I still had to earn my place there, all the Miles boys did, just like everyone else.
It was originally funded by the money they accumulated from all their PRI winnings, but it soon caught the attention of enough wealthy people within the racing circuit to become something legendary.
It went from a small group of people to an entire organization, and graduating from there felt bittersweet.
But you get a place at The Academy with only one goal in mind…
To become the next PRI superstar.
It’s The Academy’s motto: Built for speed. Bred for winning.
Premier Racing International is the biggest racing league in the world, and the last thing I need is to be thrown off my game, not after how hard I’ve worked for this. So I need to forget about my brother and focus on my career.
Storming down the hallways, I ignore everyone I pass, even Knox and Beckett, as they leave their own changing rooms to make their way outside. The two of them are double trouble, even worse when they are around Cas, and I am not in the mood for their shit today.
I push into my own changing room so fast, already moving to shake off my jacket, that I almost don’t see him.
Almost.
Sitting on my sofa like he owns not just the piece of furniture, but the room itself, is some young, rich prick in a three thousand dollar suit.
At a quick glance, he screams nothing but money and arrogance, like he has never been told no in his entire life, and the fake smile that spreads across his face at my presence has me rolling my eyes.
His blond hair is artfully styled, like he’s an old Hollywood movie star, and his soft blue eyes sparkle with anticipation.
He’s attractive, but not in that way all people with money are, no, his beauty is something deeper, but I’m too pissed off to care.
Seriously how long has this fucker been waiting for me?
I barely give him a second glance before I unbutton my shirt, tossing it on the chair across from him. “I don’t fuck groupies on race day,” I tell him blandly, which might sound both presumptuous and rude, but this isn’t the first time I’ve found someone waiting for me in here.
It doesn’t matter that I've only officially been here a week for training, or that I’ll be leaving to start the season in a couple of weeks. My name holds enough weight around here to have people wanting to get to me anywhere they can.
I unbuckle my pants, as I peer over my shoulder and see him not so subtly checking me out. His cheeks turn pink as he stammers a little, rushing his words out. “I’m not a groupie.”
I snort a laugh.
Clearly.
Otherwise he’d already be on his knees, begging to suck my cock like the rest of them.
Apparently an openly gay racer is hot news for everyone these days.
“Then get the fuck out,” I toss back blandly without looking at him, but he isn’t deterred.
”I’m actually here to interview you, Mr. Miles,” he states firmly, and I can practically hear him straightening his shoulders as he talks.
“Mr. Miles is my father, don’t call me that.” There is a bite in my response, but I don’t have the energy to pretend I’m not pissed off today.
And I don’t have the fucking time for some rich, pretty boy reporter and his bullshit.
“Right, Wilder,” he corrects, more to himself than to me, as if he is rehearsing or confirming something “Your father is actually the one who sent me.” He says the statement as if he thinks that will have some effect on me and I laugh again.
“Then you can definitely get the fuck out,” I reply, shoving down both my pants and boxers, and I hear a slight noise of surprise escape him before he clears his throat.
“I just have a few questions,” he stammers out, as I pull on my fresh fire-resistant base layer, and notice him once again checking me out.
I know I have a great ass but fuck me, again? Really?
There is no doubt in my mind that he’s telling the truth and my father sent him. As my manager, he’s always pushing me to do more PR, but I’d rather let Cas run me over, than answer another fucking question about the unknown whereabouts of my brother.
“This isn’t a free show, press boy, I’m not giving you a fucking quote and I don’t accept sloppy blowjobs. So you can go wait on the press court until after the race with all the other vultures.”
He stands abruptly at my words, opening and closing his mouth, and he tries to no doubt think of some retort, but I’m fucking done. I erase the space between us and shove him hard toward the door, opening it, and wasting no time in pushing him through it.
“Don’t let me catch you in here again,” I snap, before slamming the door in his fucking pretty boy face.
Fuck my dad and his fucking PR.