by Henry, Max
“Been wobbling around on two wheels since I was four,” Mandy answers while she unzips a yellow and white jacket. “Try this.”
“Kind of unusual for a girl, though, isn’t it?” I take the offered garment, surprised at how heavy it is.
“Maybe where you come from.” She reaches out and adjusts the shoulders once I have it on. “But around here it’s not a boy thing or a girl thing. Everyone’s kids do it.”
“Really?”
“I learned on four wheels,” Cate clarifies, “but yeah, most kids have spent a few weekends screaming around in the dirt.”
“Why not ponies?” I ask out of genuine curiosity.
They glance at one another and then erupt into peals of derisive laughter.
“Seriously?” Mandy asks, shaking her head as she sets a boot alongside my foot to size me up. “You’re worse than half the damn boys you know so well.”
“I don’t know them that well,” I mumble, feeling a desperate need to defend how I’ve changed these past months.
“Try it on.” Mandy gestures to the mid-calf black, yellow, and white boot. “Unclip them first, and then tug the tongue forward to get it out of the way.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, inspecting the lever buckles.
The girls watch me in silence, Mandy’s arms folded, while I figure out how to get my foot in the stiff boot.
“Okay?” Cate asks.
“I think so.” I wrestle the second boot on and then sit most ungainly on the floor to force the buckles closed.
They’re tight. Super stiff. And I feel like a goddamn warrior kitted out for battle. A soft chuckle slides past my lips while I get to my feet and then inspect my reflection in the wardrobe mirror.
I barely recognise myself. But I like it.
“Sweet.” Mandy heads for the door. “Let’s get started.”
I frown as Cate bounds out behind her. “Why am I the only one wearing all this?”
Mandy giggles, striding for the front door. “Because you’re the only one likely to stack it.”
What the hell did I get myself in for?
***
“Less clutch, more throttle!”
I take a deep breath and run through the movements of my hands in my mind. It took the first half-hour for me to get the hang of how the gears work: one down, two up to get going.
My hip and thigh hurt from where I slid onto my side, my elbow pulsing with the impact it took. Dirt and grass are stuck on the left side of the bike, remnants from where it dug into the ground.
“Don’t overthink it!” Cate hollers. “Just do it!”
Just do it. A catchphrase that surely applies to any sport other than this.
I twist my right hand toward me enough to feel the revs lift beneath me and then let the clutch out in a smooth glide while continuing to pull the throttle on. The bike surges forward, my fear kicking in out of habit.
Mandy stands with her hands on her head, a frown pulling her brow together. Cate has her fists clenched before her, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
One look at these two and I’m determined to shake the tentative nature drilled into me from birth.
Girls in Riverbourne are brought up to be meek, delicate creatures. The girls out here? They’re raised to be themselves.
Adrenaline spikes, my senses jumping to life as I drop the lever in my left grip and wrench the throttle in my right. The engine howls as I tear toward the far end of the paddock.
“Change gears!” Cate screams with a hint of amusement in her tone.
I tuck my toes beneath the lever at my foot, let off the throttle, grip the clutch, and jerk my foot up. The sequence happens effortlessly, taking me a little by surprise before I remember to pull the throttle on again.
The wind whips around my head, beating its drums to the rhythm of my heart as it sinks in. I’ve done it. I’ve bloody well got it figured out. Another gear, a bump in the ground. I bounce on the seat, boots firm on the pegs, and ride toward the fence line. My heart races, my smile wide before it occurs to me that I need to slow down if I want to turn around.
Shit. What is it they said? Lean in? Lean just me, or the bike too? Crap.
I tap down a gear, slowing my roll as I approach the fence. Just do it. Feel your way through it. I start to turn the front wheel and immediately recognise the shift of balance as not being the good type. Righting the wheel, I lean myself first and take the bike across with me and then turn the wheel ever so slightly. Enough to keep me upright while I do a slow, lazy arc to head back toward the girls.
