We got out of the truck and walked around to the trailer hitched to the back.
Both Ducatis were enclosed inside. We always traveled with our bikes this way to keep them protected. And to give us a little more anonymity. These were expensive pieces of equipment, and they caught attention. Matt’s was in the back as well, even though he wasn’t racing—you know, in case we wanted to do some touring after I beat Blaine.
I waited while he undid the lock on the back doors, perusing the street, trying to get the “lay of the land.” I’d driven this road numerous times. It wasn’t something I was used to racing on, but I wasn’t starting out blind.
I heard the lock give, metal scrape metal, and I glanced back around as Matt removed the padlock. He grabbed the handle and tugged, but the door didn’t open.
We needed a new trailer; this one was a piece of shit. For as much as I paid for it, you’d think it would have lasted a little longer.
The damn doors always stuck. They never wanted to open.
Shit, we probably didn’t even need to bother with the lock. It practically took an act of God to get the damn things open regardless.
I made a mental note to start shopping for a new one.
He tugged again. The doors rumbled under his strength, but didn’t budge. He cursed, and I chuckled.
“Here, let me mess with them. Don’t get the boxers molded perfectly to your fine ass in a bunch.”
Matt barked a laugh but continued to fight with the stubborn metal doors. I moved up behind him, ready to step in, when the doors popped open like they’d released a ton of pressure.
“Whoa,” Matt yelled, surprised as they burst open. He lunged back to catch them but only succeeded in catching one.
I caught the other one.
With my face.
“Ugh.” The sound oozed out of me when the edge of the thick metal smacked me in the side of the head. It swung with such force it knocked me onto my ass.
Pain exploded on the side of my head the second I fell back. The pavement was cold even through my hoodie, but I barely noticed. I lay there stunned for long moments as sharp, piercing shocks of pain electrified my head.
“Jayson!” Matt worried, leaning over me, his hands hovering nearby without touching. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault those doors are assholes,” I muttered and pushed myself up.
“Easy,” Matt urged, putting his arm around my back and helping me sit up.
“That fucking hurt,” I cursed. I pressed a palm to my temple.
“You’re bleeding,” he said softly, taking my hand to stop me from smearing the blood.
“Shit,” I muttered, reaching for the hem of my hoodie to wipe it away. I didn’t have time for this shit.
Behind us, the metal doors rattled as the wind blew, banging around like the bunch of peckers they were.
“Stop,” Matt ordered, but there was no bite in his voice. There hardly ever was when he spoke to me.
I’d probably do a double take and think he needed an exorcism if he ever yelled at me.
“I got this.” He grinned and ripped his own hoodie off his body. There was a flash of his solid abs when he moved before the T-shirt (with a black peace sign in the center) fell back into place. His hoodie was light gray with the motocross symbol on it.
Gingerly, he blotted at the cut. There was more blood than I originally realized. I felt it trickle down my head, near my eye. “It got ya good,” he murmured, still blotting and wiping at the wound. I think you might need stitches.”
“No,” I growled. “I don’t have time for that.”
“Well, the bleeding says otherwise,” Matt refuted.
“I’m fine,” I grumped and moved to get up.
I swayed a little, feeling woozy. Refusing to let it get me, I pushed on.
Matt wrapped his arms around me and lifted, helping me up.
His arm stayed around me while he held the hoodie to my head. “You don’t look so good, Jay.”
“I said I’m fine.” I tried to push him away so I could stand on my own.
He dropped his arm but kept the other against my head. My stomach rolled, and I blinked. Sucking in a sharp breath between my lips, I swayed again.
“You could have a concussion,” Matt noted, lifting the hoodie to look. He grunted. “Still bleeding.” He pressed the shirt back down.
“I have a race to win.”
“You can’t get on a bike, man. You know it, and I know it.”
“I know if I don’t, I’ll forfeit that damn race and I’ll lose Intercontinental.”
We locked eyes. His jaw hardened. He knew it as well as I did. I couldn’t back down from this. What we had wasn’t a legal agreement, but I gave my word.
My word was more binding than any document that would hold up in court.
“Yeah,” he snapped. “I know.”
I pressed my head a little farther into the hoodie, willing the bleeding to stop and my world to right itself.
Matt brought up his other hand, pulling me against him. His hug was hard and full.
“I’ll drive for you.”
I jerked back. “What? No!”
It wasn’t that I thought he couldn’t win. He could. I knew it. It was this was my challenge. My reputation on the line. I was the one who accepted the dare, and I was the one who needed to finish it.
“You aren’t driving, Jayson,” Matt said, his tone firm.
My eyes flashed up to his. Was that some steel I heard?
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Don’t make me get all alpha on you.”
I grinned. “You get alpha on me?”
“You know I’m capable of it. I just don’t because I love you.”
“You can’t drive for me, Matt.”
He glanced toward the trailer. “Sure I can. We’re about the same size. With your leathers, helmet, and the rest of your gear on, plus me sitting on your bike… no one will even question the driver isn’t you.”
He was right, but I didn’t like it.
“Blaine is an asshole.” I bitched.
“No shit. That’s nothing new. I’ve raced with him plenty of times.”
