Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
February, Denver
“This is not my fault!” Tate screamed.
Pilot’s eyes widened, but he didn’t yell back. That was worse. It made Tate feel like a three year old throwing a temper tantrum, and that just pissed him off more.
He flicked his fingers at the computer Pilot had set up on the breakfast bar.
“Figure this out. If it’s not Warren Tanner, who the fuck is it?
” Tate couldn’t even believe the letters that Bryce had forwarded from the dickwad, but they didn’t prove anything and there were other threats as well from more anonymous sources.
“Tate. I’m not a private detective.”
Tate scowled and cursed under his breath. He knew that, but it didn’t help. Warren obviously had been stalking Bryce and he’d been in the area when someone attacked Tate. The police insisted that Warren had an alibi, though. What fucking alibi? “Why can’t you just figure the shit out?”
“Tate? You’re being irrational.”
“No. Irrational is Bryce leaving and you letting him.”
“What was I supposed to do? Kidnap him?”
Tate glared at Pilot.
“Tate. Come on. You said yourself we can’t force him.”
Tate knew Pilot was right, but he didn’t want him to be right and he didn’t want to give in. The world around him had started to crumble to pieces and he couldn’t stop it.
“Tate? I tried to talk to him. Don’t—I’m still here, Tate.”
“Fuck this!” He wanted to stay mad. Staying mad would keep him from crying over his broken life.
“Seriously? Stop being so melodramatic.”
“Melodramatic? I’ve got your melodramatic.” Tate grabbed his crotch in an obscene gesture.
The dam holding back his emotion creaked with the pressure building.
He didn’t really want to explode all over Pilot.
He’d already said too much that he couldn’t take back.
He just needed to get the hell out of there.
He grabbed the truck keys, sliding them across the counter and stomped through the living room to the door.
He didn’t slam it behind him, though. He just left it wide open, swinging a little from the force of shoving it open.
He heard Pilot calling out to him, but Tate couldn’t listen. He climbed up in the truck and shoved the stick in reverse. He had to get the hell out of there.
Earlier, Tate had arrived home after practice, but hadn’t even pulled the bike out of the back of the truck when Pilot got his attention to tell him the cops had dropped the charges against Tanner.
That had started the screaming on Tate’s part.
Pilot didn’t so much as raise his voice, but that only made Tate’s actions worse.
Tate needed to be on the track.
He drove north heading back to the practice track. They would be closed by the time he got there, but hopefully he could find somewhere to stay overnight. He thought he remembered a few hotels around that area. He just needed some time alone. Breathing room.
Tate hated that the track was so far away from Pilot’s house. He drove by the entrance, and like he thought, it was closed. He circled around and headed back toward town. At least the long drive had calmed him down, and his heart had finally stopped running that six minute mile.
Tate pulled the truck to a stop at a red light. He wondered why he left. What the hell he was doing? Why was he doing this? He couldn’t go back now, not after the way he stormed out. He fucked it up—all of it.
Why had he thought adding Bryce to their relationship would be a good thing?
He was too young. Bryce hadn’t even really come out of the closet or even had a boyfriend before.
Tate pushed the issue because...why? He wanted Bryce that much?
Worse, Pilot went along with it, but was it what Pilot really wanted or did he think he had to in order to keep Tate?
Things had been fine with Pilot. They got along, cared for each other, loved each other.
The sex was great. Bryce hadn’t even been kissed before.
Or rather, he’d just been kissed, and so far in their relationship, that’s all they’d done.
Relationship? A relationship between all three of them? How could that even happen?
But it had, and until Tate got jumped, it had been working.
They clicked together, didn't they? Balanced each other out somehow? Pilot was the grumpy one, always so serious and he needed Tate and Bryce to lighten things up, and he needed more people to love and take care of. Who didn’t need that?
Pilot needed it more than most. Pilot seemed happy with that.
And Tate? He never took anything serious before—except racing.
Pilot and Bryce gave him something serious in his life, grounded him.
Then, Bryce, well he was just adorable, if a little cocky.
But you had to be cocky to race motocross and even his sarcasm was adorable.
If Pilot was the head in the relationship, Tate was the heart, and Bryce?
He was the soul. No doubt. The kid was deep.
Tate really needed to stop thinking of him as a kid.
