Rodeo: A Bad Boy Romance (FMX Bros Book 2) (12 page)

Chapter 22

Rodeo

Sayler had driven as I slouched in the passenger seat shifting the bag of ice that was now mostly water back and forth between my bruised ribs and my knuckles. The ribs had been feeling a lot better but when the asshole had shoved me against the counter, I’d managed to land right on the old injury. It had almost hurt worse than the initial pain.

I was feeling like I’d been run over by a fucking herd of cattle by the time we reached the venue where the show was being held. It was an outdoor stadium of risers and small outbuildings. At the center of the venue was a dirt track that had been sculpted into a maze of dirt and metal jumps. Motorcycles and riders were already buzzing around the course getting a feel for the layout.

Cole and Denver had driven the bikes and gear to the site. I hoped to hell they’d already unloaded my shit. My plan was to keep my hand hidden in my sweatshirt pocket until it was time to gear up. Then Sayler could pull on my gloves. If anyone saw my hand, I’d be out of the show. And that same hand assured me we were dealing with a ruthless asshole who would stop at nothing for his money.

I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head and ducked my face down as Sayler and I headed to the pits. Denver and Cole were really good at knowing when something wasn’t right, and I didn’t need their questions today. I just needed to get on the bike and hear my entrance song, Sympathy for the Devil, blaring through the overhead speakers and adrenaline would push me past any of the annoying pain I was feeling. Adrenaline had always been my drug of choice. It had gotten me through tough situations more often than not. I was counting on it more than ever today.

Denver and Cole had propped up our red awning. Thankfully, they’d already pulled my bike and gear bags out of the truck. I held my breath and straightened my posture. Denver was one of those hyper observant people, a damn Sherlock Holmes type. I was glad I’d pulled on my jersey before I’d headed over to Sayler’s place. Once I put on my chest protector and other gear, the extra security would help bolster my confidence. Of course my ribs weren’t my main worry. My hand felt as if it was made of clay, thick, lumpy and useless. Fortunately, it was my left and not my throttle hand. But I would still need it for brakes and clutch.

Cole walked toward us with his hands out to his sides. “Dude, what the hell took you so long? We took your shit out of the truck, but hell, if I’m going help your ass suit up.”

“Yeah, sorry, forgot I had to stop for gas. Thanks for getting my bike out. Where’s Einstein? Does he have the line-up?”

Just as I asked the question, Denver came around the corner with the line-up paper in his hand. He pointed at the sheet. “You’re third, so you better get your stuff on. They’ve coned off a flat area behind the pits if you want to check that everything’s working right.” He picked up a hat from on top of the ice chest. “Sponsor wants you to wear this anytime you don’t have a helmet on that pinhead of yours.” He tossed it to me.

It took me a second to free my hand from my sweatshirt pocket. The hat landed in the dirt.

“Shit, do you have those hands glued inside there?” Denver asked. “Anyhow, you’re late, so get your gear on. Oh, and there’s some guy looking for you.”

A small shockwave went through me, and Sayler tensed at my side. “What guy?” I asked.

Denver leaned down to check the chain on his bike. “Said he was a newspaper journalist from Montana. He was asking for Rodeo, and I figured that was you. But he didn’t say what he wanted.”

“Weird.” I glanced at Sayler who was too upset about the whole morning to react. She had hardly said a word on the ride over, and she had even less to say now. Her sullen mood only seemed to get worse by the minute.

I motioned for her to follow me back to where the gear was sitting. I sat on a fold-up chair to have her help me put on my boots. She took hold of one of the boots and knelt down next to me, reminding me of the day I’d hurt my ribs. “Think I’m going to need my hot, little nurse to come stay with me tonight and apply a second helping of her extremely effective first aid.”

Long black lashes shaded her sallow cheeks as she focused on my putting my boot on. She couldn’t even force a weak smile. Her shoulders shook. She was crying again.

“Hey, I told you I’ll be fine out there. I won’t impress any new sponsors, but I’ll get the paycheck and that’s all that matters today. Getting you out from under that jerk, Chambers.”

She helped me slide into the second boot and peered up at me with glassy brown eyes. “Please, don’t ride.”

I reached forward with my good hand and pushed her chin up. Music was starting to play and the announcers were on the mics. The show was starting. “It’s a two minute ride.”

“Parker Stevens,” a voice called. A short, round guy with a camera around his neck and a notepad in his hand walked toward us. He took off his fitted hat. His face was familiar, but I couldn’t place the name. His mouth curved into a grin. “Sayler Russell. I heard you’d moved to California.” He stopped in front of us. “Always figured you two were destined to be together.”

“Howie Morgan?” Sayler recognized him first. She stood up.

I reached up with my right hand for a shake. “What brings you out west, Howie?” I asked. The unexpected visitor had diverted Sayler’s attention enough to wipe some of the anguish from her face.