He had, and I knew he could handle this. But I wanted to be the one to do it. I wanted to earn every single victory I got.
Matt’s hand fell to my shoulder and squeezed. “I know. But I’m not letting you drive, Jay. Your eyes are foggy-looking and your head is still fucking bleeding.”
I sighed. “Fuck!”
Matt’s lips pressed against my forehead, and he chuckled. “After I win, you’re going to the hospital and getting stitches. Maybe a CT scan.”
I gave him a hell no look, and he grinned.
“Hold this,” he ordered. I pressed my hand over his hoodie. “Good thing we got here early. It’ll give me time to suit up so no one sees us play an old switcheroo.”
I made a rude sound, but my voice was fond. “You’ve probably been saving that in your back pocket, just waiting for a time to bring it out and say it.”
“It’s a good saying.” He tossed a smile over his shoulder before disappearing inside the trailer where all my gear was.
I stood in the doorway (the doors were tied open now so no one else got hammered) and watched with a brooding stare as he suited up in my red-and-white leathers.
When he was almost done, I moved to unlatch the binds holding up the bike, but a wave of dizziness pressed in on me.
“Hey,” Matt murmured, wrapping his arms around me from behind and gently pulling me away. “Sit. I got this.”
I sat in the trailer as he did all the heavy lifting, moved the bike out into the sunshine, and then slid my helmet over his head.
He had a pair of dimples that charmed everyone. They made him look younger than he was. They were basically a permanent fountain of youth built right into his olive-toned skin.
His high cheekbones and pair of dark eyes stared out a me from the helmet. I knew he was smiling even though his mouth was cov
ered. I saw it in his stare.
I smiled back, though I felt like shit and was livid I wasn’t driving. Still, he was right. My head was foggy and my hands felt unsteady. Driving like this was basically handing over my win yesterday.
Not going to happen.
I trusted Matt. I knew he’d win this. For me. For him. For us.
“Just stay in the trailer.” He crouched between my open legs. “That way no one sees you. They won’t even think to question I’m not you. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I stayed home.”
I nodded miserably. The helmet was thick enough that it muffled his voice. If they weren’t expecting it, they wouldn’t even know it wasn’t me talking.
“Thanks for doing this, man.”
“Anything for you,” he replied. The smile was back in his eyes again.
He leaned down, pressing the forehead of the helmet gently to mine. “Don’t pass out while I’m racing. If you do, I’ll kick your ass.”
I laughed. “I’ll be fine.”
“You better be. I need you around.”
I smiled. Our eyes connected. As he watched, I kissed the tips of two of my fingers and pressed them through the opening of the helmet to touch his skin.
“Love you, Jay,” he said, muffled, but I still heard it loud and clear.
“Love you, too.”
The sound of another car pulling up and slowing had our attention turning to the outside world.
He held his fist out between us. I hit mine against his.
“See you in a few,” he said, then left me there, letting the doors close (but not latch) behind him.
I leaned my head against the metal wall and stared up at the ceiling. This fucking blew.
A short while went by, and then the sound of a bike firing up filled the air. With a deep breath, I shoved up off my ass. I swayed a little, blinked against the blurriness in my sight, and went to a small window in the side of the trailer.
The window was tinted and small; it was also at angle where I didn’t think anyone would notice me standing there watching.
Matt was on my bike, looking ready in all my gear. Blaine’s bike was right beside him, but he wasn’t on it. I glanced around, noting him standing beside his trailer a few yards away. His buddy, Rockford, who was also a racer, was in front of him.
They were talking, and it appeared somewhat intense. Obviously, there was no way to know what they were saying. When I tried to concentrate on Blaine’s moving lips, all I got was extra shooting pain in my head.
I pressed the hoodie harder against the gash and observed them. I couldn’t tell if they were arguing or just having a heated conversation.
Finally, Blaine ripped the helmet out of Rockford’s hands and jabbed it at him in the space between them. Rockford nodded as if he were conceding.
He jammed the helmet on and went to his bike, starting it up, and not much later, they both signaled each other and took off.
I watched Matt until I couldn’t see him anymore, but I stayed at the window, not feeling inclined to move. My stomach rolled still, and the arm holding the hoodie in place was beginning to get tired.
I pulled it down, looked at the deep-red stains on the fabric, and shook my head. Of all the stupid shit to happen right now.
They hadn’t been gone barely long enough to worry, but I was anxious. I should have been the one out there. I should’ve been the one whipping over the road and rubbing my knee on the pavement. I hoped Matt was enjoying himself and that Blaine wasn’t riding his ass too hard.
An uncomfortable feeling wormed inside me, and I knew it was something apart from the shit going on with my head.
Call it intuition maybe. Or even just a bad omen.
I glanced back out the window, and my suspicions only intensified.
Rockford was moving around at the back of their trailer. The doors were propped open, so I couldn’t see what he was doing. Of course, that trailer didn’t have loose, piece-of-shit doors.
A few minutes later, his bike came down a ramp. When he appeared around the side of the door, pushing the bike beside him, he was completely dressed in leathers.
And a helmet.
What. The. Fuck?
