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From the corner of my eye I see Louis falling behind, but then Ryan is gaining momentum. I pedal harder and take the last jump, the highest of them all. The finish line is just up ahead. I want to win with a bang, and show the crowd what I’m made of.
I sense Ryan next to me, and I misjudge my jump. Asshole gives me a push with his shoulder, and I wobble in the air.
“Fuck,” I grit out, trying to maneuver the bike in a straight line, but I lose my balance. My helmet makes contact with the concrete.
Everything fades to black.
“You need to watch yourself, Hunter,” Amy, the smoking hot nurse tells me, while she binds my beat up ribs with a compression wrap. “Try to restrict your activities.”
“All activities?” I ask, winking at her. I wince from the pain, fuck even making a joke hurts like hell.
She laughs, and pushes me carefully down on the workbench in the trailer. “Rest your eyes for a bit, lover boy, I need to talk to your trainer,” she says while I close my eyes.
“I’ll be right here waiting, Amy, just so you know,” I chuckle and swear under my breath, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
“He needs to take his rest, Jay,” she says, and the man in question grunts a response. “You know I can’t keep vouching for him, or you,” she warns.
“He’s been trying, Amy,” Jay bites out. “Bastard is working on it.”
“You have to promise me, if he shows any signs of a concussion or swelling you will take him to the hospital. I can’t have him OD again on my watch.”
“Okay, damn it, let him crash for a while, then we’ll see,” he murmurs, his deep voice slowly fading away.
Why the fuck is someone slapping me? Damn, my cheek hurts.
“Hunter! Hunter, can you hear me?” Jay’s voice sounds miles away.
“What the hell? Stop it, man,” I grumble. Trying to sit up, I squint, hoping the spinning will stop soon. The bike parts hanging on the wall of the trailer are a slap in my face. I really fucked it up this time. I try to open my left eye, fuck, the swelling has gotten worse.
“Damn, what the hell happened?” I rasp. I lean forward. My stomach drops, and I puke all over the floor.
“Shit, Hunt,” Jay mutters, stepping around my vomit before he jumps out the back of the rig.
Drew is leaning against the side of the trailer. The sun shines in through the open door; it’s probably late in the afternoon. I think—really, I’ve got no idea how long I was out. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Could be the next day, for all I know.
“Give me a second, before you fucking yell at me again,” I mumble, getting my bearings. Mac shakes his head in my direction, pulling apart what’s left of my damaged bike piece by piece, and I grimace scratching the back of my neck.
“Probably the last time I’m riding that thing ever again.” I try to laugh but grab hold of my ribs. “Shit.” The bile rises up again, and I cover my mouth with my hand, swallowing it back.
Mac mutters under his breath, “This is the fifth time this season you’ve driven a bike into the ground.”
I roll my eyes—no, scratch that. I try to roll them. Shit, it hurts.
Jay hands me an icepack for my eye and leans against the trailer, before he says, “Amy checked you out. She wanted to take you to the hospital. But, lucky for you, Drew told me you’d been drinking last night, and I convinced her to let you sleep your injury off.”
“Fuck, but in my defense, counselor,” I say, trying to make a face, as I press the icepack against my eye, “I thought we had a day off.”
“Damn, Hunt, you know you can get fucking banned if she checked your blood,” Jay roars, sounding worried, but the guy looks even worse than I feel. His hair is tangled and he has blood on his shirt. My blood? His knuckles are raw and busted open. And his eyes are bloodshot red.
“Man, are you okay?” I ask, motioning with my chin toward his battered hands.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he bellows. His eyes glaze over, like he’s miles away. Then he focuses his angry gaze on me again. “Why the hell did you jump so high on the last hill? You don’t fucking jump like that right before you finish. Have I taught you nothing?”
“Hell, Jay, take a chill pill, will ya?” I say, holding in a laugh. I try to shrug, but it’s not happening with the pain in my side. I sit, dangling my legs over the edge of the wooden bench used to fix the bikes.
Jay grunts a response, scrubbing his face with his hands.
“Ryan has another thing coming for pushing me,” I tell him. I wobble a little as I stand, careful not to step in the puke, and crack my neck. “Fuck,” I swear. “How long is it going to take this time for my ribs to heal?”
