Asher ✓

57 | absence

"—as you do—"

"—as you do," Asher chuckled bashfully. "And it was fascinating, and much less researched than the nervous system. I'll have to read more and get back to you on that."

"Please do," Isaac agreed. "Back to your accomplishments before you took a hiatus. I heard that Josh Lowland was your mentor for the Gauntlet races, which obviously paid off. What sort of differences are there between speed and stunt competitions? Which do you prefer?"

"Stunts. Definitely. Freestyle racing gives you a lot of freedom. You aren't on as much of a time constraint, so it's like, less of bending your bike to go as fast as possible. It sounds counter intuitive, but you don't have to be so controlled. Instead of commanding your bike, you can relax a bit and see where it wants to take you. More like a dance. You're equals, discovering each other's limits."

"That . . . is easily the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Why don't you just take my job already?"

Asher's ears flushed red at the compliment, and he quietly replied, "I don't have a voice for radio."

"Don't— don't have a voice for radio?" Isaac asked incredulously, before laughing concedingly. "Alright, whatever you say, silvertongue. It's clear your heart is in the race, anyway. Best of luck, Asher Delrov."

__________

"Number 34 is rounding the corner, followed by 17 and 2," Kevin Priest announced over the microphone system. "Delrov, in third, has consistently been in the top three for the duration of this Series' heats, and won the most heats out of any competitor. What's the bet he's taking this Series out?"

"Robyn Morrison, Number 34, has been on fire this Series, too, Kevin," the co-commentator observed. "A bit inconsistent as a rookie, but she seems to pull through when she really needs to."

"Oh, what's this? Number 2 landed a bit unsteadily there, seems to be losing some speed as he rights himself— and yes, there Delrov goes."

Asher coaxed more gas out of his bike, leaving Number 2 in the dust as he gained on Number 34. There was a stretch of straight path ahead of him, and he crouched low to improve his aerodynamics as he sped past the cheering crowd.

He spared a fleeting glance to the box above one of the vomitoriums — Gate 2B — where he knew some of his friends and family were watching. This heat was in Pennsylvania, but complimentary tickets had been provided to whomever Asher wanted to bring.

He saw Aria — who now lived in Philly — Vasily, Kerrish and Annalise pass by in a blur. Asher had been given five tickets, and Tallulah had already been rostered on to work, so he'd invited Ryanel. Who, again, didn't show.

Ryanel never came to any of Asher's motocross events. Over the eight that Asher had competed in, pretty much everyone he knew had come to one or more race. Most of them attended the earlier races, which had been closer to New York, but even then, Ryanel somehow couldn't make a single one.

It was either work, or a family emergency (which Asher had a sneaky suspicion that Mrs. Gonzales, or any other relative of Ryanel, would know nothing about), or car trouble the day before he was set to depart, or a meeting with some hospital's Board of Trustees.

I swear, his excuses get more fantastical by the day.

Asher gritted his teeth as the seats sped past his periphery, and locked his eyes on the orange and white-clad racer in front of him. Why was he even thinking about Ryanel's dumb absences at a time like this?

Robyn Morrison, with whom Asher had chatted sporadically some of the many times they met at the heats, was his biggest competition. This heat, the East Coast Semi-Final, and the ninth of the AMA, would only send two people forth to the East Coast Championship heat, the tenth, which would subsequently send two competitors to the semi-final and final heats of the Series.

And, precisely because Robyn was so unpredictable, gutsy and damn good, Asher knew he had to get rid of her. She was new in the New York motocross ring, but certainly not new to the sport — she'd told Asher she came from a smaller town called Carsonville where she raced for leisure.

And Asher had hoped that Carsonville was a pretty place, because he was going to send her back there.