Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
February, South Carolina
His parents drove him batty and he missed the hell out of Tate and Pilot.
If he could, he would be with them, but he had to put all this shit first. He hadn't been honest with them, hadn't told them about Tanner stalking him.
He thought he'd be safe with them and hopefully out of sight, out of mind with Tanner.
He hoped it would blow over. He'd been so wrong and being there with them put Tate in danger.
Pilot had texted Bryce over the last few days, letting him know Tate was okay. He had a concussion and a banged up face, bruises everywhere, but nothing broken or serious. Thankfully. Bryce knew how hard it was to deal with injuries firsthand.
He thumped his fingernails against the brace on his leg. He had an appointment in just a few hours to find out when he could ditch the contraption. He couldn't wait, but he didn't want to leave the house either. Facing the world seemed a dreadful plan at the moment.
He’d had to tell his parents about everything, not only Tanner, but Tate and Pilot, too.
They weren't happy about any of it. His mom swore it wasn't because he was gay, but she didn't like Tate. She didn't like his reputation, how much older he was, or that he'd bring Bryce into a relationship with another guy. She thought it was twisted, perverted, but Bryce didn’t. He had strong feelings for both of them, equally, and he’d been pretty damn sure they felt the same. If things had been different, it might have worked out. If he hadn’t screwed it all up, letting his emotions overwhelm him like that. Again.
Why the hell had he run away? He’d never be able to face Tate now.
At least his mom helped Bryce get a restraining order out on Tanner, the psycho.
She also insisted that he send all the information to Pilot.
That had surprised him, but his mom said they should know—that they had a right to know, especially since he'd physically attacked Tate.
At least Bryce thought he had. Plus, Pilot might be able to help catch him.
Bryce didn't know about that. Pilot wasn't a private detective.
He'd listened to her though and sent the emails and texts.
Bryce waited in the living room for his dad to get home to take him to the doctor's office for his follow up appointment. He wanted to go by himself but his parents wouldn't allow it, and a part of him was scared to go anywhere alone, so he didn’t fight them on it.
His phone beeped, *signaling a text. He looked at the screen, seeing Tate's beautiful smile and feeling a deep pain burned inside him.
He swallowed it back and tapped the screen to read the text.
Miss you. I'm flying home in about an hour. I’m missing next week's race.
That sucks worse without you here. Please come home.
No way could he put Tate in danger like that again. Plus, his parents wouldn’t understand how he could just go back after what had happened.
He didn't answer Tate's text. He couldn't bring himself to answer, because then he'd cave in and call him, and then he'd talk Bryce into going home.
It wouldn't even be hard because Bryce knew the truth was that he'd felt more at home between Tate and Pilot than here, in his little single bed, in his room at his parent's house where he’d grown up.
It wasn't home anymore. Not after being with Tate and Pilot.
No, it wasn't a normal relationship, but when had anything ever been normal in his life?
Normal? He didn’t know what that looked like.
He spent his childhood on the track. Homeschooling provided his education.
His friends? Other racers. They couldn’t even be called friends, really.
They were competitors. There had never been time for doing normal things either, like going to the movies or just hanging out.
Bryce didn’t really care about that, though.
He wouldn’t trade motocross for anything, especially now that he could race in the Supercross 250 series.
Other kids, normal kids, didn’t get dreams like that to come true.
So, he could hardly be angry at his parents for it.
On the other hand, Tate and Pilot gave him something his parents never could. They balanced out his life. They cared about him in a romantic way. He’d never known what that could be like before. He’d never had that kind of relationship, but he wanted it.
He heard his dad's car pull up in the driveway and let out a sigh.
“Bryce!”
“Yeah, I'm ready, Dad.” He grabbed his crutches and stood up.
His mom rushed into the room and kissed his forehead.
He knew she loved him, but she also made him feel like he was twelve.
He pulled away and hobbled out to the car.
After a few minutes his dad came out and started the car.
“You know, Bryce. Your mother cares about you.
We both love you. You don't have to be so cold.”
“I know. I'm just frustrated.” He looked out the window. “Sorry.”