Even at eighteen, Bryce had a maturity about him that rivaled anyone Tate knew, including himself.
There had to be some way to get them all back together.
It had to start with reassuring Bryce and that meant figuring out who had jumped Tate.
That was why Tate became so angry. He couldn’t fix it by himself and it hadn’t been fair to blame Pilot.
They needed help.
Pilot stared at the open door and watched as Tate drove away.
His heart had been ripped into thirds. First Bryce, now Tate.
How could he live without them? How could he go back to his lonely existence?
He hadn’t known just how gray his life had become.
The only spark of color had been from fighting and that color had been all red.
Now he had blond and purple and neon yellow.
How could you let that go and slide back into a monochromatic life?
He shut the door and went back into the living room. He had to get his guys back. He had to figure out who had jumped Tate and why. He sat there thinking about it for a long time, but he hadn’t realized how long until someone knocked on his door.
His heart leapt, but he stopped it from getting too excited. Tate or Bryce would just walk in and he didn’t want to see anyone else.
The knock became incessant and Johnny yelled for him to open the fucking door, so he got up and forced his body to walk over and open it.
Johnny barged in and crossed his arms, staring daggers at Pilot. “You’ve been ignoring me. Not answering texts—”
“What?”
“What happened? What’s going on? You never talk to me anymore and that’s fine Pilot, but I can tell something is wrong just looking at your face. Where’s Tate?”
“Gone.”
“Gone like gone, gone? He left you?”
Pilot shrugged. “He didn’t take anything, but he was pissed when he left. So, yeah. Gone.”
“How could you let him leave like that?”
Pilot's raised an eyebrow and glared at Johnny. “Let?”
“Yeah, I didn't get you guys at first, but you've never been happier.
That's what the hell I care about. And what now?
You're fucking it up? Let him just leave? I thought we’d been over this.
..what the hell good is having our dream?
Our company? What good is it if you don't have someone? Fix this.” He waved his hand around as if the entire world could realign at his whim.
“You're as bad as Tate. How the hell am I supposed to fix it?”
“You're not just Pilot. You're the Pilot. You drive. You command the fucking ship. So, take the reins.”
“You're kind of mixing your metaphors.”
“Fuck you.”
“I thought you were pissed about me being in a relationship. Now you're happy? Pissed that he left?”
“I wasn't pissed. Never pissed. Just, God...jealous, okay. I can't find anyone and you just slide right into this thing with Tate? It’s like you’ve been together forever.”
Pilot chuckled. He wondered just how pissed Johnny would be if he knew about them trying to add Bryce to their relationship.
“Nothing perfect about either of us. But, I lo—-” He stopped himself from saying it.
He didn't want to tell Johnny before he told them.
He'd told Tate, but not Bryce. He needed both of them home first. “Fuck.”
“You love him. You don't have to say it, brother. I know. I see it in how you look at him.”
“Yeah.” Something thick caught in his throat. His brain stopped and shifted gears, running in reverse. “What do I do?”
“I’m the last person to give you relationship advice.” Johnny plopped down on the couch.
Even Johnny looked to Pilot to make things right. He had to make things right. He just wasn’t sure how. He had to do something, though. They had to figure this shit out somehow and they had decent connections and access others wouldn’t have. No, they weren’t detectives, but they were smart.
Pilot let Johnny in on what had happened with Tate’s attack, but still didn’t mention Bryce being with them in a relationship. He didn’t know how to open that can of worms, so he let Johnny go on thinking Bryce was just a good friend being stalked by a mutual asshole from the race camp.
Hours later, Johnny finally left and the house fell silent, except for the ticking clock. Pilot checked his phone, but he didn’t find any messages from Tate. Worry weighed him down as he tapped his screen to send a quick text. T? you ok? You coming home?
Pilot only waited a few seconds before Tate texted back. IDK. Y?
“Fuck this.” Pilot tapped his screen again, probably poking it harder than he should, but it got the phone dialing. Pilot had enough of Tate’s tantrum.
It rang twice before Tate’s soft voice answered. “Hey.”
“Hey. What do you mean you don’t know? Are you okay?”
He heard a long exhale. Pilot was about to give up when Tate finally spoke up. “I just wanted to ride.”
“The track’s closed.”
“I know. So, I’m just gonna crash at this hotel and get up first thing in the morning.”
“Are you serious?”