by Megan Lowe
“Really, Kn,” I say when she opens her mouth for a third time, “it’s fine. You don’t need to say anything. I get it.” The look of hurt on her face is too much and I stomp into the bedroom to quickly throw some clothes on, anything to cover the gaping hole in my chest.
“Eggs and toast okay for breakfast?” I ask when she follows me.
“Would you stop for a minute?” she begs. “Please, Cole, just hear me out for a minute, okay?” I react to the pain in her voice and stop. “Thank you. Look, I know I fucked up back there, but you took me by surprise. I know I shouldn’t be, but I guess I still can’t believe you’re willing to be in this with me. I mean, look at what my mother was spewing last night. Who in their right mind would willingly put up with that?” I start to respond, but she puts up a hand to stop me. “I know when we first got together you went to pains to make sure I knew how committed you were, you are, but come on, Cole, this whole thing, my whole world is crazy, and I know how much you hate it.”
I nod. “I do hate it, but not for the reason you think. I hate it for you. I hate that it stifles you, that it forces you to be someone you’re not. Your mother, the paparazzi, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about. They’re static, inconsequential, something I’m willing to put up with if it means I get to be with you.” I walk towards her and put my hands on her hips, bringing us together.
“Really?” There are tears in her eyes.
“Haven’t I proven it enough?” I ask. She nods. “I love you, McKnley Rhodes.”
“And I love you, Cole Matthews.”
“You’re not just saying that, are you? ’Cause if you are, I’d rather you not say anything at all. I can take it.”
She puts a finger to my lips, shutting me up. “Shh. I hoped by now you would’ve realised that around you I never say anything I don’t want to. I love you, Cole, that’s the truth.” A smile breaks across my face. “So we’re good?” she asks.
“Perfect.” I give her a squeeze.
“So how about that breakfast you promised me?”
We’re sitting at the kitchen bench eating breakfast when my phone rings.
“Bria popped yet?” I ask Reed.
He sighs. “Nah, man, she’s not due for another couple of days yet.”
“So what’s up?”
“How’s Knley?”
“A bit sore, but other than that she’s good.”
“How’s the media attention? Are your phones blowing up like ours are?”
“Nah, we’ve got ’em on Do Not Disturb so only the important stuff is coming through.”
“And I’m important? I’m flattered, man.”
“Shut it, fucker. Technically, you’re my boss and it wouldn’t look good to ignore phone calls from the guy who signs my pay cheque, now would it?”
“Technically, Pop signs your pay cheque.”
“So I don’t have to take your calls? Awesome.” We both laugh.
“Well, if you didn’t, you wouldn’t get to hear about this awesome offer I have for you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my interest piqued.
“Yeah, you remember TJ Porte?” TJ used to be the head of the NRS until MotoTech Racing, a MotoGP team, snatched him up.
“Yeah, I remember TJ.”
“Well, one of his riders, Michael Durbridge, crashed last night in Austin, tore his knee up.”
“Shit, sucks to be him.”
“Well actually, no it doesn’t.”
“Okay?” I say. Usually we riders have sympathy for a fellow rider if they’re injured, but I guess Reed’s move to the corporate side of things has hardened that heart of his.
“I mean, it sucks he got hurt of course, but….”
“What?” I ask, wanting him to get to the point.
“MotoTech have paid to have the bike racing up until the summer break.”
“That’s normal.”
“Yeah, but now they don’t have a rider. Well, they do, and they reckon Durbridge will be fit for Assen and Sachsenring, but Jerez, Le Mans, Mugello, and Cataluña, he won’t be.”
“This is a great story and all, but what does it have to do with me?”
“I guess it’s true what they say about blonds.”
“Your wife is blonde,” I point out.
“Yeah, but she married me, so she’s clearly the exception to the rule.”
“Whatever you say. I say that she proves the rule, but what would I know?”
“Yeah, what would you know?”
“A lot more than you, my friend.”
“But yet you still can’t figure out, after everything I’ve told you, why I’m calling.”
“I had a rough night, man, cut me some slack.”
“Okay, okay. TJ has asked whether you’d want to take up the ride.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s only Moto2, but yeah, the ride is yours if you want it.”
“If?”
“Well yeah, it’s yours. They’ll pay for all your flights and accommodation for the month, but they’ll need you to leave pretty soon.”
“Can I bring Kn?” I ask.
I can hear the smile in his voice. “I already asked. They’ll cover her as well. Plus she’ll have access to the team doc if she needs it.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Wait, why do they want me? Why not Liam?”
“Mase can’t get the time off, not on such short notice, and Liam doesn’t want to miss out on the arrival of the little guy.”
“Can I talk it over with Knley?”
“Do what you gotta do. TJ’s waiting for your call.”
“Great, thanks, Reed.”
“It’s a great opportunity, for you and for us.”
“I know.”
“And it comes at a great time, lets you and Knley escape the craziness.”
“Mmm, that’s true.”
“Talk it over with her, then call TJ and say yes.”