His dad drove quietly for a few minutes, until they reached the stop light to turn down the main road that ran through town. “None of this is our fault you know. We just want what's best for you. We know you don’t tell us everything, and you don’t have to. But, if you'd listen—”
“I'd never leave home. I'd live with y’all forever. Geez, Dad. I have a career. I'm way ahead of most guys my age. I've even got a plan for when I stop racing. I'm not stupid.”
“Oh? Plan? Let's hear this plan of yours.”
Fuck his parents and their judging him. He knew that they thought, because he dyed his hair black and purple and wore gauges in his ears and listened to hard rock, that he couldn’t run his own life—wasn’t mature enough.
They had no clue, didn’t know him at all.
He may be a little immature about some things, but that might have come from missing out on so much of that normal kid stuff.
Yet, where the big stuff was concerned, he knew what he wanted and how to get it.
“I'm going to learn to work on the bikes.
When I'm finished racing I can work on someone else's team. Motocross is all I know.”
“You could go to college. You're right. You're not stupid. At all, Bryce.”
“I'm not going to college.”
“Bryce—”
“Dad! No! You don't get to tell me what to do. I'm grown.”
“You still—”
“Stop. We both know that I don't have to be here.
I appreciate your help and I know I sound like a brat and I'm sorry. You just don't understand. You don't know how I feel.” He didn’t have to stay with them, even if he didn’t go back to Tate and Pilot.
He made enough money to afford an apartment. Or something.
“Help me understand.”
They pulled into the doctor's office and Bryce didn't want to talk about it anymore.
He knew he didn't have to take their shit. They loved him, but love didn’t mean controlling someone.
Pilot and Tate had helped him realize that he was really an adult and could do what he wanted.
He had a career that came with a nice bank account.
He could get a hotel or have his team help him get a rental somewhere, if he didn't want to go back to Pilot and Tate.
The truth was that he did want to go back to them.
Bryce had always been the kind of guy to be honest with himself, even if he wasn't honest with anyone else.
He was angry and tired and lonely. He didn't know how long he'd be able to hold out.
The next few days, Bryce hid out in his room.
He was supposed to go to physical therapy.
He didn't want to do it. He felt freer since he didn’t have to wear the brace any more, but his heart didn't agree.
He wanted to be that fun loving guy that made his boyfriends laugh and kiss him.
He hated living in fear, hated what he was becoming or rather what he was letting himself become because of Tanner.
Between that dick stalking him and his parents smothering him, he felt like a scared little kid hiding behind his mommy. He hated that.
Pilot had sent him an email saying that they were pressing charges against Tanner and the police had evidence that he'd been in town, but no one could find the asshole. That only made him feel marginally better.
“Bryce!” His mother tapped on his door. “Come eat.”
“I don't want to.”
“I don't care. Come on.”
He still had to use his crutches, but he was supposed to slowly start putting more weight on his foot.
He didn't know what slowly meant, so he just used his crutches to make his way to the table.
His mom had set out a comfort food smorgasbord with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, coleslaw, and homemade biscuits.
“Damn, Mom. I can't eat all of this. I haven't even been working out.”
“That's crazy. One good meal is not going to kill you.”
“Did you call my trainer? ‘Cause as soon as I'm cleared I need to be back on a bike and ohmygod I cannot weigh two hundred pounds.”
“You can start going to physical therapy and work it off.” She put her hands on her hips and scowled at him.
“Tate would never eat this,” he grumbled under his breath, pulling his chair up to the table. He scooped out coleslaw and grabbed a chicken breast. He pulled the breading off of it.
His mother huffed. “Sorry, Bryce. It's just that you've been really down and I thought you could use a good meal.”
“I could, but I can't. I appreciate it.”
His dad came in and gave the appropriate ohs and ahs over the meal while Bryce picked at it.
“Bryce, honey.” She put her hands in her lap. “We understand what you're going through.”
“No, you don't.”
“You need to get over it. They'll catch that boy soon enough. You'll be back on the track and Tate Jordan will be a memory.”
“No, he won't. Neither will Pilot.”