7. Wilder
Working out is the only thing that helps clear my mind aside from racing.
It’s always been my go to, but lately it hasn’t been helping as much as it used to.
And I’m not stupid, I know the reason, it’s almost been six months since Caden came to find me at the break of dawn to tell me he'd killed my brother.
Since then things as fickle as sleep have felt a little less important and my mind has been clouded with all the things I must not have known about Jason.
I’ve spent months asking around and trying to dig into his past, and aside from the confirmed attempted assault of a girl at a party a couple of years ago, everyone is keeping quiet.
The only reason I even know about it is because she’s Archer Gray’s little sister.
He’s a famous NHL player, and his step-brother and his friends are known to come to The Underground.
They were the ones who attacked Jason and ended his football career toward the end of his senior year.
Something I only recently found out about.
Still, I can’t help but feel there is more Caden isn’t telling me.
It’s what keeps me awake at night, not just the burden of the knowledge of what Jason did, but the guilt that I wasn’t the one to stop him.
Why was I so hell bent on saving him when he clearly didn’t deserve it?
And what else did he do that made Caden take such drastic actions to end his life?
The thought has me almost stumbling on the treadmill, forcing me to grab the handles and making me curse.
I don’t need this shit, not ahead of the biggest weekend of my fucking life.
I need to push all of this out of my head and focus on what I can control, which was never Jason, and it’s sure as shit isn’t Caden.
No, the only thing I can control is trying to win a fucking race, and that’s exactly what I need to be focused on.
All races in the PRI season pretty much follow the same routine.
Fridays are spent doing practice runs around the track, so we can all get familiar with it.
Then on Saturdays they run two qualifying segments and the top 12 from the first segment advance to the second.
Whoever comes in first on that one is given pole position for the next day, with the rest following in order of where they finished.
The higher you rank, the more extra points you earn before the main race day on Sunday and then you can expand that even more with a skills race for whoever makes it into the top six.
It’s Thursday now, which means I don’t have many plans today outside of staying out of my head and focused on the race. There is just one little problem with that, one I can’t seem to escape no matter how hard I try, especially not when he walks in the gym where I’m trying to work out.
Prescott Reed Lamont the fourth, what a pretentious fucking name that is, is the son of Prescott Lamont the third and Jocelyn Lamont, and older brother to Frederick Lamont and a general pain in my ass.
He attended Columbia University, where he graduated with honors, pretentious dick, one who has enough connections and followers to land a job quite literally anywhere else.
So why the fuck is he here bothering me?
I watch as he strolls across the gym with an elegance and confidence that only people born into insane wealth can manage, without even looking up from his phone.
I’m sure his five million fans on Instagram are hanging by a thread to see what he will post next, not knowing it’s all complete and utter bullshit.
He’s as much of a fraud as his perfect and polished family, who I have since discovered are good friends with the family of his apparent girlfriend.
Not that I care, I just wish I could get rid of the pompous prick.
As if my thoughts summon him, his eyes finally lift from his phone and collide with mine, where I was watching him in the mirror.
He tips his head in greeting, as if we are some kind of friends, and I have to refrain from flipping him off, as he walks toward me and takes up residence on the treadmill beside me.
“Still can’t sleep?” he says by way of greeting, tossing his phone down and stretching out his limbs, making me roll my eyes.
His blond hair isn’t styled for once, still looking messy from sleep, and most notably still not blue, but that’s the only extent of his early morning look.
The shirt he is wearing molds to his upper torso perfectly, showcasing every single ridge of his abs, and the black shorts are almost sculpted to his muscular thighs.
Probably achieved from all the lacrosse he played in high school, if his Instagram is to be believed, the bullshit professional one of course, not the personal one he blocked me from.
It pains me to admit how attractive I find him, but he’s nowhere near as tempting as he was that night at the party.
Which is good for me considering I don’t plan on ever touching him again, not now that I know who he is.
“Isn’t that obvious considering I’m here and not in bed right now,” I drawl, turning up the treadmill a level and ignoring the way the corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk.
Instead of backing up at my obvious tone, he ignores it completely, and starts at a slow pace beside me.
“I’m excited for this weekend,” he pushes on.
“Should be a great start to the season and I know the fans are excited. Have you been reading the comments on your posts?” He turns toward me expectantly, and again I ignore him, but he still isn’t deterred.
“Well they are all positive, for some reason people seem to really like you, even though you’re a massive asshole. ”
I stop my treadmill using the emergency button before doing the same to his, making him almost face plant in the process. “Do we have a problem here, Prescott?” I make sure to enunciate his name, knowing it will piss him off, when I’ve heard the guys calling him Reed.
Reed is what all his friends call him, but like he said, we aren’t friends.
“I don’t know, do we?” he tosses back in question, arching his brow in amusement and it only pisses me off more.
Shaking my head, I step off the treadmill with every intention of going back to ignoring him, but the prick only follows me.
“Look I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot,” he starts, and I stop so abruptly that he almost slams right into my back.
“You mean when you were waiting for a free show in my changing room, or when you took my cock to the back of your throat and I fucked you over a balcony?” I ask, whipping round, my voice loud enough to startle a woman who is working out close by.
His eyes widen almost comically, shooting her a look of apology, before he grabs my arm and drags me out of the gym and down the hall. Only once we are out of sight from others does he release me, shoving away from me like my skin burned him, before he inhales a deep breath and looks at me head on.
“I don’t know what the hell your problem is, Miles, and I don’t care, your father hired me to do a job and come hell or high water, I’m going to do it to the best of my ability, with or without your help.
” He practically snarls the whole sentence, but with his posh, uppity voice, it barely constitutes a threat.
In fact, the whole thing has me snorting a laugh, as I crowd him into the wall at his back. “My problem is pretty little bullshitters who don’t know when to quit,” I grit through my teeth, ignoring the heat that burns beneath my skin at his proximity, but still he doesn’t back down.
“So you think I’m pretty?” he purrs, making my blood boil, before leaning in and bringing us even closer. “Better than hot-headed assholes who think they can slide by on talent alone.”
At that I laugh. “That’s rich coming from someone who gets by on lies and daddy's money.” I know my barb hits a sore point, but he recovers quickly.
“Oh yeah? Because your dad has never opened a door for you, has he Miles? Tell me, was it hard to get into The Academy backed by your father’s money and connections?” He takes the shot I tossed at him and throws it right back, my jaw grinding so hard I’m not sure how it doesn’t break.
Except when I open my mouth to respond, someone else beats me to it. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite dick,” the familiar voice drawls, snapping both of our attention in his direction, and confirming what I already knew.
The last of my sponsored team has arrived.
“Matt.” I tip my head in his direction. “Nice of you to finally join us.”
Matteo Estefan Rodriguez-Marquez was with me at The Academy, his talent almost on par with my own when he stays focused, but I’ve generally always been more concerned with how good his stamina is in other areas.
We’ve fucked plenty of times over the last three years, but it was always just a means to an end.
Outside of that, he’s actually a pretty good friend.
“Wild,” he greets me with a smile, but his eyes are already on the person still standing too close to me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend here?” He asks, and I almost roll my own eyes at how charming he is acting already.
“We’re not friends,” Prescott and I both snap at the same time, only making Matteo smile wider. I don’t bother to introduce either one of them, knowing them well enough to know that their manners will get the better of them soon enough.
Which is only proven when Prescott straightens his shoulders and holds out his hand. “You must be Matteo Estefan Rodriguez-Marquez, I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s good to finally meet you, I’m…”