Chapter one
Cole
April
Home, Marietta, GA.
Oh, Oh, that has got to hurt. Cole Lindt missed the quad and went down hard. The announcer sounded sympathetic, at least.
The red and black bike flew up, flipping and landing on my arm. My head smacked against the upslope of the jump. How I didn’t end up with a concussion along with the rest of my injuries was anyone’s guess.
He’s hurt. This will put him out for sure but for how long?
The Alpinestar Medical Unit is coming out to assess and we’re waving the red flag. The race will stop while they move Cole off the track.
Men with flags stood around my body. I curled in on myself. The other bikes moved off the track.
Finally, two men lifted me onto a stretcher board. They didn’t remove my helmet.
While we wait to restart the race, Cole is being taken to the—
I tapped my browser, turning the footage off. I’d watched it too many times already. I’d had enough reliving that fucking crash. My life sucked enough without that shit pulling me down further.
Vick had not called me back. Had not checked in on my recovery. He was probably out signing another racer to replace me. Fucker!
I banged my fist on the table, making the milk in my cereal bowl slosh out.
“Clean that up.” Mom swayed into the room, grabbed a towel, and tossed it at me. “I raised you better than that.”
I caught it and wiped the table. Then shoveled another spoonful of flakes in my mouth to keep myself from saying something I might regret later.
Mom sat down across from me with a coffee mug in hand. “Well, bless your little heart. Thinking your mama was going to let you throw a fit.” Then she gave me the look—the one that always stopped me in my tracks when I was a kid, doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.
“I’m not. I just don’t want them dropping me for something I can’t help.”
“They’ll wait for you. It’s going to be okay, just you wait.”
“It’s not.” I started to protest but already knew where this conversation ended. We’d had it too many times, even before my crash. She’d start going on about girlfriends and fishing with dad and…
“Supercross isn’t everything. This is a good time for you to call up Susie Donavan. She would surely come over and watch movies with you or somethin’. You get movies on this thing, right?” She tapped my laptop.
I shut the laptop, hoping to shut down the conversation with it. There really was no reason to rehash it. Supercross was everything. There was no love in my life, no home outside of my parents’ house. I would never have a girlfriend. That thinking always led me back to that fucker, Tyler Whitmore.
Why did he end up with Davey-Fucking-McAllister?
Tyler was my mechanic. Everything that had went down with Parker Shannon angered me.
None of that had worked out right. How had I let that asshole get to me?
Parker had fueled my anger, and because of it, I had done things I normally wouldn’t have.
I never cared about Tyler being gay. Not really.
What angered me was so much more complex than that.
Watching Tyler get everything that I would never have, and with my most fierce competitor.
Rather than with me.
That was the crux of it. Even when I didn’t want to admit it.
Tyler didn’t even look twice at me. Then with Shannon’s bullshit, the world ensured that no one ever would.
The world now had me branded as a straight homophobe.
Nothing could be further from the truth, not that it mattered since I’d never have anyone.
I could choose Supercross and being alone, or I could leave it all and try for a normal life. What would that look like? A job with Dad? Pushing buttons or whatever the fuck he did at the Water Reclamation Facility? Dating some chick my mom foisted on me?
No. I couldn’t imagine giving up on racing. Not yet. Maybe, like Davey, not ever.
“Cole. Come on. Talk to me. I know this injury is hard for you, but you have to open up, hon.”
“Mom, I love you, but you really don’t know anything.”
She took a long sip of coffee, and I could easily recognize the look on her face. She was trying not to say something she would regret. We were a lot alike. She slowly set the mug on the table. “So, tell me about rehab. What’s happening there?”
“I don’t know for sure. Vick hasn’t called me back. He mentioned doing some stuff in Jacksonville after I finish my physical therapy. That starts Monday.”
“Okay. Good. You can stop feeling sorry for yourself. Put your mind into the recovery and next season. If that’s what you want. You can do it. My baby can do anything.”
That’s what she always said. For the first time, I doubted it.