The second I turn to Rico, I wish that I hadn't. His smile is gone, that pride he'd shown only moments before now replaced with disappointment. He gets to his feet, his mouth a thin line as he watches Tyler dejectedly push his bike.
"Shit," Alex mutters. Her dark eyes have softened, her mouth a thin line as she bites on her lip. Something tells me if she's worried about Tyler, things have got to be bad.
I lean against the railing and wait, my throat tight and scratchy as he parks up his bike. I'm almost certain that I don't want to witness what comes next, but like a car crash, I can't look away.
Reluctantly, Tyler runs up the steps and pauses. His eyes meet his father's, and I can tell he's considering turning back around when his father beckons him over. He takes off his helmet, running a hand through the thick of his dark hair before heading on over.
There's a second of silence as he stands before his father like a criminal awaiting his sentence. And then, "What was that?" Rico asks. A second passes. Then another. When his question doesn't elicit a response, he says, "You were better than him, Ty. How did he manage to gain on you like that?"
Tyler doesn't say anything, just stares at his dad with a stony expression. My heart hurts, and even though things are complex between us, I want nothing more than to hug him.
"I'm talking to you, Ty," Rico says. "What the hell happened out there?"
Still silence. The others are watching with bated breath, but I can't take it anymore. If no one is going to jump to his defense – not even Alex – then I will.
"I think he did great," I say.
Tyler lifts his gaze from the floor to focus on me. He tilts his head, his eyes still dark as they carefully take me in. Then, so quickly I'm almost unsure if it happened, I'm met with a ghost of a smile.
"Great doesn't win championships," Rico says. "What was all that training for if you can't even come first in a practice circuit, Ty?"
I look between them, watching Tyler's jaw contract. He's on the verge of losing it, but somehow is managing to maintain composed. My eyes flit to Rico, who is mirroring the same expression, his jaw a hard, narrow line. It's like looking at two versions of the exact same man: one stubborn and desperate to prove himself, the other jaded and desperate to relive his past – both at the expense of each other.
"I messed up." Tyler's voice comes low, quiet, and I can hear the pain behind his words. The hurt at disappointing his father.
"Race again," Rico says. "You need to let everyone know it was a one-off."
Tyler's eyes darken. "Dad–"
"Come on, Ty," his dad pleads. "Race again."
His friends are behind him, giving each other these quick little smirks, and it finally hits me: Rico is embarrassed. He's no doubt used to bragging about his son, rubbing his wins in the faces of his friends, and now here he is, forced to watch his own son lose in front of them. And instead of being a father to Tyler in the face of his defeat, Rico is choosing to put his pride first.
Tyler straightens up a little. Jaw clenched, he says, "Fine," before sliding on his helmet. He doesn't look back as he takes off down the steps toward the track.
"Come on," Alex says to me. "We should get back to work." She turns and heads to another table, but I can't. All I can do is nervously watch as Tyler takes his position again, this funny lump in my throat.
"Looks like your boy isn't doing so well," says a voice behind me.
"Do you ever go away?" I ask.
"This is my track," Sam says, "and Tyler's about to get his ass beat for the second time. You really think I'd miss this?"
I ignore him and turn to the track again, refusing to let him get to me. Right now my only concern is Tyler, who has shot off down the track even faster than last time, determined to prove himself. But right now he's angry, and anger and racing are a lethal combination. Any second now and he's going to pay the price.
Too scared to watch, I get back to serving tables and clearing away glasses in a bid to distract myself. Tyler's a pro at this – you have to be to ride even half as well as he does – and even if he's angry, he won't let it take over.
I hope.
Like a master at self-control, I manage to keep my eyes away for most of the race, but then curiosity proves too tempting. I put away the glasses I'm holding and hurry to the balcony, watching as the riders zip past. Tyler is ahead but not yet in the lead, which is surprising, but only confirms my theory: his dad is throwing him off. I gnaw on my nail, watching in anticipation as he nears the next corner, but he's coming in fast, his wheels jerking slightly like he's losing control, and my heart sinks.
Breath held, I watch the way he hits the corner too fast. He loses control, his wheels skidding slightly as he's thrown off his bike, where he rolls several times across the dirt. When he stops, he's not moving.
A scream makes its way up my throat. Panic sets in, rolling through my body in thick, hot waves, leaving me clawing for breath. Rico springs up, his eyes like lasers as they focus on Tyler, willing him to move. Then slowly, he does. He gets to his feet, patting himself down before he reaches for his bike, positioning himself on top of it. Rico exhales, then takes another seat, but his fists remain clenched by his sides.
As if nothing had happened, Tyler is back to zooming down the track, his movements jerky and erratic. His left arm is bent, and his bike is veering slightly toward the barrier on the right, like he's having trouble steering.
"He's hurt," I say, turning to Rico. "He's hurt and he's still riding because of you."
But if Rico hears, he doesn't acknowledge me. He's still leaning forward, his eyes almost glassy as he watches the track like I'm not even here.
Suddenly, he gasps. I follow his gaze, watching as Tyler quickly veers of the track, disappearing into the trees.
"Where is he going?" Alex asks. She must have slipped back behind us at some point to watch the last of the race, which means she cares more than she lets on.
"That's what I want to know," Rico says.
But I know exactly where he's going. I run down the steps without saying a word, grab my bike, and follow him down the beaten track. My heart is pounding as I zip through the trees, heading toward the second circuit. It's the same circuit he'd made me promise that I wouldn't ride alone, and now I'm chasing him through it.
I fight to stay calm as I race down the path up the narrow, leafy hills, praying that he's not about to do something stupid. It's dangerous up here, the kind of ride that requires the utmost concentration, but instead, he's hurt and reckless. I amble up the hill and through the thicket of trees, skidding down another narrow path. As soon as I reach a gap in the foliage, I spot Tyler's bike on the ground. I throw down my own bike, hurrying through the last of the trees toward the cliff.
The clearing Tyler once took me to emerges. There he is, standing at the edge of the cliff and cradling his arm. I swallow hard, afraid to make my presence known in case I startle him right off that cliff. I tiptoe over, leaving a few feet of space between us.
"Tyler," I say softly.
He stills, then turns around to look at me. He's still wearing his helmet, which works like a mask to hide his expression, but I can imagine the look in his eyes.
"Leave me alone," he says.
My cheeks burn with rejection, and I start to turn away before stopping. Any other time and his words would have succeeded in pushing me away, but not after that. As hard as it is for me to trust someone like Tyler, I know now is when he needs someone most.
Heart racing, I cross the clearing toward him and take off his helmet before pulling him into a hug. He's tense in my embrace, his body like a cold block of ice, but I don't care. I keep my arms around him, burying my face into the material of his jacket, this hug as much for me as for him.
Then, just like that, his icy exterior begins to thaw, and he's suddenly gripping me back. He lowers his head, resting his face in the groove of my neck, where my skin soaks up the odd fallen tear.
I don't know how long we stay like this, but neither of us attempts to move. Being here feels right, somehow, like the world was cold before his embrace, and now it feels warm. It's even better than our kiss, better than the electric shocks his touch can invoke, because to me, this feels real.
A/N
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