Cole (11 page)

Chapter 23

Cole

A few of us stood by on our bikes, suited up and ready to race, waiting for the massive water truck to waddle its way around the track. A long, dry summer had squeezed every last bit of green out of the surrounding chaparral landscape. An early fall rainstorm midweek had blown through and carved some new ruts in the track. I’d been spending so much of my time practicing freestyle jumps, I hadn’t been out to ride in months. I was going to feel it at the end of the day. A day riding motocross wrung out every muscle and took all my energy. It was definitely one of the most taxing sports. The pros were some of the toughest athletes in the world.

As we waited for the water truck to rumble down the final stretch of track, a shiny red and blue truck pulled in. I hadn’t seen the guy ride out here in a long time, but the logos and colors assured me it was Nate Harkin coming to grace us amateurs with his presence.

I glanced back toward my truck. Kensington had driven out to meet me after she’d worked her horse. She was sitting on a chair under a tree reading a book. She hadn’t noticed the truck pulling in. Not that it mattered to me. Harkin could ride all he wanted out here as long as he left Kensington alone. Her reaction to seeing him at the freestyle contest had assured me that she was completely done with the guy.

The water truck lumbered off the track. Dust control was a major problem with the Southern California tracks, one of the few places in the states where we could ride all year. I hadn’t been out on the track for a few months, so it took me two good laps to warm up and find my line.

We’d been digging foundation ditches all week at work, and my arms were a little more wobbly than I liked. But after a few minutes, I was ready to grab some throttle and ride. On my third lap around, I saw Denver enter the track. He’d nailed second place in Saturday’s competition. But shit like that never went to his head. I knew he’d spent the night staring at his ceiling recalculating all his moves, trying to figure out how he’d failed by taking second. My other, less fortunate, roommate had not forgiven himself or the forces that be for taking him out in the first round. But the pain in his head had kept him low and sulky for the rest of the day. He came out to the track but said he still felt like shit. He hadn’t even suited up.

I ignored the clutch and twisted the throttle as I flew off a jump, landing with a solid thud on the other side. There were plenty of riders out on the main track. Even the peewee track was busy. With the gnarly summer heat slowing up, it seemed all the moto riders were pulling their gear and bikes out for a day of fun.

I’d been riding neck and neck with a guy on a two-stroke. He was a regular, a veteran ex-pro from the nineties, and he was still fucking fast. He tried to cut in, but I held my place. He flew past me on a jump.

I raced around the end where my truck was parked. Harkin and his crew had pulled in right next to us. Kensington was at the fence watching us ride and seemingly trying to ignore the giant, shiny truck next to her. I caught a glimpse of her beautiful smile as I rode past. It gave me the burst of energy I needed to ignore the fatigue in my arms and hands and go a few more laps.

As I hit the straightaway, I heard a bike coming up on my outside. I glanced back. Denver was barreling down on me. I leaned forward and grabbed some throttle. We played tag for a few minutes, switching lead position several times, but, eventually, Denver fell back. It was hard to believe that he had anything at all to give after yesterday’s contest.

I determined I had enough energy and hydration to go two more laps. As I passed the entrance, I saw Harkin riding toward the track. His helmet turned as he watched me ride past. The guy had already made it clear that he hated me, so my strategy was to stay the fuck out of his way. Even though his champ days seemed to be behind him, a harsh reality that was probably contributing to him being such a douchebag, he was still way faster than me and on a much better bike. I wasn’t a pro. I was a weekender, a rider who loved the sport, but one who’d never had the time, energy or drive to take it to the competitive level. I was good with that. As long as I could suit up and ride whenever the urge overtook me, I was a happy fucking camper.

I circled around the far side of the track where there was nothing but dried shrubs and trees beyond the fence. It was a cool spot on the track. If you took the jump high enough, you could catch a glimpse of the small lake tucked against the low hills. Of course the drought had pushed the water level down to puddle size, but it was still the only patch of blue in an otherwise parched stretch of land.

I heard a bike coming up behind me and glimpsed back. I was slowing down from fatigue, and the rider behind was coming on fast. I moved out of the way to let him pass. Which he did. It was Harkin. He glared at me through dusty goggles as he rolled past. Then he pulled a move that let me know just how big an asshole he was. We were the only two people on that section of track, and there wasn’t anyone gaining on him.

I was moving like a fucking slug on two wheels, but Harkin jumped on my line. Before I could react and grab the brakes, he let off the throttle. My front tire tapped his rear wheel. He wobbled a few seconds and threw dirt at me as I went flying off the side of the track. I popped up over the handlebars as the bike laid down behind me. I’d managed to tuck my body and roll so it wasn’t a straight on landing, which saved my back. But the air rushed out of my lungs. Tiny prickling lights filled my eyes as I struggled to get back my wind.