I laugh. “Is that how you proposed to Bria?”
“Fucker. You and I both know you won’t give this up.”
“I’ll talk to Kn and let you know.”
“Yep, got it.”
“Oh, and thank Bria for the statement, and I’m sorry about all the shit she’s dealing with now.”
“Thanks, man, I’ll let her know.”
“Cool, talk soon,” I say, and end the call.
“So what are you talking to me about?” Knley asks.
“Reed got a phone call from TJ Porte. He used to run the NRS and about a thousand other things around here a million years ago before he was headhunted to run a MotoGP team. Well, technically, they have bikes in all three classes, so I guess you could call it a racing team, not just GP—”
“Cole,” Knley interrupts, “you’re rambling and I don’t care about all that shit. Get to the important part.”
“Sorry. Anyway, one of his Moto2 riders crashed during practice last night and did his knee.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine, but his injury will keep him off the bike for about a month. A month MotoTech has paid to have the bike racing.”
“And he wants you to ride?” she asks, bouncing in her seat.
“Well yeah,” I say, kind of disappointed she worked it out so quickly and stole my thunder.
“That’s awesome! Where are the races?”
“Jerez—that’s in the south of Spain, Le Mans near Paris, Mugello near Florence in Italy, and Cataluña in Barcelona.”
“That’s amazing!” Her smile is breathtaking.
“So what do you think?”
“I think it’s the opportunity of a lifetime and you’d be insane to turn it down.”
“Do you want to come? Reed asked TJ if you could and he said it was cool. They’ll even pay for your flights.”
“Seriously?”
I nod. “And if you need a doc, they’ve given you access to the team doctor.”
“Oh wow.”
“So what do you say?”
“When do we leave?”
The I’s Not the Only Thing Missing for McKnley
Where is McKnley? Since the accident that saw her break her arm a couple of days ago, she has been sight unseen. There’s been no movement at her South Yarra townhouse either.
Never fear, Mongers, Rocking Rumours will get to the bottom of this!
Chapter Fifteen
Knley
Jerez de la Frontera is a cute little Spanish town, located about forty minutes from Seville. For three days in April, it’s invaded by MotoGP fans and comes alive. Every restaurant, bar, and café around town is filled with fanatics, and an electric buzz is in the air. The track itself is a little outside the town, in the middle of a great open field, populated, I assume temporarily, by tents and campervans. There are so many people around, all so excited and decked out in their favourite rider’s colours; it’s an insane, party-like atmosphere. I watch as they stream to the gate, eskies in hand, ready for the long day ahead. Music blares from the informal fan zone and comes through the window of the van the MotoTech team has got to transport Cole and me.
“This is insane,” I say to Cole. He has a massive smile on his face.
“I know, it’s incredible. I can’t believe I’m a part of this.” He bounces in his seat excitedly.
“I can’t believe I get to watch you be a part of this!”
He leans over and kisses me on the cheek.
The garages, or pits as I’ve been told they’re called, are a lot calmer than I thought they’d be. I thought everyone would be running around like chickens with their heads cut off, but they’re all just casually doing their thing. An older gentleman breaks free from the crowd and comes over to us.
“Cole,” he says, extending his hand, a hand that’s missing the pinkie finger. If not for his greying hair, I would’ve mistaken him for a rider. He has the build they all seem to, not slight but not built either, solid but not heavy, willowy but strong.
“TJ,” Cole says, grasping the hand extended to him.
“Glad you could make it.”
“Are you kidding? A chance like this? I’d sell my kidney for it!”
TJ chuckles. “Not necessary.” His gaze flicks to me. “You must be McKnley. TJ Porte. It’s a pleasure to have someone so lovely in our little corner of the world.” He offers his hand to me.
I smile. “Thanks for having me. This is incredible.”
He returns my smile. “Gotta hand it to the Spanish, they love their racing.”
“I can see that. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so much colour.”
“Just wait until race day.” He drops my hand and turns back to Cole. “You ready to do this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
TJ nods. “Good. First things first, I need you to try on your leathers, make sure they fit. We had them made to the measurements you sent over, but you never know, and that fucker needs to fit.” Cole nods. “Then, once you’ve done that, the moped’s out the back.”
“Moped?” I ask, arching a brow.
“So I can ride around the track, get used to the layout, check out the corners, that type of thing,” Cole explains.
“Oh, that makes sense.”
TJ chuckles. “The leathers?”
“Oh right.”
“Halliday hung them up over there.” He points to a small changing room.
“Halliday’s here?” Cole asks. My interest is piqued.
“Of course she’s here. Where else would she be?”
Cole chuckles. “I dunno, hadn’t really thought about it much. I haven’t seen her since I graduated high school. How’s she doing?”
“Busting balls as usual, and you can see her later, but first, the leathers?”
“Yep, got it,” Cole says, and trots off to change.
“You like MotoGP?” TJ asks me while we wait.
“I haven’t watched much of it,” I admit.