Mandy gives Cate a double high-five after they realise that I haven’t fallen flat on my arse again, Cate jumping on her feet as I rip through the gears.
I understand why they do this. I know now why the girls risk themselves in such a way.
The speed. The control. It’s so… liberating. I’m in charge of what happens and how hard I push the limits. This is, for once, totally up to me.
Nobody else.
“Well?” Mandy hollers when I bring myself to a stop beside them … and then promptly stall the bike.
“I fucking love it!”
“Oh my God,” Cate says through a giggle, turning to Mandy. “We made her swear.”
Mandy laughs. “Must be good, huh?”
“Can I go again?” I find neutral and then lean on my left leg to kick it over.
“You can go as long as you want.” She grins. “Well, at least until it gets dark. The bike doesn’t have a light.”
I check the horizon. I’ve got a couple of hours yet. Awesome.
“Tell you what.” Many pauses to chew her bottom lip, eyes narrowed. “We’ll set up some obstacles to ride around.” She points a finger toward me and raises one eyebrow. “You show me you’ve got this basic handling down, and I’ll let you ride it home tonight.”
My eyes go wide. “Isn’t that illegal?”
She chuckles. “Only if you get caught. Besides, I’ll ride behind you to keep an eye on things.”
Cate claps her hands and then dashes off across the paddock toward the sheds. I wriggle my toes in the boots and turn back to Mandy.
“Are you serious?” This feels too awesome to be real.
Experience reminds me that things that feel this good usually don’t end well.
“Serious.” Mandy nods. “It’s good to see you having fun.”
Fun. The last thing I should be having when Colt’s facing jail time. No wonder this feels so wrong.
“What’s the matter?” She frowns.
“Nothing much.” I give her a weak smile. “Something for later.”
Her arm shoots out, hand reaching over the handlebars to twist the key off. “Spill.”
“Honestly. It’s nothing to worry about.” I turn the key on again.
She removes it. “You want this back,” she taunts, holding it beside her head, “then you start telling me the truth.” Her eyes soften. “We’re your friends, Lacey.” A hint of a smile.
I won’t cry. Nope. Emotions never do me any good. “Thank you.”
“So, start talking.” She closes her first around the key. “What the hell wiped the smile off your face so fast?”
“Colt,” I mutter before sighing. “I’m worried he’s dug himself a hole that there’s no way out of.”
She frowns, concern evident in her sudden lack of words.
“He’s made a deal,” I reveal. “One that guarantees he ends up in jail.”
My chest grows tight, the urge to get off the bike strong. I don’t deserve to be having fun like this.
“Shit,” Mandy breathes. “Why?”
“Because he doesn’t feel he’s good enough for anything else.”
COLT
The slam of the front door behind me echoes through the entrance and front hallway. I already know who our dinner guest is considering he was none too subtle about where he parked.
You’d think if you wanted to keep your mistress on the down low, you’d try for a street over. Not Derek
Mayberry. Nope. That smug shit parks his car directly out front.
In my spot.
I’m the arsehole who had to park a street over.
“Oh, hi, Colt.” Mum’s blonde waves pop up from behind the high-back sofa. “Dinner won’t be long.”
I swing past the kitchen and find no trace of a single dirty implement to be found. My hand remains cool when I hover it over the gas cooker.
“What is Uber Eats creating for me tonight?” I sass, swinging in a full loop back through to the living room.
Mum forces a smile, leaning away from where she’d had her hand on Derek’s knee. “Linguine from the new place in the city square.”
The prick sits with his legs wide, one arm draped across the sofa behind Mum, the other balancing a low tumbler of something amber between forefinger and thumb.
“Twice in one week,” I drawl, crossing to where his bottle of whiskey remains uncapped. “Bold move, Derek.”
He eyes me while I pour myself a drink yet holds commentary. “Simply here to discuss your options, Colt.”