Why would he be dressed to race? This was a man-to-man rematch. There was no need for other drivers.
He gazed off in the direction Matt and Blaine had gone and then checked a thick watch on his wrist.
It was almost as if he were expected to be somewhere. Or he was timing something…
They weren’t planning on what it looked like they were planning. Were they?
I thought about yesterday, about the look in Blaine’s eyes when he lunged at me. I’d hit a nerve when I boldly spoke aloud that his racing days were likely numbered.
I watched Rockford glance around like he was suddenly worried about being seen.
Sabotage.
Blaine was totally planning to sabotage my driving today, and Rockford was going to help him.
Except I wasn’t the one driving. Matt was.
He was out there right now, taking the brunt of anger and aggression meant for me.
Not only that, but Rockford was about to join in and make it worse.
Son of a bitch!
We weren’t wearing any kind of communication or headsets. Matt was out there on his own on the ridge. Two against one.
Adrenaline and worry for Matt was stronger than the concussion I likely had. My body shoved away from the window, and the bike started up. The nausea and fogginess that clung to me was disregarded.
I didn’t have time for this.
Matt needed me.
What the fuck had I been thinking? I should have known Blaine was going to pull something.
I moved fast, able to do so because these tasks had been done by my hands thousands of times. The second Matt’s Ducati was unhooked, I shoved it toward the doors and kicked them open. They banged and wobbled under the force of my boot, and I rushed to roll the bike down the ramp.
Rockford had taken off seconds before. I glanced up to see him disappear around a turn.
Without hesitation, I jumped on the bike and started the engine. I revved her as hard as I could, not milking it at all today. I needed results, and I needed them now.
The bike shot forward, and I blinked against the wind and the sudden pressure I felt in my skull. I wasn’t wearing any kind of protective gear—gloves, a helmet, or even leather. All I had on was a pair of well-loved jeans, boots that weren’t made for driving, and my hoodie.
The gash on my head felt weird, numb, but not so numb I could forget it was there. It almost felt like it was bleeding again, but I pushed away the thought.
Beneath my hands, the bike fishtailed a little, and I righted it. I could do this. I could operate this machine in my sleep. I could certainly do it even if I wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
I raced after Rockford and the other two, flying around the curves and up the ridge as my eyes sought out any of the others.
The knee in my jeans ripped out. Gravel and pavement burned my skin, and I gritted my teeth against the pain as I navigated a sharp turn and then gradually came out the other side. As I drove, I caught sight of them up ahead.
What I saw made my blood run cold. I was right.
Rockford and Blaine were trying to make “me” lose. Why bother asking for a rematch if you know you can’t win fair?
It was pretty fucking stupid of me to not think about the fact that people didn’t often care about fair; they only cared about getting what they wanted.
The two bikes were boxing in Matt. He was holding his own. He didn’t seem rattled.
But I was.
Fuck, this could go so bad. Matt wasn’t as strong on the inside as I was. And right now, he was boxed in on the inside.
I wanted to scream. In fact, I did. But of course, the wind whipped away that sound, sending my voice trailing behind me.
I blinked, my vision slightly blurry, and my stomach lurched, but I swallowed it all back.
Get to Matt.
Rockford squeezed in farther; Blaine tightened the gap between them.
I raced forward, pushing the bike as hard as I could until I was close enough I could feel the way their bikes disrupted the wind and energy around us all. My bike was doing the same, but there was no one behind me to notice.
Rockford glanced around, then did a double take.
I gave him the finger and then pointed at the side of the road—the opposite side from where Matt was racing.
His bike wavered. The speed dipped a little. But then he sped back up, still glancing at me every couple seconds.
Blaine noticed Rockford change speed and placement, and his head swiveled around as well.
I knew the moment he saw me, the moment he realized he was chasing the wrong guy. I felt his shock, then his anger.
He swerved toward Matt. I screamed. Matt swerved with him, avoiding contact. His bike went off the road for just a second before he righted it.
That second changed everything.
He hit a patch of gravel. The tire jolted and slid out from beneath him.
“No!” I screamed.
I watched his arms fight. I watched his body struggle to keep the bike upright. Fear clogged my throat; pain filled my head and my eyes. Surely they played tricks on me.
Even as I flew closer, I saw Blaine, who now knew it wasn’t me on that bike, nudge Matt’s Ducati, giving it just that little last push.
Everything happened at once, then, so fast.
The Ducati flipped. Matt was slammed into the ground, then flung into the air, discharged off the bike, and hit the side of the road with such force I felt it. But he didn’t stop there. His body skidded over a hill, disappearing from sight.
“Matt!” I roared.
I was on Blaine now, and I used my bike to ram him. I didn’t slow down. I didn’t even hesitate. This motherfucker deserved to die, and if I had to take myself out to make sure he got his just rewards, then I would.
Our tires locked up, the bikes went spinning, and then everything was nothing but darkness filled with the sounds of crunching metal. I came to I don’t know how much later, severe pain radiating throughout my entire body.
My fingers dug into the dirt where I lay, and I shoved my head up, blinking through the dirt and wetness, seeking out Matt.
#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4) Page 9