SCORE (A Stepbrother Sports Romance)

by Mia Carson

  She stayed quiet for a minute, then took a drink of wine. “No, we don’t,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, too. I think maybe there’s some of our underlying fear of commitment here.”

  “Wow!” I said, impressed. “You should have been a shrink.”

  “I majored in psychology.” She grinned. She turned to face me and put down her drink. “It’s a big help in my job, knowing what people want and how they will act.”

  I put down my wine, too, and scooted towards her. I slid my hands inside her robe, tracing my fingers delicately along her rib cage, and brushed my thumbs gently over her hardening nipples. She sighed and closed her eyes.

  “So you’re always going to know what I want?” I whispered, then kissed her softly on the lips. “How am I ever going to know what you want?”

  She slipped her hands under my robe in return, between my legs, and grabbed my stiffening shaft.

  “I think I can probably find some ways to let you know.” She smiled.

  Summer

  It was good to spend the night together again. We did it twice more before we fell asleep, enjoying the luxury of waking in the morning and fucking even more, both before and after we had breakfast in bed. Eventually, we had to leave for the track again, though.

  James’s phone rang constantly as we were getting ready and driving to the track. I could hear Keith panicking on the other end because we were late. He screamed at James to get moving. He was keen for James to capitalize on his excellent performance yesterday. James told him he was fired. Keith told James he didn’t give a fuck. It was an interesting dynamic they had, but we were in time for James to get out for the rider’s morning warm up. There were still a couple of races before James had to start at 2:00 p.m. involving the smaller engine GP bikes. Other James was kind enough to explain it all to me.

  As inseparable as we felt, I knew I was causing tension today by distracting him. I didn’t want them to start whispering about us as being joined at the hip, or worse, end up being labeled as needy or ‘Yoko.’ I hated those co-dependent couples, so after practice, I wandered off to watch the other races alone. I returned to the JSR garage briefly to give James a good luck kiss, just as the team started preparing for the start of his race, then I bid him adieu and left to see what I could find.

  I strolled down the pit lane, sticking my nose in the garages when I could. I was used to the smell and the noise now. In fact, since that clarifying session with my mom, I was enjoying the race experience again. It still devastated me that it cost him his life, but my father did die providing for his family and doing what he loved. Everywhere I looked, something conjured up a happy memory of him. A technician looking for a wrench reminded me of Dad having me pass him tools as he worked on his racecar. Another guy carrying some tires made me think of the time he tripped and fell, landing ass first in a small stack of rubber and getting stuck. I smiled to myself as I remembered how Uncle Reggie had to come over and help him get out. As I let my mind sort through these fond memories, all I could see was my dad’s smiling face. He had loved me, he had loved my mother, and my heart hurt as I imagined how he’d feel about me using his memory to keep myself from being truly happy.

  I happened on the Repsol Honda garage, and there was the young PA, Sam, massaging the shoulders of her new star racer boyfriend. She saw me and excused herself. She was so happy, enthused about how well things were going between them. She asked me about James and I told her we were working on it. We gossiped about anything we could think of until we were told we were in the way.

  I promised to catch up soon and continued my walk. Four doors down, I found myself at the garage of the English rider who James referred to as Blake. He was younger than James, but the sour look that occupied his face most of the time, coupled with a big chin and a receding hairline, meant he was never going to be called attractive. He didn’t say anything to me—why would he—but then I heard a petulant voice behind me.

  “I do hope everything is going well for you two.”

  I turned around and the brunette stood there, arms crossed, foot tapping, though stunning. It was such a shame her insides didn’t match her outsides.

  “Suzi, isn’t it?” I asked, cordially “Look, I’m sorry you got hurt, I really am, but you’re young and you’re amazingly beautiful. Why are you so hung up on James? There are so many other eligible men in this pit lane alone. I mean, you’re with Blake now, right?”

