by Megan Lowe
Breaking Away © 2017 by Megan Lowe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
Breaking Away is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.
www.hottreepublishing.com
Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Cover Designer: Claire Smith
ISBN-10: 1-925655-04-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-925655-04-9
Dedication
Glossary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Author’s note
Important information
Acknowledgments
About the Author
More from Megan
About the Publisher
Dedication
To the ones who are wandering, you will find your way, I’m proof of that.
To those who support and encourage us while we’re making our way, thank you!
For Nicky Hayden. Ride on Kentucky Kid.
R.I.P.
Glossary
Breaking Away is written in Australian English and has a colourful collection of colloquialisms and slang. Enjoy discovering some new and wonderful terms.
Computer Gym: A program run in Kindys allowing young children to become familiar with computers.
Kindy: Kindergarten, daycare, crèche.
O-Week: Orientation week. The week before classes start at university. They are usually filled with parties.
Chewie: Chewing gum.
Thongs: Flip flops.
One dayer: A game of cricket played over one day.
Big Bash: An Australian cricket competition.
A League: The Australian football (soccer) competition.
“Doesn’t know if he’s Arthur or Martha”: A phrase meant to convey confusion. The person in question isn’t sure what they are doing. It is not meant to question one’s sexuality.
Uni: University.
Tute: Or Tutorial. A supplementary class. Held in conjunction with a lecture, they form the basis of most university subjects.
Bikie: A member of an outlaw motorcycle club.
Formal: The Australian equivalent of a prom.
On the horn: To get on the phone, to call someone.
GP: A General Practitioner, a doctor.
Chapter 1
Mav
I’ve been around and on bikes my whole life. With a family like mine, it’s kind of unavoidable. Seven men with no female influence to tell us not to do certain things makes a situation ripe for pushing the limits, for doing stupid stuff. By the time Park and Reed were really getting into riding, I was three. Hour upon hour I spent watching them ride. Not long after, Liam joined them. When I was deemed old enough, it was only natural I would follow in their footsteps. It wasn’t a thought or even something I desperately wanted to do, it was just assumed I would be on a bike too. As the years wore on, it was something we discovered I was quite good at. Then it became something I could earn money from, and so it became something I did. Something I was. Something I am. I’m Maverick Ryan, professional freestyle motocross rider. Reigning Moto-X Speed and Style gold medallist at the Extreme Games, second-youngest Ryan brother, and proud and loving uncle to my niece, Avery, and nephew, Christian. I’m also miserable as fuck. I love my family, I love what we do, who we are, but it’s just not me. Not all of me anyway. I want to be more than an FMX rider, but how do I tell my family, who has made a fantastic living riding bikes, that I no longer want to do that? How do I tell the industry that has literally given me everything, that I think there’s something more out there for me? The profession that is so much to so many, a profession that a million guys would kill to have a chance at, is a burden to me. How do I turn my back on all that? And what happens if I do? Will my family be pissed at me? Disappointed? Will they even continue to talk to me? My family’s all I’ve got. Knley—she’s the wife of Cole Matthews, a National Racing Series rider on our team—is right when she tells me they’d want me to be happy, but there’s something holding me back.
And that’s how I find myself in Austin, Texas, for my fourth Extreme Games. I first came here as a fresh-faced seventeen-year-old in awe of the fact I was halfway across the world competing against guys I’d only ever seen on TV. Fast-forward to today, and I’m a jaded twenty-year-old, two-time medallist, defending champion, who would rather be anywhere but here. But I am here, and my family has put a lot of time and effort into getting me ready to compete. They’ve got a lot riding on this, on me.
“Feels fucking great, doesn’t it?” My younger brother, Jax, slaps me on the back.
“Huh?” I reply dumbly.
“It feels great to be back, doesn’t it? It’s even better now that we’re reigning gold medallists.” He’s a freestyle BMX rider and won gold in the Halfpipe last year. He loves this, laps up the attention and revels in it.
“I guess.” I shrug.
“Well fuck, man, don’t be too excited or anything. People might get the idea that you actually want to be here,” he says, and walks off.
I blow out a breath and run my hands through my hair. He’s right of course. I’m the reigning gold medallist; I should be happy to be here. I should be excited to compete and show off my skills and the thousands of hours I’ve put into perfecting my tricks.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. I can do this. I’m Mav Ryan, totally badarse FMX rider, and I’m going to tear up.