I eye Mum over the rim of the glass as the liquid hits my top lip. She doesn’t seem all that cut up if he’s already shared the details. Relishing the burn of alcohol on my dry throat, I set the glass down slowly.
“Who’s next on the call sheet?”
He narrows his eyes on me, then taking a measured sip of his own.
“You’ve been to see my sister,” I scathe. “And now here you are telling my mother. So, who’s next? Your snake of a son as already taken care of everyone who attends Riverbourne Prep with me.”
Derek either doesn’t care about the name I called Christian, or he chooses to overlook it. “This is my last call, Colt. You can rest assured now.”
“Oh, I’ve been sleeping like a baby. Thank you.” Lies. The whiskey sloshes in my glass with the haste that I retrieve it. “Let me know if my input is required.” I take another swig. “I’ll be in my room.” Fuck it. I take the bottle too.
I’ve barely laid a foot on the bottom landing of the narrow staircase when my mother’s laughter reignites. The shrill tones follow me like an unwanted cape as I ascend to the only place I feel as though I can breathe these days.
The room is sparsely decorated, despite us having brought our possessions with us. I opted to keep most of it boxed in the empty room next door. Partially to pretend that Lacey’s absence isn’t the reason for the room’s vacancy, and partly so I could deny that I’ll have to stay here long.
If my things are ready to go at a moment’s notice, then technically, so am I.
I balance with my arms outstretched, tumbler in one hand and bottle in the other, to shuck my leather loafers off under the edge of the bed. Bringing the liquor to my lips, I spin in a backward circle and head for the tallboy on the far wall. Using my elbow, bottle held high over the furniture, I bump Play on the Bluetooth sound system.
It picks up right where I last left off on the playlist on my phone—fitting for the situation. “Creature” by BONES UK slithers from the speakers, swirling around me as I swish the whiskey straight from the bottle.
I’m fucking over this life, but I don’t know where else to be. I’ve only lived one way since I was old enough to understand that nobody could make the kid in the sandpit with the well-known name give me my new toy truck back.
The famously rich get what they want, and the richly famous get nothing that they need.
The song on the playlist changes and considering my darling mother didn’t seem too perturbed by my rude attitude when I got in, I decide to notch the volume up a few levels. The whiskey bottle hits the top of the tallboy, my fingers falling free of the death grip I have on the only thing that brings me joy.
Almost the only thing.
With an unceremonious flop onto the bed, I fish my phone from my pocket and bring up the message thread with Greer to the sweet sound of my mother thumping the locked door.
C: Thought about it yet?
“Colt!”
I close my eyes and scrub the heel of my free hand into one. “What?”
“Turn the music down.”
“Sorry,” I sing-song. “Can’t hear you.”
She thumps half a dozen more times before seeming to give up.
G: About what, troublemaker?
I grin and lift her over my head, arms outstretched.
C: If you’ll agree that you’re mine.
Radio silence. Her thread goes idle, the phone fading to black before I give up. Fucking girls. May as well finish the bottle. Can’t let a good whiskey go to waste.
I stay propped at the tallboy, one elbow on the top while I steadily swig the remaining third of the bottle. My gaze doesn’t leave the fucking technology sitting prominently in the centre of my bed.
Pride. That has to be why Greer plays hard to get. She has a thing for me; it’s glaringly obvious. The girl can’t keep her eyes on me for more than a few seconds at a time before colour rises to her cheeks. Her touch is fire, her words softly serenading.
Her body throws out all the signals her logic refuses to accept.
She fucking wants me.
Bad.
With a growl, I snatch up the silent little fucker and pocket it again, deviating past the tallboy to collect what’s left of the drink. Barefoot and frustrated, I take the stairs two at a time and leap onto the bottom landing with an enormous thud.
“Colt.” My mother’s bark precedes her bite as her claws skitter across the hardwood floor.
I collect the car keys and fling myself out the front door before she can reach me, being sure to slam it in her alarmed face.
