Chapter seven
Cole
Two weeks later
Motocross Nationals
My coach, Phillip Graves, also known as Horse, handed me my gloves. He chatted as I tugged them on, nothing important. He was trying to calm me down.
It was the third race in the Motocross Nationals series.
I hadn’t done shit in the first two rounds, not surprisingly since it was still entirely too early for me to be racing.
I wasn’t in racing shape. I needed another month or two.
At least Vick had provided me with a decent team, including Horse.
He’d at least helped me focus, figure out what I needed to do.
Andy was adjusting something on the bike and making sure the sensors were working. I could smell the slight cherry scent of the Klotz R50 oil.
For the first time since the accident, I felt ready to get on the track.
And to my own surprise, I was excited that Nix was coming out.
I hadn’t seen him or Jason since we left the training complex in Jacksonville.
I texted him a few times, inviting them to the races. Finally, he was going to be there.
“Cole.” One of the team assistants ran over to me. “There’s a dude that says he’s your dad. He wants back here.”
“My dad?”
“I had security hold him at the gate.” He stuck his phone under my nose. Sure enough, a picture of my dad, scowling as if his shorts were too tight, was on his phone.
“Yeah, that’s my dad. Fuck. That’s the last thing I need.” It would be worse if I didn’t let him back. “He can come back. Give him a pass.”
“Sure, dude.” He walked off, looking confused. I didn’t blame him for not understanding my mixed signals, but I didn’t have time to straighten it out, either.
“Don’t let him mess you up, Cole.” Horse echoed my thoughts exactly.
“I’ll try.”
“Cole, my boy!” My dad and I looked a lot alike, enough that looking at him gave me an idea of what I would look like when I got that old.
He still had a full head of brown hair, eyes like dark brown smokey quartz, and thin lips that smiled easily.
He clapped me on the shoulder. “You ready to win this moto thing?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to try. I’m still not one hundred percent.” I held up my hand.
“Bullshit. You’re going to kick ass. Now where’s Cody? I know he’ll have your bike humming.”
“Cody retired. Andy has the bike.”
“Andy?” His eyebrows shot up. “He’s just a kid.”
“He knows what he’s doing, Dad.”
“We’ll see about that.” He stormed across the pit area and started in on Andy. I knew I should interfere and stop him, but the bigger part of me would rather have him harassing Andy, or anyone, other than me.
Vick came out of the trailer and stepped in, finally doing something I approved of. My dad cooled off after that. Vick wouldn’t appreciate Dad acting like he ran the show when he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Vick laughed and gave Dad a bro-hug. I was done with them both.
Horse tapped his watch. “Go time. That machine ready, Andy?”
“Hell, yeah. Let’s do this, Cole.”
I straddled the bike, pulled on my helmet, and started her up. Andy got on behind me, and I left Dad and Vick behind, heading to the starting line. I revved the engine a bit, loving the braap of the engine. This was where I belonged. At least I was sure of that.
The moto track was a long stretch of dirt with a few steep inclines. It didn’t have a lot of jumps, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t tricky. Andy made sure I was set up and patted my shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
Race time.
The gates dropped and I took off along with the other nineteen riders. All of us wanted to win. Wanted the holeshot. A few of the others also raced the Supercross series with me, so I knew how competitive they were.
Hardy Baxter pushed alongside me, shoving me to the edge and taking the holeshot.
Motherfucker! I lost several spots, but there was plenty of time to catch up.
Jack Benson pushed ahead of me before I could get my momentum back.
Jack had been primarily an Arenacross racer, but I knew he was trying to make it in the Supercross 450s.
He would be a fierce competitor next season.
I followed his line, looking for the best place to pass him.
I knew my bike was faster, now I had to prove it.
Thirty minutes on the track seemed long, longer than Supercross, but the track was bigger, too, and it would all fly by in an instant if I let it.
I pushed hard and passed on the outside of the next corner.
Jack was on my tire for a while after that, but eventually, I pulled ahead.
I had no idea how many racers were in front of me now.
At least two or three. I pressed to catch up, taking the next straightaway at full speed.
I saw the back of the bike as Baxter flew around the corner. I followed.
The next part of the track had a few jumps that built to a steep uphill climb. I couldn’t pass another racer through there, even if I’d been close enough. Instead, I stayed steady, waiting for a better part of the track.