Tear up I do. Four gold medals, a clean sweep of my events. Moto-X, Best Trick, Best Whip, and Quarter Pipe are all my bitch. No one can beat me, no one has bettered me, but still, I feel empty. I should be partying like it’s 1999, but instead I’m tucked in a corner, nursing a now warm beer. It’s okay, though; Jax is celebrating enough for both of us. He won six medals, all gold, becoming the first rider in Extreme Games history to not only be invited to compete in every BMX discipline, but sweep them. Don’t get me wrong; I’m proud as fuck of my little b
rother. He’s an amazing rider who works hard and deserves all the success in the world. There’s no doubting he loves what he does, and that makes me jealous as fuck. I look around the room and see people having fun, enjoying themselves, and wonder why can’t I do that? What can’t I be more like they are? We’re living the good life, travelling the world, partying with rock stars, earning the respect and admiration of people wherever we go, so why isn’t this enough for me?
Through the crowd I spot Jax on the dance floor, surrounded by women all clamouring to be bedded by the best BMX rider in the history of the sport. That could be me if I let it. I know it probably should be; it’s what’s expected of me. I turn my head and spot my older brother Reed, and his wife, Bria, at a nearby table. She’s perched on his lap as always, and he can’t keep his hands off her. They’re a few positional shifts from making me an uncle again. A pang goes through my chest. He looks so happy, so secure in who he is. A husband, a father, and VP of our racing team. I wish I could be that way. I want to be that way, I just can’t. Not yet anyway.
Chapter 2
Mav
I love my sister-in-law, I really do. From the start, she fit into the family like she’d been born into it. But at the moment, I’m really not liking her insistence we all make an appearance at the Rocking Racers gala. I know it’s for charity, but in the month since the Extreme Games it’s become harder and harder to play my part.
I will, though. I always do.
I’m on the red carpet when Knley wanders over.
“Hey,” she says, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Oh, hey.”
“How are you?”
I shrug. “Okay, I guess.” For whatever reason, I feel safe talking to Knley. In her own way, she gets where I’m coming from and what I’m feeling.
“I heard the Extreme Games went well. Four gold?”
I shrug again.
“Mav.” She sighs.
“Yeah?” I look at her. She’s fierce. Five feet seven with black hair and brown eyes that cut through my bullshit.
“It’s okay, you know.”
I give her a weak smile. “Yeah, I know. It’s just....”
“Not that easy, I get it.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Come on,” she says, threading her arm through mine. “You’re coming off the back of a four-gold-medal haul at the Extreme Games. There are plenty of attractive, available women inside just waiting for you to pick them.” I feel my cheeks heat at her words. It’s just another way I’m different from my brothers. I’m not gonna lie; I know my brothers and I are good-looking. Add that to the fact we ride bikes, and it makes us damn near irresistible to members of the opposite sex. Or the same sex, in Liam’s case. I’m not saying I’m a monk. I like women and I’ve had a few. I just don’t feel the need to live up to the manwhore label I know some of my brothers have.
“Why, Maverick Ryan, are you blushing?” Knley asks, and bumps my shoulder.
“What? No!” I say, trying to cover my embarrassment.
“Uh-huh, sure,” she teases as we walk to our table. “Thank you for the escort, Mr Ryan,” she says when we get there.
“Yeah, right. I’m gonna go to the bar.” Anything to avoid more awkward conversations.
We’ve just sat down for dinner when Reed gets up to make a toast.
“Well then,” he says, after Cole and Knley announce their pregnancy, “to family and all their hopes, dreams, and successes.” From across the table, Knley catches my eye. I give her a wry smile and sip my beer. Dinner is followed by dancing, which I would never normally do, but I’m practically torn out of my seat by a girl who says she’s “like, my biggest, like, fan and she, like, watches all of my, like, comps on, like, her phone and stuff.” Seriously, I lost count of all the likes after that sentence. I was hoping I could get away with just the one dance, but after it finished, she held on to my hand so tightly I have claw marks on the back. Not even joking, she has those pointy, cat-claw nails, and those fuckers hurt when they’re digging into your skin. Ask Jax, he’d know. Anyway, I’m going around with Like—she either didn’t tell me her name or I forgot it—when she starts on about my riding.
“So are you, like, in, like, training for anything?” she asks.
“Nothing specific,” I reply.
“Do you do, like, those, like, Dirt Circus tours?”
“Nah.” I shake my head.
“Like, why?”
I shrug. “I like to stay close to home.”
“Like, why?” she asks, looking around the ballroom. “There’s, like, nothing here.”
“My family’s here,” I grit out.
“So? You could, like, make so much money if you, like, did one of those tours.”
“I don’t do FMX for the money.”