  “Ha!” she snorted. “He wishes. He’s been chasing me since Austin. He’ll do pretty much anything for me.” She leaned in to me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. I could smell alcohol on her breath and noticed that her eyes appeared worryingly wild as she spoke. “In fact, he thinks if he does me a favor in this race, I’ll actually let him fuck me. Shh!” She giggled, putting a finger to her lips.

  Holy crap. A sinking feeling opened up in the pit of my stomach. I turned and walked back to the JSR pit, nearly colliding with people I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to notice. Surely she wasn’t that crazy. However, all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

  Technicians had been wheeling bikes out of the garages for the last few minutes, and now, the riders were jumping on and roaring off to line up at the start. I picked up my pace and trotted to our garage. Then, as desperation started to take over, I increased my pace to a run.

  I sprinted up to Ray. “Where’s James?” I yelled above the noise of the screaming engines. “Where is he?” Ray pointed to James’s black bike as it disappeared onto the track. “We have to warn him. Blake is going to try something dangerous. Suzi has him eating out of her hand. James is going to get hurt! We have to tell him!”

  “No way we can reach him now,” Ray yelled back. I was too late.

  James

  Accelerating out of the pit lane onto the track, enjoying the shrill chorus of the motor as it powered up through the rev range felt as awesome as it always did. I stood up on the pegs and shook my body to settle my race suit more comfortably around me. I sat back down and popped the clutch to haul up a little mini wheelie. Showboating like this is frowned upon by the race organizers, but I was sure no one would be too upset. I was on cloud nine, feeling high as a kite about Summer and looking forward to a great race, enjoying one of my highest Moto GP starting positions ever and, even more, looking forward to seeing Summer, spending some quality time together, and making some proper life plans.

  At this moment, though, I needed to concentrate. Even though we were cruising around to line up at the start, daydreaming about Summer meant I’d just carved up Dovizioso on his factory Ducati as he was trying to pass under me. He shot me a look, and I held up my hand in apology. He shook his head and powered off down the straightaway. That was bound to cost me a few drinks later.

  Suddenly, I was surrounded by the buzzing sound of someone else’s bike riding too close. As I rounded the turn, he planted himself on the inside line, so close to me his engine was right by my head, making my helmet vibrate. I couldn’t see who was dicking around on the formation lap, but he was an idiot. We weren’t under starters orders—why the fuck was he pulling such a risky maneuver? We brought our bikes upright, and as we exited the turn, I saw Blake’s blue and green livery on his customer Honda. I focused a death stare at him, but he gave me the finger and accelerated. He really was an asshole. Maybe he was still pissed that I hooked up with Suzi and he didn’t. Whatever his problem, it was on, so I raced after him.

  Like he would have had a chance with Suzi, anyway, whether I’d got in the way or not. And then I remembered Summer pointing them out yesterday. It had slipped my mind that we’d seen them together, looking like they were talking about us, and there was no earthly reason for her to be here unless Blake brought her from Austin. There was definitely something going on that I’d not been told about, and I hated when that happened.

  I was being childish, but chasing Blake down was fun. We both nailed it hard out of turn nine, a ninety-degree left-hander, and scythed through the little S-bend after. Goin
g hard in third gear into the open, sweeping turn eleven, Blake sat up a little and slowed. Figuring he’d had enough of being a jerk, I pulled level on his outside and set myself up for a smooth line through the sweeper. But instead of letting me pass, Blake sped up to stay alongside me. Now I needed to tip my bike into the turn, but he blocked me, forcing me to go straight on. I realized what was happening too late to brake before my tires hit the slippery red and white edge of the track. The asshole was trying to kill me!

  I must have been nearing 130 mph as he pushed me off the track, and I ran out onto the grass. The bike started bucking over the rough surface, nearly throwing me out of the saddle. My heart was in my mouth as I tried desperately not to upset the delicate balance. I told myself to relax, to stay loose. It was entirely possible for the bike to run straight on through the dicey and uneven grass, engine brake slowing it enough for me to bring it back under control and allow us both to avoid disaster.

