Flame

  “Mercedes,” I lean forward, clasping my hands together on top of the wooden surface, “I flew out to Austin today to meet with you, because I need to discuss some changes that are going to be taking place.”

  The color drains from her face as her eyes narrow suspiciously, but I don’t allow anything to deter me from getting out what I came to say. “Tomorrow morning, Jag will receive a certified letter that details the termination of all services I have with The Donovan Group. The change will take place effective immediately, and as per the contract between myself and your family’s company, you will have ten business days to transfer my files to my new manager, Emilia Griffin.”

  “Gunner’s wife?” She leaps from her seat, hands flying wildly through the air as she screeches, “Are you fucking kidding me? What in the hell does she know about marketing or legal contracts?!”

  People around the dining room turn to stare at us as her voice reaches making-a-scene level, but she’s nowhere near done. “If you do this, it will be career suicide, you fucking idiot! No one in this business will ever touch you again. And why?! Ever since you were with that stupid blonde bitch this summer, you’ve been such a fucking pussy!”

  Rising to my feet, I glower down at her, chest puffed and jaw clenched. “Leave,” I growl, my voice deep and dark. “Leave right fucking now. I came here, because I wanted to do the mature, adult thing and deliver the news in person, out of respect for your brother and your family’s company.” I curl my hands into fists at my sides and I pound them on the tabletop, hard enough to make the silverware rattle and the waters slosh over the tops of the glasses. “But if you ever fucking talk about her again, I will ruin you. You think I haven’t been paying attention the last several years? You think I don’t know that you get deals done by sucking executive cock and spreading your legs to whoever signs the dotted line? I’d rather not have a single fucking sponsor from this point forward than to know part of the reason they’re backing me is because my agent is screwing them for their signature.”

  “Fuck you, Levi,” she snarls as she grabs her purse. “You have no idea who you’re messing with, pretty boy.”

  As she stomps away, the server approaches the table with the drinks we’d ordered, looking at me and waiting for instructions on what to do next. Dropping back down on the seat, I take the white cloth napkin and drape it across my lap. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.

  “You can dump her drink out in the back, but I’ll take your twenty-four ounce ribeye, medium rare, a baked potato, all the way, a house salad with Ranch dressing, and another beer,” I announce with my chin held high and a confident smile on my face.

  Now that the final item on my cleanup checklist is complete, I’ve got seven weeks to prepare for the two biggest challenges of my life: defeating Lance Foss at the World Championships, and proving to Dakota Shavell that she’s the only girl for me.

  The gold and the girl.

  Mine.

  SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13

  “UGHHH!! I CAN’T WATCH!” I draw my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms tightly around my shins, hiding my face behind my knobby knees. “I’m too nervous.”

  “You better watch! I didn’t drive over an hour and a half to come hold your hand while you cover your eyes!” Rory exclaims as he bumps my shoulder with his, causing me to lose my balance and topple over sideways onto the arm of the couch in my living room.

  Laughing, I push myself back up to sitting normally and stick my tongue out at him. “You’re a terrible BFF,” I tease. “Emilia would be much more comforting and concerned about my emotional state. And she would’ve brought wine with her! How can I wallow in my misery without wine?”

  “Dude, I brought a twelve-pack of beer!” he contends, leaning forward to grab the bottle of Amstel Light off the glass coffee table and raising it up in the air. “I thought I was doing good buying this low-calorie shit. You need to learn now—if you want a guy to do something, you have to specifically spell it out for us. I gave up trying to read the female mind a long fucking time ago.”

  “You’re such an idiot, Rors. You need to learn now to never tell a chick you bought something diet for them, unless they specifically ask for it. Otherwise, it makes it seem like you’re implying they need to lose weight. Luckily for you, I know you didn’t mean it like that, but for future reference, steer clear of mentioning calories and fat intake too.” I roll my eyes, but the silly smile on my face remains. “It’s a good thing I love ya, or you wouldn’t have any cool friends at all.”