“That’s about to change.”
“I guess it is.”
“For the most part, it’s a lot of sitting around and tinkering. It might be a bit boring, I’m afraid,” he says, almost apologetically.
I gesture to my arm. “I’m up for a little bit of boring right now.”
TJ nods. “Yeah, Cole told me about that. The vultures. The media around here are pretty good. They only dive in if they sense a fight among the riders.”
“Gotta love the priorities, huh?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, plus—and don’t take this the wrong way—there are always celebrities around these things.”
“So I’m just another face in the crowd?”
“Sorta. I mean, you’re in here, which means you’re somebody, but unless you have anything to do with how he rides,”—he nods to where Cole is changing—“then they don’t give a shit. Yeah, you’ll have your picture taken, but the main focus is racing. It’s always racing over here.”
“Good to know,” I say as Cole comes out. I have to stifle a laugh at how he’s walking. He’s bowlegged, and his arms are bent slightly.
“They fit,” he says, a huge smile on his face as he turns around. As he does, I catch a glimpse of something protruding from the back of his suit, shaped like an ice cream cone. It starts at his neck where it’s widest, slightly wider than the width of his head, before tapering off at his waist.
“How do I look?” he says, coming over to me, grabbing me by the hips.
“To be honest, you look like a cross between a duck and a turtle who’s been branded by energy drinks.”
Cole smiles. “Yeah, leathers aren’t the sexiest thing, but they gotta keep me safe, so it’s a compromise I’m willing to make.”
“But surely they could let you walk properly and have your arms straight.”
“I don’t want them to. These are designed for the position I’ll be in when I’m on the bike, legs spread, arms bent. When I’m racing, I don’t want to be uncomfortable, and if these were made so I could stand comfortably, they’d crease. Riding a bike at 300km/h for half an hour with creases isn’t comfy.”
“Huh.” That makes sense, I guess. “So what’s with the shell, Franklin?”
“It’s my airbag. It also helps keep my head in the right position should I crash.”
“Oh,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Hey,” he says, pulling me tighter to him, “I have no intention of crashing, okay?” I nod. “But if something does go wrong, this will protect me, so don’t worry.”
“I never thought about it before, but this is really dangerous, isn’t it?”
“It can be, but we’ve taken all the safety precautions we can. Plus, I have done this before,” he says, giving me his panty-dropping smile.
“Not here you haven’t.”
“No, that’s why I’m going to do a recon ride in a minute, and then I’ve got three practice sessions before qualifying, and if that’s not enough, I then have warm-ups on race day, but I hope by then I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine, love, don’t worry.” He kisses my forehead.
“It’s my job to worry.”
He smiles. “I love you. Now I’m gonna change before I melt. These things aren’t air-conditioned.” I chuckle as he waddles away.
A woman comes up to me. She’s about my height, with the most beautiful auburn hair I’ve ever seen. It’s done up in a practical braid, but it’s gorgeous. She also has the most unusual hazel eyes.
“You must be McKnley,” she says as she walks confidently towards me, hand outstretched.
“Hi.” I try to speak just as confidently, but this woman, whoever she is, is intimidating as hell. I’m no stranger to confident women, but this one just screams “fuck with me at your peril.”
“I’m Halliday, TJ’s daughter. It’s nice to meet you.” The smile on her face goes a long way to ease my discomfort.
“Oh, nice to meet you,” I say as I shake her hand.
“It’s so great you guys could make it over. Cole’s really helping us out.”
<
br /> “Oh please, he jumped at the chance.”
“So do you like MotoGP?”
“I haven’t watched much, but I’m liking the atmosphere here. It’s amazing.”
“A little different than what you’re used to?”
I nod. “Yeah, a lot. At my gigs people are excited, but here, it’s a real party.”
“The Spanish, and Europeans in general, are mad for their racing.”
“I can tell. It’s like 7:00 a.m. and already the place is filling up, and nothing is even happening.”
She nods. “And they go all day, for three days.”
“Wow.”
“So how long have you and Cole been together?” she asks after a short silence.
“Ah,” I pause, trying to think. “About four months,” I say. “I hadn’t realised it had been that long.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so. You two went to high school together, right?” I remember Cole saying something like that.
“Yeah, sort of. Cole was in the grade above me, but I was best friends with Parker Ryan. I’m not sure if you know him.” She blushes when she mentions Park, and I know there’s more to that story.
“I know Parker. He and my sister Ashton dated for a bit before Chris came along.”
“Oh, I forgot he has a son.”
I nod. “Yep, cutest kid going around, that one, definitely going to be a ladies’ man like his dad and uncles.”
“Growing up with all those male influences, I can only imagine.”
Cole finally emerges from the change room.
“Hal?” he asks when he sees Halliday.
“Cole.” She smiles and he wraps her up in a hug. Ordinarily I’d be jealous, but the way she was talking about Parker makes me think there was more to her relationship with him than just being besties.
Cole releases her. “Damn, girl, you grew up!”