“I’m working for the Rocky Mountain Daily News now,” Howie said proudly. Howie had always been one of those guys who was genuinely likable, and that trait had also made him an easy target for teasing. But he’d taken most of it with good humor and laughed off the mean stuff with confidence. “I’m running a series called ‘what are they up to now’? I’ve been following your career as a freestyle moto rider, and the chief editor sent me out here to get the scoop. Even gave me a business expense credit card.”

“That’s terrific, Howie,” Sayler said. “I still remember that great essay you wrote in eleventh grade English about black holes in outer space.”

His round cheeks reddened. “Never thought a girl like Sayler Russell would ever remember anything about a guy like me.”

“It should be the other way around, Howie. I never thought a great guy like Howie Morgan would remember a girl like me.”

He laughed. “I doubt there’s a guy in our graduating class who doesn’t have your picture circled in the yearbook.”

“Hey, Rodeo, let’s get going.” Cole was standing at my bike checking the tires.

“Be right there.”

“So, they call you Rodeo out here? It fits. You always were the best horseman in town.” He lifted his camera. “Can I get a quick picture? Then, if you could answer a few questions when you’re done with your ride?”

“Yeah sure, Howie, but I’ve got to hurry and finish getting on my gear.” I stood up and pulled Sayler to my side.

Howie snapped a few photos. “I’ll see you back here later. Thanks, and it was good seeing you both again.”

Howie walked away and I glanced toward the bikes. Denver and Cole were preoccupied with something on the line-up sheet. I reached into my gear bag and pulled out the goggles. I hung them around my arm and pulled out the gloves. Just the thought of pulling on the unwieldy left glove sent a wave of nausea through me.

Sayler stared down in horror at the glove. “Ah shit, Parker, how am I going to get that on you?” The waver in her voice had returned. “Please reconsider.” She reached up and pressed her hand against my face. “Please.” She kissed me. “I’ll find a way out of this. Please.”

“It’s all good. Stop worrying.” I passed her the glove and held out my hand. The knuckles blended together in one ugly red blob. Denver and Cole were still standing over at the bikes talking. “Let’s do this before they notice. Just yank it on.” I stuck the right glove between my teeth to bite down on like the leather strap the bone cutter doctors used back before anesthesia.

Sayler could hardly steady her hands as she opened the end of the glove and walked to my side. With slow caution she got the glove positioned halfway on my hand. My fingers were tingling with numbness, but I moved them so that each one was positioned in front of the proper finger hole.

“Count of three,” she said on a sob. She took a deep breath. “One, two,--” Cole’s sharp whistle startled her on three, and she gave the glove a yank. I bit down hard on the glove between my teeth as the fabric slid over the messed up knuckles. I breathed through my nose deeply and spit the glove in my mouth out. Sayler caught it and helped me put it on. It took me a few seconds to unclench my jaw and take a normal breath.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

I kissed her nose. “You heard Howie. I’m standing here with the girl every dude in our graduating class had a crush on. Far as I’m concerned, she’s worth flying to the fucking moon and back for.”

Chapter 23

Sayler

“Hey, don’t look so terrified.” Cole gave me a brief hug around the shoulders. “He’s done this many times.”

I nodded and bit my lip to keep it steady. Parker had managed to keep his hand well hidden. His two friends had no idea that he’d just ridden out with a hand that was swollen and throbbing with pain or that his already sore ribs had taken another blow.

The Rolling Stones blared from the speakers, and the crowd cheered as Parker rode onto the track. There were six narrow metal ramps, kickers, as I’d heard the guys call them, and several big dirt jumps. Somehow Parker managed to roll out looking completely at ease as if he wasn’t in terrible pain. It seemed as if he was just out having some fun on his motorcycle.

My heart thumped hard in my chest. It felt as if every nerve in my body was wound tight like a coil.

Parker raced toward the first narrow ramp and flew off the curled lip. He pulled the bike around into a back flip and landed. The jarring motion of his body hitting the seat once the bike had landed had to be nothing short of excruciating. I swallowed hard thinking I could easily throw up just imagining what he must be feeling. Yet he rode stoically to the next jump as if nothing was wrong.

Denver and Cole were pressed against the fence watching with much more enjoyment than me. Twice, Denver tried to explain the trick Parker had pulled off and the mechanics behind it, but I couldn’t hear him over the pulse pounding in my ears. I tried to look as if I was interested. Under normal circumstances, I would have loved to learn all about the sport. But today’s circumstances were anything but normal, and I badly wanted the nightmarish few minutes to be over.

Parker rode up the biggest dirt jump. As he flew through the air with the bike, he twisted the machine around in what looked like a flat figure eight. Cole had called it a flare. Parker turned the bike down the adjacent dirt hill.