Another rider stopped along the side of the track. He cast a shadow over me while I worked to return my breathing to normal. I finally took a solid gulp of air. I focused on the person standing next to me.

Denver was leaning over me. He’d pulled his goggles down and yanked off his helmet.

“Are you alive, King?”

“Better be. I hate to think yours is the first face I’ll see when I die.” I moved my legs and arms. “Everything’s still working.” The standby medic was halfway across the track.

“Good thing you were wearing that chest protector.”

I wriggled against the hard plastic covering my chest and back. “I guess. But it doesn’t feel too great when you land on it from midair.”

Denver lent me his hand. I grabbed it, and with some effort, I sat up. I yanked off my goggles and helmet and looked around for Harkin. The asshole was on the other side. “Shit, did you see what that motherfucker did?”

“Sure did. Guess he’s not dealing too well with his has-been status, both on the track and with the girl.” Denver always knew how to put things just the right way.

I chuckled but had to stop when it made my ribs hurt. I pressed my arm against my stomach. “Damn, I didn’t even hit the handlebars, but my ribs hurt.”

“You were pretty much airborne for most of it. It would have almost been pretty if you’d stuck the landing rather than flopped on your ass. Your ribs probably just hurt from the impact. You sat up too easily for a rib to be broken.”

The medic did his thing for a few minutes and then helped me to my feet. Denver lifted and started my bike. I threw my leg over, put the helmet on the seat in front of me and puttered to the exit. I wasn’t hurt badly, but I was going to feel this at work. This was going to be one of those weeks where it would be good to be the boss.

Kensington was standing at the exit with her arms crossed around her. The look of concern on her pretty face was so damn cute to see, it had almost been worth the fall. She’d managed to snag, hold and wrap herself around my heart completely. Couldn’t fucking believe it. But it had finally happened. I’d finally met someone who I couldn’t stop thinking about.

She hurried to meet me as I rolled my bike off the track. She looked close to crying. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Hop on, baby. I’ll give you a ride back to the truck.”

She threw her leg over the seat and held my shoulders gently as if I might break. We rolled slowly back to the truck. We were the center of attention as we rode past everyone. Could have been the beautiful girl tucked in behind me or the fact that I’d just gotten taken out by Nate Harkin.

We got back to the truck. Rodeo was pacing and slamming his fist against his palm. Kensington climbed off and I followed. My back and tailbone ached.

“Let me go take care of this,” Rodeo said. “After yesterday, I’m in the mood to hit something, and Harkin’s smug face seems like a perfect target.”

I shook my head. “My battle, Rodeo. Just cool it, Mr. nitroglycerin.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened out there.” Kensington’s wavering voice floated over my shoulder.

I turned around. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Kensie.” I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her against me. “He’s a jerk. But we already knew that. By the way, you look exceptionally cute when you’re worried. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to need some sympathy kissing and
stuff
when we get back home.”

She reached up and wiped some dirt off my forehead. “I guess it’s the least I can do.”

Rodeo was still pacing, but I knew he’d mellow out soon enough. He pointed to the track. “Check it out. Denver is racing Harkin.”

Denver cut to the inside and passed Harkin, but the asshole overtook him easily on the following turn. When they hit the next jump, Denver worked his anti-gravity magic. He arced up and over both jumps landing well past the second hill. He was in the straightaway, and he poured it on, managing to throw some nice dirt chunks at Harkin as he flew ahead of him.

“Whooee!’” Rodeo hollered. “That move just made my day.” Other people standing about the track cheered too.

Not feeling like dropping into one of the low foldable chairs yet, I sat up on the open tailgate of the truck. Kensington brought me a bottle of water and a couple of aspirin she had in her purse. I swallowed them back and took hold of her hand. She still looked upset.

I elbowed her lightly. “Hey, no more pouty face. You can’t take the blame for that guy being a jerk. So stop looking so sad.”

“Yeah, all right.” She gave herself a little shake. “There. Pout gone. I confess I’ve never been an effective pouter anyway. I’d try it on my dad when I was little. He’d just laugh and tell me I looked like Eeyore, the sad little blue donkey who hangs out with Pooh.”

I laughed and my sore back vibrated with pain. Kensington caught me scrunching my face.

“Maybe we should take you to urgent care,” she suggested.

“Nah. I’m just sore, and apparently, I’ve become a big wimp. I could swear I used to just walk off falls like that. Old age, I guess.”

“I have noticed that when I fall from a horse, I bounce much less than I did in my teens. God only knows what it’s going to be like when we slam the dirt in our thirties.”

Rodeo walked over to greet Denver as he rolled up to the truck. “Nice work out there, bro.”

Denver shut down his bike and took off his goggles, helmet and gloves. He walked over to get a drink from the ice chest.