  The fates must have had other ideas, though, because the back wheel lost traction and slid out sideways. I slid with it, waiting for it to pull back into line, but the rear tire glided back over the tarmac and quickly picked up grip. I didn’t have time to scream before, with a force found in few other sports on this planet, my bike jolted upright, hurling me violently over the handlebars, and flipped. The last thing I saw was the ground heading towards me, far too quickly.

  Summer

  I knew it. We watched the monitors showing the bikes lining up on the grid when there was a sudden cut to a black bike with red wheels ploughing through the grass at incredible speed. It threw up mud and turf as it slid, hit the gravel, and bounced before flying into the tire wall, sending debris in every direction before it split apart and burst into flames.

  My heart was in my mouth. Was this really happening? Keith put a hand on my shoulder as we searched the screen for a sign of the rider. We knew it was James, even though we hadn’t seen him or the number on his bike, and when the camera finally did focus on his prone, unmoving body, tears welled up in my eyes. I felt a huge, silent scream building inside me and knew if I let it out I’d never be able to stop. I buried my face in Keith’s chest.

  I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t believe this was happening again. I kept my eyes shut tight; all I could see was the look on my mother’s face when she took that call about my dad. I heard the announcer confirming it was James, saying they had no idea what had gone wrong or how such a big crash could happen on the formation lap. The marshals were tending to him and the ambulance had been dispatched, the announcer continued, and obviously, the start of the race would have to be delayed.

  Fuck them! James was lying hurt or dead and all they cared about was a late start? I knew there was a reason I hated this so-called sport. I didn’t realize it, but I sobbed into Keith’s shirt. He had an arm around me and stroked my back, telling me James was going to be okay.

  “Come on,” he said finally and almost carried me over to one of the pit officials who agreed to take us in his golf buggy to the medical center over by the control tower.

  The ambulance was twenty minutes away. We waited by the door and heard the race start as the paramedics pulled up. They opened the van door and pulled out the stretcher with James on it. He still had his helmet on, so I couldn’t see if he was awake or even alive, but they’d also put a neck brace on him, which I didn’t think they would bother with if he were dead.

  We followed him and his attendants in, just like they did on TV, and they told us to wait outside so they could do their jobs. An agonizing ten minutes followed. I banged on the doors and Keith tried to calm me before the circuit doctor appeared and approached us. My mind was close to shattering. What if he was paralyzed? Brain damaged? Comatose? I pictured us older, me having to spoon-feed his bed-bound body. Was I invested enough to spend the rest of my life taking care of him? I was a total mess, and I just wanted to run back to Austin and cry for a month.

  The doctor had a pained look on his face, and I steeled myself for the worst.

  “James has been very lucky,” he said. Both Keith and I let out a breath we didn’t know we were holding. The doctor continued, “He was knocked unconscious. He’s awake now, but he has a concussion. It looks like he may have fractured his left wrist and shoulder, but we’ll need some x-rays to confirm. It looks like nothing that won’t mend. Like I said, he was lucky.”

  “Thank god.” I felt such relief that all I could manage was a rough croak. “Can we see him?”

  “Not just now. Let us treat him first and make sure there is no more serious damage. Right now, he needs to rest from the bang on his head. We’ll call you in a little while so you can visit.” The doctor’s Spanish accent was strong, but his English impeccable. His manner was a little too professional, though. He delivered his news and immediately turned on his heel and vanished back into the triage room. I turned to Keith.

  “It was Suzi,” I hissed at him. “Suzi and Blake. She told him to cause James’s crash, I know it.”

  “Even if you’re right”—Keith seemed to be thinking aloud—“there’s nothing we can do about it. There’s no proof, and if anything was caught on film, it would just look like a racing incident.”

  “That may be true,” I said. “But it’s not going to stop me from confronting her.”