“For the girls then. There’s, like, so many hot chicks who, like, hang out at those shows. You do like women, don’t you?” She grinds her hips against mine. I go to take a step back, but she holds me tight to her; she’s strong for a half-starved scarecrow. “You know,” she says, “I thought you were like some shit-hot rider, that you, like, were so totally awesome, but really you’re, like, boring as fuck. I mean, you’re not, like, even semihard, and I’ve been grinding against you for, like, ages.”
Who is this girl? “Look I don’t know who you are—”
“I’m your dream girl,” she says, looking up at me with a dreamy expression on her face.
“—but clearly I’m not who you think I am, so I’m going to go. Thank you for the dance,” I say, disentangling myself from her clutches.
Her expression turns from dreamy to irate in the blink of an eye. “Excuse me?” she says, her hands on her hips, foot tapping the floor.
“Look, you’re a really nice girl, but we’re clearly coming from very different places, so I’m gonna go.”
“You think you’re top shit, don’t you?” All pretence is now gone and I’m left with one hell of a pissed off girl.
I shake my head. “I don’t think that at all.”
“Yeah, you do. I know your type. You get to the top of your game and you think you’re better than everyone else and that means you can treat everyone like shit. Well I’m here to tell you, Mav,” she sneers my name, “that I won’t stand for it. Sure, you may be the best at what you do, but that doesn’t mean you’re better than me.”
“I don’t think that at all,” I tell her again.
She scoffs. “Of course you do. I saw the way you were looking at me before. Well, Mav, you may be able to ride a bike like nobody’s business, but you won’t be riding me anytime soon.” With that she turns and storms off, leaving me stranded on the dance floor. I’m turning to head back to the table when I see journos from Rocking Rumours and Rocking Racing Rumours, the national gossip rags, looking on with expressions of glee on their faces. They start walking towards me, no doubt to ask for a comment on what just went down, but it’s the last straw. I never asked for this, any of this. How has everything come to this? How did I get to this? Shaking my head, I change direction and head for the door. No more. I can’t. It’s too much.
It’s a cliché, but as I walk out of the ballroom the gala is being held in, I feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. The sounds of the party quickly fade as I leave it and my family behind. I know this is a shitty way of doing things, but I couldn’t think of another way. Besides, it’s not like I had this planned. It was only when Reed gave his toast that I realised I had no idea what I was waiting for. It’s not like my family are going to give me a permission slip to leave. I don’t even know if they know I’m not happy. Nope, this is all up to me.
I quickly drive through our moderately sized home town to the house Jax and I share. Looking out my bedroom window, I can see the house I grew up in, the lights all on. My pa and pop are in there looking after Avery and Chris. I know I should go over there and tell them what I’m doing, where I’m going, but I’m scared shitless of their reaction. It’s not that I
think they’ll be pissed; it’s the disappointment I know I’ll see in their eyes that stops me. I might be the strong, silent type, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to withstand that. With all my shit packed, I quickly scribble a note.
I’m sorry I left this way, but it was the only way I thought I could. I don’t mean to upset anyone, but I can’t live like this anymore, it’s too much. Please let me go. I’ll be okay and get in touch when I’m ready. I’m sorry. I love you all, Mav.
I’m an hour outside Booker when the calls start. First Bria, then Reed and Jax. Just as I reach the New South Wales border, a final text message comes through, this one from Park.
Park: Do what you need to, be safe, we love you.
I turn off my phone and toss it onto the passenger seat. The road stretches out in front of me, and for the first time in a long time I feel like I can breathe.
Chapter 3
Mav
The air up here is different from home. A hint of salt from the ocean is carried on the warm breeze. To the rest of the country, the Gold Coast is known as Australia’s party capital, a place to unwind and have fun. For me it’s my new start, away from my family.
I managed to find a unit in Mermaid Beach, a couple of blocks from the beach. It’s old and a bit run-down, and the décor is the seventies’ finest, but all I need is a roof over my head and a bed to sleep on, so I don’t mind. Being here is so different from home, but it feels good. It feels right. When I graduated high school, unbeknownst to my family, I applied to uni up here. The Gold Coast offered me everything I wanted. A good uni with a quality IT course, far away from Booker. Plus, I thought being near the beach would be something different from the bush that surrounds my home town.
I’ve always loved computers. Computer gym at kindy was what started it. I love the purely analytical way they operate. You program them and it either works or it doesn’t; it’s just a matter of figuring it all out. The black-and-white nature of it called to me even from a young age, and I guess it stuck. It’s sort of the same way with bikes as well, I guess, and maybe that’s why I’ve been so successful at that.