Harkin left the track and was riding back to his truck. He had to pass us to get there. He slowed and glared our direction. Denver lifted his water bottle in a silent toast. Harkin pulled his bike up to its stand. His buddies didn’t look all that pleased with him. I’d always heard rumors that Harkin was a hot head who liked to stir shit up. They’d all seen the dirty move he’d played on me. A trick like that never earned you friends, no matter how many wins you had under your belt.

Kensington reached over and rubbed my back. “Those aspirin should be kicking in soon, old man. You aren’t planning to ride again, are you?”

“Think I’m supposed to get back in the saddle, aren’t I?”

Rodeo overheard me. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. They should have let me back on the bike yesterday. Now, when I get on it, I’m going to be all tensed up and nervous.”

“I was kidding, Rodeo. I’m not riding again today. And the day I see you nervous about something is the day I get a big fucking butterfly tattoo right in the center of my forehead.”

“Shit, now I’ve got to find a reason to get nervous. I want to see that.”

“Hey, our friend is walking this way,” Denver said under his breath.

Harkin’s moto boots were kicking up a cloud of dust as he stomped our direction.

Kensington tensed next to me.

“Stay right here.” I hopped off the truck and sucked in a breath to lessen the jolt of pain.

Harkin pointed his finger at Denver. “I can get your sponsorship pulled with one fucking phone call.”

“Really?” Denver asked. “Cuz, I think you’re overestimating your power these days. I’m on the way up, and you’re on the way down. I think the power is pointing my direction.” There was nothing cooler than watching Denver in action. He could take down his opponent with words. Not that he couldn’t do it just as effectively with fists. But he was, after all, a thinking man first and an FMX bro second.

Harkin’s mouth pulled to a grim line, and he turned his rage toward me. “They need to make a granny track for riders like you. You slow the rest of us down.”

“I got out of your way. But maybe since you have no fucking manners, they should make a track for blowhards who think they own the fucking world.”

“You fucking trust fund baby loser. All the rich boy toys, but no skill or guts,” Harkin sneered.

I glanced toward Kensington. This whole thing was making her uncomfortable as hell.

The last thing I wanted to do was escalate this feud to a fist fight with her watching, but it seemed like this guy wasn’t going to leave us alone.

Denver had his arms crossed, and I knew he was doing that to keep from taking a swing at Harkin himself. Rodeo was standing close by, and it seemed his fuse was already lit, the flame just needed to reach the gunpowder.

I shook my head at Rodeo and walked a few steps toward Harkin. The weasel shrank back a step. “I’m not going to apologize for who I am. Look, it’s over. You got what you wanted. I swallowed some dirt. I’ve always had great respect for your riding skills. So let’s just leave it at that.”

I turned around, hoping he’d take the invite to leave with the remainder of his pride and his face intact. But some guys were thick as hell, and Nate Harkin was proving to be just that.

“That’s right, walk away. Better for me because I’ve no doubt your drug addict father has a high caliber lawyer on speed dial. He’d probably sue me if I nailed that smug face of yours.”

I spun back around, took steps toward him. Again, he backed up a few. “You can say whatever you want about me, but don’t you ever fucking insult my dad.” I turned away from him again, determined not to put on an ugly show of bloody noses and knuckles for Kensington. While I’d dated plenty of girls who would have been excited as hell to see a couple of guys throwing fists over them, and I was sure that was what this was all about, Kensington wasn’t like those other women.

“Cole!” Kensington yelled as Harkin’s roar and pounding steps came up behind me. He threw a fist in my back, which was already hurting like fucking hell. I dropped to my knees and heard Rodeo cussing behind me as I went to catch my breath.

“Rodeo, Denver, no.” I stood up. I avoided looking at Kensington because I knew where this was heading, and I didn’t have the courage to look at her face. Harkin’s friends had raced over, but it didn’t matter. Something told me they weren’t going to step in to help anyhow.

I glanced toward Rodeo. “This fucker is mine.” I spun around.

Harkin’s eyes widened. I grabbed his shirt with one hand and plowed my fist into his face. Blood sprayed from his nose as he stumbled back. The fool looked completely stunned as if he hadn’t expected me to return the punch.

Harkin regained his footing and lunged toward me, but Denver stepped between us. “You should have walked away when he complimented your riding, Harkin.” He lifted his phone. “I recorded that. Just in case you try and swing this as something he started.”

Harkin wiped his nose with the back of his hand. The blood seemed to surprise him. He stood like a bull with flaring, bleeding nostrils. His fists were tight against his sides. “Fucking loser,” he muttered, and stomped back to his truck.

My back was hurting worse than ever. The day just really needed to end. “Hey, Denver—” I started. He read my mind.

“Yep. Rodeo and I will get our shit loaded up so we can get the hell out of Dodge.”