  The medical staff told us James needed to rest, so I made Keith take me back to the pits. I left him in the garage and stalked off to find that bitch, Suzi.

  I spied Blake as I neared his garage. I was angry, but I needed to keep control. This didn’t need to turn into an episode of Jerry Springer. He still had his leathers on, the race only just over, and he looked gross, sweaty, and even uglier than the last time I saw him. He was heading for his trailer and didn’t notice me until I spoke.

  “Did she make good on her deal yet?” I asked him. He jolted around in surprise.

  “What do you mean?” he responded, clearly flustered. His lack of confidence showed that talking to women was definitely not one of his most practiced pastimes.

  “Suzi? Did you get your reward, or do you think she’s waiting in your trailer for you?”

  “Listen,” he protested. “I don’t know what you think you’re talking about…”

  “I’d catch up with her quick if I were you.” I gave him a sarcastic smile. “If you really want everything you were promised, don’t let her jerk you around or she’ll be out of here before you know it. That’s just some free advice.”

  I walked off, leaving him fumbling for a comeback. I wanted to make sure he acted as I thought he would. After a few paces, I looked back; he had diverted from his previous course and was headed to one of the sponsor hospitality areas. Following him at a discreet distance, I saw him walk up to the table where Suzi sat. He took her aside, and they talked. He looked like he was demanding something, and she appeared reluctant to go along with whatever he was saying. Then he got angry, and she did not look happy. He must have made some threat of dire consequences because, as he turned to leave, she unenthusiastically gestured for him to come with her. I trailed them to a parked car and watched them get into the back seat.

  I just had time to pull out my phone and start videoing. It was a little difficult to keep it steady with the zoom maxed out, but I managed to capture Blake leaning back in his seat and Suzi, looking pretty unhappy, ducking her head down into his lap. I could just see the back of her head bob up and down a few times before Blake closed his eyes and threw his head back. Suzi sat back up quickly, wiping her mouth, and got out of the car without a word.

  I headed back to the pits, too, chuckling to myself.

  ***

  Later that afternoon, Keith and I sat around James’s bed in the medical center. He drifted in and out of consciousness a couple of times but didn’t really register our presence. He looked frail, with dark purple circles forming his eyes, presumably from hitting his head. His wrist wasn’t broken, but his shoulder had a break at the clavicle, or collarbone, that was a common injury among bike
racers. It was the bang to the head that worried everyone. As of yet, we’d not been able to determine if anything—like his memory, speech centers, motor control, and so on—had been impaired.

  I wanted him to wake up. I needed to know he was okay. I couldn’t even pretend things would be good if he wasn’t all right. I moved my chair closer and held his hand. It was soft, warm, and dry, and I would give everything I had or ever would have for him to touch me again. I trembled, and there was a lump in my throat I couldn’t swallow, but I wasn’t going to cry. I needed to be strong, and above all, look beautiful for him when he opened his eyes. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. I turned to sit back down and heard a moan.

  “Mmm…cotton…candy,” James croaked.

  I stayed standing, leaning closer. His eyes blinked slowly open. He seemed to see me, and I saw a smile cross his lips. “Hi, baby,” I said softly.

  “Summer,” he whispered. “Wow, I was having the best dream. You were going down on me…”

  “And that’s my cue to leave,” Keith remarked uncomfortably. I said nothing. I just smiled as a single tear escaped, rolling down my cheek. He was okay.

  “Summer, why is Keith in our hotel room?” James wheezed.

  I burst out laughing. “Who do you think you are, Dean Martin?”

  He reached up and touched the tear stain on my cheek. “Why are you crying?”

  “You were in an accident.” I tried to sound chirpy, to hide the tremble of tears of relief that threatened. “You’re in the med center, but you’re going to be fine.”

  “Accident?” he mumbled.

  “Yeah. That’s two bikes you’ve wrecked this weekend, you prat,” complained Keith. “Ray is going spare.”

  “Tell him to kiss my black and blue ass,” James replied.