Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Want to give it a go?” Joey wheeled one of the new bikes toward me. Brian, our team manager, walked beside him, holding one of my helmets. Clearly, this was a planned effort.
“You want me to ride?” Despite the direction of my thoughts a few moments earlier, my pulse sped up. I’d inspected the new bikes last night after my arrival, let Joey show off all the new features and little tweaks. I’d half-listened to all his ideas for customizing the ride for me while the other half of me had fixated on my silent phone. Predictably, Jonas had been at work, but later, we’d texted more before I’d fallen asleep in a spare bed in one of the trailers. My sleep had been fitful, and the doctor visit had been long and tiring. I hardly felt ready to hop on a motorcycle. Excuses. “Before the doctor’s report is in?
“Doctor Bareilles’s report just landed with the tour higher-ups.” Brian’s tone was triumphant. “You’re cleared to ride. She wants to see you again before the first race, but you’re good to go for some practice.”
“Oh.” I nodded slowly, probably too slowly. The doctor had been young, probably early thirties, with bright eyes and sharp questions. She’d reviewed all my various tests from Oregon, ordered a few more, and given a lengthy warning about repeat concussion risks and cumulative damage. I’d left her office in a somber mood that was hard to shake, even with this surprising news.
“Oh? Dude. This is what we’ve all been waiting for.” Joey pumped a fist in the air. “Time to celebrate, Number Eleven.” He pointed at the number plate on the bike. My old number. This wasn’t simply any bike. It was mine. My chest caught. Joey’s tone and expression softened, undoubtedly knowing he had me. “You need that championship mindset back.”
“Get the first ride out of the way. It might give you a boost of confidence.” Brian gestured widely, like he was revealing a prize on a game show. And I supposed he was, in a way. My place on the team was a prize many riders would happily grab, and it had been waiting for me all along.
“Yeah, we need you here, Declan.” Cyrus pulled up on his bike. Ha. He didn’t need me here, competing with him. He likely had a contract now for his own spot on the manufacturer’s premiere team, but racing was always a competition, even within a team.
“Thanks.” For all I’d spent years with my fellow riders, I couldn’t say as I counted any as close friends. We were all competitors first, even those of us who trained together. Like Cyrus, I’d arrived in Arizona young and hungry when I first got my shot. And sure, I’d learned a ton from the veteran riders, but I remained wary of Cyrus’s sincerity.
“No one’s suggesting you go out and tackle the jumps. Just put a few easy laps in,” Joey coaxed. Brian nodded, expression shrewd. Ah. Realization hit me square in the chest. This was also a carefully calculated test, no different from the ones I’d been put through at the doctor’s office.
The team wanted to judge my mental readiness, and right then, I was pulling up short, finding none of my old competitive fire. Why wasn’t I drooling with anticipation to try this bike out? I should be like a dog on a leash, desperate to run, or a kid playing Little League, eager to get in the game.
I forced a smile, summoning a ghost of that energy. “Sure. Guess it would be nice to celebrate the good news.”
“Exactly. You’re back, baby.” Joey slapped me on the back.
Baby. Man, that landed differently coming from Jonas. I missed him. Briefly, I closed my eyes, inhaling as if I could sniff him, exhaling like I was relaxing into his embrace. Opening my eyes, I was still in Arizona, Joey handing me goggles and gloves, Brian standing back as I geared up. No Jonas.
“I’ll ride with you.” Cyrus made the offer all casual, but I knew better. This was part of the test. He’d report back to the others, and I couldn’t afford any more hesitation or a case of the yips. I need to simply do what I did best: get out there and ride.
“Let’s go.” Helmet on, gear in place, I flexed my hands as I straddled the bike, the familiar feeling taking over. As always, Joey had the bike dialed in perfectly, clutch, throttle, suspension, everything working together to provide a first-rate ride.
Perhaps the guys had been right because my tension faded as soon as I took off on the bike. I blocked out Cyrus, all my worries and uncertainties, everything other than how good it felt to be back on the bike. The vibrations raced through me, every jolt and jostle linked to my decade-plus experience riding. I hadn’t forgotten a damn thing other than how right this was.