She can play pretend all she likes with Derek, but they’re only fooling themselves. Fuck. We all know what the two of them are up to, and it’s got fuck all to do with my wellbeing.
Jesus. She could be tasked with organising my funeral, and she’d still find a way to fuck the creep before they verified the death notice.
“Colt Matthias!”
Shit—she’s never chased me down before.
I spin, still walking backward toward where I had to leave the Explorer. “Mother.”
“Get. Back here.” She stabs a pointy nail at the ground.
I shake my head and spin to face forward again. Fuck her.
“You’re making a fool of us,” she hollers down the street.
My feet grind to a halt, the spring to my step all but sprung. “No.” Her face is pure rage when I turn once more. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
Her brow crinkles, dress whipping around her legs in the stiff afternoon breeze.
“If you cared about what people thought of you, you wouldn’t get your married lover to park outside the house, Alicia.”
Her head whips to Derek’s car, the front door, and then me. She can’t decide which issue to rectify first.
It’s fucking hilarious.
With my harsh laugh echoing off the townhouses around me, I continue on my mission to the car. I might not be able to change all the fucked-up people in my life, but I can at least get one of them to stop damn well lying to me.
Even if it means showing up uninvited.
***
By the time I reach Greer’s, the sun has dipped low behind the houses, casting an eerie orange glow over the shadowed landscape. Streetlights pop on in intervals, their bulbs flickering before the power races through them to light the roads below.
I park inside the gates and switch my headlights off to give myself a last chance to back out of this. I’ve never been the guy to chase a girl. Fuck—I’ve never needed to.
But Greer. Shit. She has me all messed up and twisted inside out.
I’m surprised I still know which shoe goes on what foot. Speaking of which. I glance down into the well of the Explorer, bending my knee to bring one very naked foot into the half-light.
Jesus. I’m either too love-struck or too toasted to have remembered shoes.
Neither one bodes well.
The evening chi
ll has already set in when I open the driver’s door on a burgeoning night. Gravel crunches beneath my feet, the tiny pinpricks of the sharp-edged stones a welcome pain to help me somewhat sober up.
I shouldn’t have driven in this state. But, hell, even sober I’m not all that responsible.
Small lanterns light the edges of the driveway, spilling round discs onto the ground that I make a game of hopping in between. My feet ache, but nothing compares to the tight knot in my chest that brought me here. Now. Uninvited. Alone.
“Colt?” The woman of the hour slips out the front door, softly closing it behind her. “What are you doing?”
If only I knew.
“Hey, lover.”
She scowls at my jest, floating down the wide concrete steps to the gravel. “You should have said you were coming.”
“Why?” I scoff. “So that you could make up some excuse, or conveniently slip out for a while?”
“Have you been drinking?” Her hands find my upper arms when she reaches me. Even through the fabric of my shirt, it burns.
“A little.”
“And you drove?”
“How did you…?”
She spins me around to face the Explorer. The same car that has a front wheel on their lawn, engine still running.
“I thought I turned it off,” I mumble, leaning toward it.
Firm hands shunt me down to the ground. “Sit.”
I do as I’m told, my arse connecting with the raised lip of the lawn’s edge. Gonna leave a bruise.
Elegant as always, Greer strides toward the car, her long legs carrying her across the ground quickly. Her dress is cut on the bias. The long train floats behind her, somehow emphasising the dip of her waist and the breadth of her shoulders.
She’s all curves and sculptured lines. I wish I knew how to draw so that I could capture her completely.
I lose sight when she ducks behind the open driver’s door to turn the car off, my focus blurring into one indiscernible smudge of dark colours. Using the heel of my hand to rub the fogginess away, I wrack my brain for how many standard drinks I’ve consumed. What is the limit anyway?
“If you ever do that again.” My keys hit my lap with a painful whip to the balls. “I’ll damn well report you myself.”