  Over the past few months, Rory and I have become closer than we ever were while we were hooking up. Our friendship now involves regular texts and lunches every other Saturday. Today’s lunch just happens to include watching the FMX World Championships while we eat pizza at my place.

  Most people who know about our history don’t understand our relationship, how we went from being each other’s booty call to good friends with no lingering awkwardness or sexual tension. Hell, I don’t understand it either, but I don’t spend a whole lot of time analyzing the whys and hows of something that works for the two of us and makes us happy. These days, I’ll take all the happy I can get, because I spend most of my days walking around in a dismal fog.

  “Look! There!” Rory shouts, pointing at the TV with one hand as he snatches up the remote and pauses the live feed from Germany with the other. “There he is! Black shirt, off to the left. Is that Emilia and Gunner with him?”

  My eyes snap to the flat screen, my heart hammering violently in my chest as I get the first look at Levi since we said goodbye at the airport over three months ago. Oh, my sweet Hulk.

  Standing next to his bike as he waits for his grouping’s turn, he is indeed talking to Emilia and Gunner, who’ve been honeymooning in Europe for the past two weeks, as well as Rhino and a guy who looks like Lance Foss from the back. Levi’s helmet is off, so I’ve got a good look at the overgrown mop on his head that’s pulled back into a little ponytail at the back of his neck, as well as the full, dark beard covering his chin and jaw. He looks more rough and rugged than I remember, and unless it’s the camera adding ten pounds to him, he’s bigger and brawnier as well. A deep groove etched in his furrowed brow along with the tight-lipped grimace on his face makes me think it’s most definitely Foss he’s talking to. It appears not much has changed between the two of them.

  “He’s like a mountain man, Kota. I never would’ve pegged you for a Jedidiah Smith girl.” Rory shakes his head in disbelief, looking back and forth between me and the frozen image of Levi. “How did he not crush you?”

  Once the initial shock wears off, I stand up and walk over to the image, pointing out who everyone is, then add, “And who the fuck is Jedidiah Smith?”

  Snickering, he presses the play button and the TV comes back to life, the monitor switching from the shot of Levi to whatever rider is about to go. “You must not have paid much attention in State History class, did you? He was like the mountain man back in the nineteenth century, exploring the mountains of the western part of the U.S., willing to trek where no others dared to go.”

  I stare at him blankly, wondering where he keeps all of this completely useless knowledge. The guy is like a walking Trivial Pursuit game. “Yeah . . . no. I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention in any class back in high school. I was much more concerned about my cheer practice schedule and what plans I had for the upcoming weekend.”

  Now it’s his turn to playfully roll his eyes. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about Hipster Barbie’s all-important social life. Silly me to think kids go to school to actually learn shit.”

  “I told you about that stupid name,” I object, punching his arm. “The next time you use it, I’m telling Nali how you really feel about her.”

  Gasping when I mention my sister’s name, he pins me with a menacing glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Don’t try me, Dimple Boy,” I warn, unable to keep a straight face when I say it.

  I knew on July Fourth, when Ro
ry and I talked at my parent’s party, that Nali was the girl he was referring to about having feelings for. But I didn’t bring it up then, mostly because I was too busy starring in my own pity party over my goodbye with Levi. Since then, we’ve discussed her several times, and despite my support and urging for him to pursue her, he refuses to take the plunge and tell her how he feels. They hang out as friends, much like he and I do, and sometimes we even all go out together with Hudson, Crew, and Juno too. Other than Emilia and Gunner, they’re the only friends I really do anything with outside of classes and work.

  Anyway, Rory claims it’s too creepy to hop sisters’ beds—which nine out of ten times, I’d agree with him—but this situation is different. At least, in my head it is. He and I only shared a physical connection, a means to an end. Never once when we were together did either of us feel that electric spark, that irresistible, undeniable magnetic pull that can be felt with every fiber of your being. The same one I’ve only experienced with Levi.

