Chapter Seventeen
Torin
The path to the red barn was worn from years of foot traffic, the dirt packed firm beneath their boots. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the ranch, stretching over the golden fields and the weathered fence posts that lined their route. Torin walked beside Garett, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, listening to the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath their steps. The air smelled of dry hay and distant horses, with a faint lingering scent of oil and metal from the barn ahead.
Garett glanced at him, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You sure you’ve ridden a dirt bike before?”
Torin nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
Garett smirked, his lips tugging up slightly at the corner. “That’s good.” He adjusted his gloves as they neared the barn doors. “There are rules. You listen, you don’t get hurt. Got it?”
Torin nodded, ignoring the unease curling in his stomach. Of course Garett had rules for riding dirt bikes.
Garett pushed open the barn doors, the heavy wood creaking as they swung wide. Inside, the scent of oil and gasoline mingled with the dusty aroma of hay bales stacked neatly along the far wall.
Against one side of the barn, two dirt bikes were lined up, their frames sleek and sturdy. One was deep blue with a few scratches along the side, the other a sharp black with silver detailing. Helmets hung from hooks on the wall above them, and a toolbox sat open nearby, a few wrenches and spare parts scattered across its lid.
Garett walked over to the bikes, running a hand along the black one’s handlebars before turning back to Torin. “Alright. Rule number one: always wear your damn helmet. If I catch you without it, you’re off the bike. No arguments.”
Torin raised an eyebrow. “Fair enough.”
“Rule two,” Garett continued, tossing a helmet in his direction. “Respect the throttle. These things have power, and if you’re reckless, you’ll end up eating dirt.”
Torin caught the helmet, turning it over in his hands. “Right. No eating dirt. Got it.”
Garett gave him a look but let the comment slide. “Last rule,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You listen to me out there. No showing off, no getting cocky. If I tell you to stop, you stop. Clear?”
Torin swallowed and nodded. “Crystal.”
Garett watched him for a moment longer, then gestured toward the bikes. “Good. Let’s get you set up.”
Torin took a deep breath, steading himself. This was going to be a lot of fun or a complete disaster.
Torin revved the engine of his dirt bike, the deep growl vibrating through his body as he grinned over at Garett. The dirt path ahead of them stretched wide, cutting through open fields and weaving into dense trees beyond. The air smelled like fresh earth and gasoline, and for the first time in a long time, Torin felt a spark of excitement that had nothing to do with stress or survival—just fun.
“Try to keep up, boy.”
Torin scoffed, gripping the handlebars tighter. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see who’s eating dust.”
With that, Garett twisted the throttle and shot forward, tires kicking up a cloud of dirt and gravel. Torin didn’t hesitate punching the gas and launching after him. The bike roared beneath him; the wind whipping against his face as he leaned into the ride, feeling the thrill of speed surge through his veins.
They tore down the path, dodging dips and bumps in the terrain, the rough ride only making it more exhilarating. Torin whooped as he hit a small incline, his bike lifting off the ground for a split second before landing with a jolt. Garett was just ahead, maneuvering smoothly, his posture relaxed like he had total control.
Torin narrowed his eyes, pushing the bike harder, closing the distance between them. As they hit a stretch of packed dirt, he made his move—leaning forward, gripping the throttle tighter, and speeding until he was nearly side by side with Garett.
“Oh, now you’re trying?” Garett called over the roar of their engines.
Torin laughed, shooting him a cocky grin. “Better watch your back, old man!”
Garett just shook his head before suddenly veering off onto a narrower side trail, one lined with overhanging branches and tighter turns. Torin cursed and followed, the thrill only growing as they weaved through the winding path.
They hit an open clearing, and that’s when Garett made his final move. With precise control, he gunned it, pulling ahead in the last stretch of the ride. Torin tried to match him, but by the time they reached the makeshift finish—a fallen tree marking the end of the path—Garett skidded to a stop first, kicking up a fresh wave of dust.
Torin pulled up beside him, breathing hard, his heart still racing. “Damn it,” he muttered, shaking his head but grinning. “I almost had you.”
Garett chuckled, propping one foot against the ground. “Almost doesn’t count, boy.”
Torin rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. His blood was still pumping, his muscles thrumming with adrenaline, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t thinking about responsibilities, expectations, or the weight of everything around him.
He was just living.
Garett reached over, patting Torin’s helmet before he could duck away. “Come on, let’s head back. Maybe next time you’ll actually put up a fight.”
Torin huffed but laughed anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Just wait. Next time, you’re going down.”
Garett smirked. “We’ll see.”
With that, they turned their bikes around and took off again, kicking up dirt and leaving the worries of the world behind them—if only for a little while.