But I didn’t catch up. I got tired. A few more bikes passed me, and I couldn’t do a fucking thing about it. I tried to minimize the damage and not let anyone else go by, but it was tough. My arm hurt, my chest hurt, my back hurt. My head spun.
At the end of the race, I finished eighth. Considering how I’d been riding, the injury and the tough track, it wasn’t that bad, still in the top ten.
Taking the dirt slowly, I road over and picked up Andy. “Not bad, Cole.”
“Eh…”
Andy jumped on behind me and we made our way through the crowds to the pit. Vick looked furious. My dad was chewing out someone on the crew. I just knew he’d have me in trouble. Why the fuck did my dad think he had to be there?
Andy took the bike, and I started pulling off gear. Nix and Jason rounded the corner, chatting to each other, and I wondered what kind of footage they’d managed to get. I turned to greet them, but Vick stepped in front of me. “We need to talk, Cole.”
“Yeah, all right. How ‘bout I get this gear stripped and freshen up a bit.” There wasn’t much time before the second moto started, but I needed to cool off and ice my wrist. Vick followed me into the trailer after I’d pulled off my boots and pants.
I grabbed the ice pack out of the freezer.
As I dropped my ass in the booth at the small table in the center of the rig, I pressed the ice to my wrist.
“That still bothering you?” Vick asked.
“Yeah. A little. Mostly after I’ve been on the bike a while, but it’s getting there.”
“Well, it’s not getting there fast enough.” Vick shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“What’s going on? Just tell me.”
Vick looked at his watch. “Give me a second…or two.”
Whatever. I suspected I was going to get chewed out about my dad, or advice for the next moto, or something equally as banal. Vick was getting progressively more annoying.
Then the trailer shook, and I looked up to see a man in a suit walk down the aisle. “Cole.” He stuck his hand out when he reached the table. “I’m Benjamin Williams. Call me Ben.”
“Okay, Ben. What can I do for you?” I didn’t shake his hand.
Ben looked down at my wrist. “Yes. Well. I’m from SJA, KTM, and I’ve been told to let you know that we’re not satisfied with your performance or your recovery time.”
“What?”
Vick tapped the table beside where I was resting my wrist. “We’ve had the reports from the doctors. We know that medically speaking, you’re doing all right, but this is Supercross and all right isn’t enough.”
“What else is it that you think I can do?”
Ben shook his head. “Don’t misunderstand. We know you can’t control how fast you heal—”
“Then what’s going on?” I looked to Vick. He’d been through this with me. He’d been my manager with KTM since I’d come up from the smaller 250 bikes. “Vick?”
“Sorry.” Vick looked away.
It was Ben who said the words that ripped my heart out. “We’re not renewing your contract. It’s not just the wreck, Cole. You hadn’t been performing leading up to that wreck, and we need someone on the track who can win.”
I stood. “The hell I wasn’t. Fuck does that mean—”
Vick put his hand on my shoulder, pressing me back down. “Don’t get worked up. That’s not going to help anything.”
“Get worked up about what?” My dad’s gruff voice had every one’s head turning even before he climbed up into the trailer.
“They’re cutting me. I’m off the fucking team.”
“What’s that about, Vick? You know my son is a good racer.”
“It’s not about being good,” Ben said.
Dad wasn’t the type to listen to some suit.
He’d worked hard his entire life. He’d built a career at the power plant and spent his down time drinking beer and watching the races.
I didn’t always like him, didn’t like how he tried to tell me what to do and control my career simply because I still lived at home, but he was my dad.
I loved him, respected him, and I feared how this was about to go down.
“If it ain’t about being good, what the hell is it about? ”
“Mr. Lindt. Please.” Ben was about to have his ass handed to him. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. I was only happy Nix and Jason weren’t in the trailer with us filming the whole thing.
“Do not Mr. Lindt me. Mr. Lindt was my dad. Now, let’s forget all that and talk about this contract.” Dad slid into the booth beside me.
Vick huffed, clearly uncomfortable.
Ben slid his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks. “There’s nothing to talk about. We’re not interested in negotiating. Vick has the details. Good day.” He turned and stormed back toward the door without looking back.
Dad crossed his big beefy arms across his chest. “Guess confrontations ain’t his thing. That’s too bad. Is it your thing? Vick?”
“What do you mean?” The color drained from Vick’s face.
“I mean I’m ready to fight for my boy. Why aren’t you?”