  “Oh look, they’re showing Levi with his helmet on. I think he’s about to go,” he announces, tipping his head toward the screen. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  Focusing my undivided attention on the TV, I offer all the knowledge I have about freestyle motocross, which isn’t a whole hell of a lot. “They get three attempts, each scored on a scale of a hundred, and they keep the best one. He’s in the final group of riders, which is determined on preliminary rides, so this is it. Once this last group goes, we’ll know the final results. At the X-games, his winning score was a ninety-eight-point-five, which was his highest ever.”

  He nods his understanding, also keeping his eyes on the action. The poor guy has listened to me talk about my Levi dilemma ad nauseam so much he probably feels like he personally knows the guy. He knows everything. The first run-in at Ember. Emilia and Gunner’s wedding, and brunch the morning after. The first time. Hot air balloons. Ghost hunting. Me kissing Emilia. Heart-to-hearts on top of Night Fury. Mercedes Donovan and Lance Foss. Sightseeing in New Orleans. The tearful goodbye. The jersey I sleep in every single night. And the still unopened envelope hidden in my top drawer.

  Even Emilia doesn’t know about the envelope, unless Levi’s told her, and I think she would’ve asked me about it by now if that was the case. In the first few weeks after we got back, she constantly brought him up, asking me how I was feeling and if I’d changed my mind about trying a long-distance relationship, but as of late, she’s laid off a little. She and Gunner have been so busy setting up their new house and preparing for their trip that our most recent conversations have revolved around choosing paint colors and fabrics or itinerary planning, which has been a welcome reprieve.

  I’m just not ready to read it yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. The truth is James Levi scares the living shit out of me. In a measly two weeks’ time, I fell in deep with him . . . so deep that I felt like I was drowning and he was my only life preserver. The desire to depend on him nearly consumed me. Thankfully, I came home while I still had enough strength to pull myself out of the water. Weak, but not helpless. My heart cracked, but didn’t shatter. I’m afraid opening that envelope will be like diving headfirst back into the overpowering tide.

  For now, I tiptoe around the shoreline, watching from afar with my pride and my fears. A sick form of self-torture.

  “Ok, it’s his turn,” Rory announces as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “He’s gonna do the double backflip thing, right?”

  “Yeah, the 501. It’s like his signature trick or something. He always does it on his first run; he says it intimidates the competition,” I reply, staring straight ahead. Perched on the edge of the cushion, an odd sense of unease settles in my gut, but I’m sure it’s simply the surplus of emotions coursing through me from seeing him again.

  Levi pulls up to the starting mark, and I reach over and grab Rory’s hand, squeezing it tight as my knees bounce uncontrollably. It’s eerily quiet in the open-roofed stadium as the dirt bike takes off down the slope and across the red dirt, hitting the ramp at a blazing speed before launching high into the air. The first backflip is textbook, impeccably seamless, and once again, I’m amazed at how effortless he makes it look.

  As the bike begins the second rotation, Levi turns his head to the side briefly, but then something goes wrong . . . he snaps his focus back to the front, but it’s too late. He violently slams into the ground, shoulder and face first, with the heavy piece of machinery pinning him down. Instantly, officials and medics charge the track, lifting the bike up and tossing it to the side as they attend to his crumpled body.

  Time stops around me as my stomach contracts with a sickening lurch, panic oozing from my pores. My breaths are shallow, hindered by the gigantic steel wool pad lodged in the back of my throat, and my vision blurs from the pools welling up in my eyes. The second the first tear splashes onto my cheek, Rory gathers me in his arms and rocks me up against him, neither of us saying a word.

  After the programming cuts to commercial, most likely to prevent any gruesome sight from being aired, I reach forward to grab my cell phone with trembling fingers and type out a text to Emilia.

  Me: Please let me know he’s okay.

  Curling back up into Rory’s comforting arms, I cringe when the first thing they do is replay the accident after the break. Again and again, they analyze the footage, trying to figure out what happened, but still not showing Levi or updating his status. I’m going to be sick.

