Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
After the Race, Oakland
Tate finished the Main Event in second place.
Davey beat him again. He should have been a little happier about it—at least he made the podium.
Oddly, he didn't care. He didn't think he'd even care if he would have beat Davey.
He gave it his best run and it left him refreshed and a bit tired.
He only wanted to get back to the hotel room where Pilot and Bryce would be waiting for him.
They had both been at the race, of course.
Pilot keeping watch over Tyler, but also keeping his eye on Bryce who had insisted on being there.
Bryce wanting to watch him race gave him a completely ridiculous thrill, but he also felt bad because Bryce couldn't race.
He wouldn't be back on the track any time soon and Tate knew if it were him, he'd be going crazy.
He had to have a bike on the track almost every day.
He didn't want to think about not being able to ride.
A cold chill shivered down his spine just trying not to think about it.
For Tate, it went beyond racing and Supercross; it was a fundamental need.
He ate jumps for breakfast and drank the dirt like water.
He pulled off his jersey and unfastened his armor.
He couldn't get his gear off fast enough.
He quickly changed into a pair of Ralph Loren, destructed jeans that looked and felt old and beat up and loose t-shirt with the Thor logo on the front.
He stuffed his feet into his Chucks and dashed off.
He left the team to take care of the bike; he couldn't be bothered.
He'd texted for an Uber to pick him up at the front of the venue before making his way through the lingering crowds.
He needed to feel Pilot's arms around him and his arms around Bryce, or some other combination of that.
The Uber guy had been cool and Tate signed the back of an envelope for the guy before getting out at the hotel. He was anxious about getting to the guys, but he was never short with fans.
The Uber drove away and Tate headed for the stairs.
“Hey man! Aren't you Tate Jordan?”
Tate stopped and stepped off the stairs, turning to face whoever had called him. “Yeah? What's up?”
A shadow fell across the sidewalk under the yellow hotel lights, then a bulky figure stepped forward. He moved fast, grabbing Tate and yanking him into the dark recess behind the stairs. Tate screamed.
His heart stopped. He just knew he'd never see Pilot and Bryce again. He tried to fight back, but his head hurt and his cheek slid across the sidewalk.
The world disappeared.
Pain and darkness and screaming; a loud wailing pierced his ears. Tate wanted to scream, wanted to fade back into the dark where the pain would leave him.
Pilot's voice called out his name. He'd know Pilot's voice anywhere. Beyond that, he heard sobbing and screaming—Bryce? His guys. He had to open his eyes.
“Tate? Baby? Stay with me. Stay with me.” Where the hell did Pilot think he was going to go? His arms and legs weighed a million pounds. His face stung worse than getting roosted with rocks on the track. Where were his goggles?
He stuck his tongue out, tasting blood. “Bit my tongue.” He thought he'd spoken, but Pilot was still begging him to stay.
He needed to pull the tear away off his goggles. He must have ate some serious dirt; he couldn’t see in front of him.
“What's he doing?” Bryce had stopped crying.
“Don't know. Tate? Can you hear me?”
He had to get the blood out of his mouth. He started coughing. Other voices crowded in once that loud wailing noise had stopped.
“Okay. Here. Don't try to talk. No, he's all right. We'll take care of him.” Someone stuffed something in his mouth and a warmth flooded over him.
He was moving.
“Only one. No, one. We have to go.”
Tate finally opened his eyes. The world swam away, blurring into the distance. Where was Pilot?
“Relax, Mr. Jordan. We're taking you to the hospital. Okay?”
“P-P—”
“They're going to meet us there, okay. Just relax. We'll take good care of you.”
Someone patted his arm gently. They said everything would be fine. He closed his eyes and let go.
Pilot paced the floor in the ER waiting room.
Bryce sat in one of the chairs with one long leg pulled up in front of him, arms wrapped around it and the leg with the brace stretched out in front of him.
At least he'd stopped crying. He’d been sobbing most of the way over to the hospital.
Every tear shattered off another piece of Pilot’s heart.
He secretly vowed to make sure Bryce never cried again after this.
The paramedics would only let one of them come and Pilot couldn't leave Bryce behind.
The ambulance drove off and Bryce started saying sorry over and over until Pilot pulled him into his arms and kissed his head before telling him to shut up.
Before they could go to the hospital, the police had come and questioned them.
They were searching for the attacker, but Bryce had only seen him from behind, so finding him would be unlikely.
Pilot had chased after the bastard, but he'd had a head start.
Fucker, better hope the cops found him first. How dare anyone lay a finger on his Tate?
He stopped pacing and looked at Bryce. “It's not your fault. You didn't do anything.”
Bryce sniffled and Pilot couldn't take it anymore. He strode across the floor in two long strides and reached for Bryce. He pulled him to standing and wrapped his arms around him, holding all his weight. “It's not your fault, Bryce.”
“If I hadn't been here—”
“Stop it. You don't know that.”
“There's more. Pilot?” He spoke into Pilot's chest.
“What?”
“Someone's been sending me nasty emails and texts. I've just ignored it, but I'm pretty sure who it is. He-He...” Bryce started sobbing again, and Pilot’s heart wrenched.
“Why didn't you tell me? You know security is my business, Bryce. I could have done something. Hell, I still can.”
Bryce pulled away and turned his back on Pilot, pivoting on his good leg. “What? What could you have done? It doesn't matter.”
Pilot could tell he was pulling away, internalizing his pain. “Bryce. Stop.”
Bryce turned around and the death-gaze of his blue eyes pierced Pilot's soul. “I bet it's him. Warren Fucking Tanner. He's been—” Bryce shook his head, knocking the anger off, only to replace it with fear.
“I'm not going to let anything happen to you.” Pilot rushed forward, wanting nothing more than to pull Bryce into his arms and comfort him, protect him.
He pulled away, grabbed his crutches and hopped off, leaving Pilot standing there wondering what the hell he was going to tell Tate if Bryce left them.
He followed Bryce and watched him through the glass door as he hobbled out to the curb.
He'd pulled his cell phone out and was talking on it, balancing himself on his crutches.
After about fifteen minutes, a car stopped and Bryce got in it.
Pilot rushed out the doors. Everything in him told him not to let Bryce go, but he couldn't do anything as the car pulled away. He should have stopped him sooner. He’d stood there like a fool and just watched him leave.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen until Bryce's number rang. It rolled to the voicemail and Pilot hung up. He texted instead. Please don't run from us. We need you.
After a minute. A text came back. No you don't. Tell Tate I'm sorry.
Pilot scrubbed at his eyes with his free hand. He would not cry. This thing with Bryce ended before it had even really got started, leaving a giant gaping hole in his chest. And worse, he worried Tate would be angry and blame him.
He went back into the hospital. He needed to see Tate, needed Tate to be okay.