Denver pointed out toward the track. “When you bring the bike back down on a different landing, it’s called a transfer. He looked pretty wobbly on the landing, but he stuck it out. Definitely not riding his strongest today, but I’m sure those ribs are still picking at him. I tried to talk him out of riding today, but when that guy sets his mind on doing something, you can’t talk him out of it. But you’ve probably already noticed that about him.”

“Yes, I have.” My throat was as dry and hot as the desert. “How much longer?” The words squeaked out.

Cole laughed. “Jeez, you’re as bad as my sister. When Finley watches me jump, instead of asking the names of the tricks, she asks ‘when is this scary movie over?’”

“There are forty seconds left,” Denver added. “Two more tricks.”

Parker reached the end of the track, and I wished he would just keep riding straight back to the pits. But he turned the bike around and headed for another kicker. His bike flew up. While holding the handlebars, he lifted his feet off the pegs. His entire body went straight up in the air. It was the same trick, the one with the funny name about the heart attack, that Cole had done in the backyard. Only it seemed he was moving in slow motion back to his bike. All three of us held a collective breath as he finally got his bottom back onto the seat. His feet hit the pegs just a fraction of a second before the back tire hit the dirt. Another terrifying split second of time passed, and we held another breath. The bike wobbled before he got it back straight and true beneath him.

Cole looked over at Denver. “You were right. Those ribs are still bugging him.”

Denver hadn’t pulled his attention from the track. “Don’t think it’s just his ribs. His left hand seems to be bothering him.”

“Yeah? Huh. Wonder if he hurt it at work.” Cole looked back out toward the track.

Parker came off one last jump and whipped his bike sideways before bringing it back down for the landing. The crowd clapped and cheered. He circled around once with a wave before heading off the course. I nearly collapsed to my knees in relief.

The three of us walked back to the pits to meet Parker. I nearly skipped toward him as he stopped his bike and turned off the motor. He reached up with just his right hand to take off his goggles. He kept his left hand resting on the handlebars. Denver took notice.

“Hey, what’s wrong with your left hand?” Denver asked. “You’re treating it like it’s breakable or something.”

Parker shot me a quick glance as he climbed off the bike. “I accidentally smacked it on the side of my truck this morning.” He rolled the bike to the stand and propped it up. Then he made a point of using both hands to take off his helmet, trying to prove to Denver that there was nothing wrong. I could see the strain in his face as he pulled it off.

Apparently, nothing escaped Denver’s notice. He walked over and crossed his arms like an angry dad waiting for an explanation. Parker ignored his friend’s questioning scowl and walked over to the gear bag to put away his helmet. He left his gloves on, which only made Denver more curious.

Parker’s face was a few shades paler than normal, but he was holding it together. He forced a grin Denver’s direction. “What the hell are you looking at, Einstein?” He sounded irritated as if the pain and stress of the day were finally getting to him.

Cole walked up behind Denver.

“Just waiting for you to take off that glove,” Denver said coolly.

“Whatever floats your fucking boat, dude.” Parker sat down hard on the fold-up chair, almost as if his legs had given out on the way down. He flinched at the pain in his side.

Cole walked forward. “Come on, Rodeo, what the heck is going on? You look like shit.”

“Why don’t you two fucking granny worry warts get super nerd here ready for his ride and leave me the hell alone.”

“Now I’m really not leaving until I see that hand,” Denver said.

“It’s my fault,” I cried. “He’s hurt because he was protecting me.”

“Sayler, just leave it alone.” Parker took off the right glove and then yanked the glove off his left hand. “Ah shit.” He leaned forward cradling his hurt hand against him. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Denver and Cole closed in on him. Cole crouched down next to the chair to get a closer look at his hand. It was black and blue and swollen. The knuckles were hardly discernible.

“Fucking hell, Rodeo,” Cole said. “Can’t believe you were riding with that blob of flesh.”

Denver stood silently, almost contrite for the way he’d been glowering at him. “Guess it’s too late for ice, but I think you’re going to need some x-rays. I’d hate to see the guy on the receiving end of that fist.”

I opened my mouth to confess the entire embarrassing story, but Parker spoke up first. “Just dealing with some unfriendly people, that’s all. It’s all good.”

Denver and Cole exchanged worried glances. I discretely wiped away some tears. Parker had been the best thing to happen to me, but I’d been the absolute worst for him.

“Are you going to do the front flip, or what?” Parker asked, deftly changing the subject.

“Looks like now I’m going to have to. You know I don’t like it when I get shown up by a country boy,” Denver said. “After seeing that ugly ass hand, the front flip is the only trick that’ll come even close to your performance.”

That final comment from Denver seemed to ease some of the agony Parker was feeling. He rested back against the chair and pulled on the sponsor hat. “Damn right, city boy.”