  The phone never lights up with a reply. The announcers move on to watch Lance Foss nail his gold-medal run, without ever letting us know what happened to the man who just lay broken on the track. And for the rest of the afternoon and evening, I coil up on the couch, refusing to move. Completely numb to everything else around me, I wait and wait and wait. More unanswered texts. More waiting.

  But no news ever comes.

  SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14

  “LEVI, DUDE, WE’RE HERE.” GUNNER’S deep voice pierces through my dreamless sleep. I open my eyes and stare at him, confused. “Time to wake up, man. There’s a car outside waiting for us, but I need you to walk that far if you can. Emmy and Rhino are already down there waiting with our bags.”

  Blinking hard several times, the fuzziness disappears as my eyes dart around the inside of the private jet and the memories from the last twenty-four hours come pouring in. World Championships . . . flash of yellow . . . something wrong with the bike. Then, waking up in an ambulance . . . a blur of tests . . . poking . . . drugs . . . sweet, sweet darkness. At some point, I remember getting on the plane and Emmy Sue telling me we’re going home. After that, it’s all black.

  “Fuck. I’m all fucked up,” I croak, my throat as dry as the Mojave Desert. I feel like I just woke up from an episode of The Twilight Zone. “Where are we? What time is it? Shit . . . what day is it?”

  “We’re at a small airport outside of Breckenridge,” he replies, glancing down at his watch, “and it’s a little after two in the afternoon on Sunday. Remember we were eight hours ahead in Germany, so time-wise, we only lost about four hours in the air.”

  As I attempt to stand from the leather captain’s chair, a sharp pain shoots through the entire right side of my body, causing me to wince and grasp onto the armrest. I curse under my breath as I stare down at my mummified arm and torso, then grit my teeth and power through the movement, knowing the discomfort is ninety-five percent mental. Pain is only weakness leaving the body, and damn it, I’m not fucking weak. This shit is only temporary . . . fuel to power through my recovery and get right back out on the dirt.

  “I fucking know Foss had something to do with this shit. He was way too damn friendly all week to not be up to something. I was too focused on beating his ass to pay much attention,” I grumble as I join Gunner in the aisle, still a little wobbly on my feet. “Any reports back on the bike diagnostics?”

  “Not yet. They said we should know something late tonight or tomorrow, but even if it does come back that somet
hing was tampered with, there’s no way we’ll ever be able to prove it was him,” he warns, keeping close to me as we exit the plane into the cool autumn afternoon.

  I follow him down the metal stairs and to the waiting Tahoe, trying my best to ignore the intense throbbing in my arm. “Yeah, I’m fully aware, but I just need to know for my own peace of mind. I need to know that little cock-sucker was so fucking scared of me that he had to cheat to keep his damn title, which will make next year’s victory even sweeter.”

  He opens the back passenger door for me and I cautiously slide onto the seat, tipping my chin at the two in the backseat. “Hey, guys, sorry I wasn’t much for talking during the flight,” I joke, “but hey, we got to fly in style on the way home.”

  Emmy Sue leans forward and brushes my hair out of my face, smiling sweetly. “You needed to rest, honey. Besides, Gunner and Rhino made sure to drink your share from the open bar and to watch all three Hangover movies in your honor, dubbing you as Phil, Gunner as Stu, and Rhino as Alan.”

  I try to laugh, but it feels like someone’s taking a metal bat to my ribs, so I stick with a grin. At least my handsome face was mostly spared in the crash. I can live with a few broken bones, torn ligaments, and bruised ribs.

  “So what’s the plan? Do we have one?” I ask, unsure of where exactly we’re going as we take off onto the highway.

  “Back to our place for now,” Gunner replies. “Tomorrow, you have an appointment with an orthopedist in Denver at eleven, and we’ll find out exactly what timetable and restrictions you’re looking at. Since you were planning on staying with us after the World’s anyway until you found a place of your own here, Emmy has a room all ready for you, and we’ve got plenty of space for Rhino to stay as long as he wants to as well.”

  Nodding, I accept his answer as a good start to a plan, but he forgot one key part.

  “When do I get to see Dakota?”