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Seeing Riot move closer, she forced herself to focus on something else. “Where’s the bike?”Do not make eye contact with him, he’ll go away. Eventually.

Mal glared at her. Everything in and around her best friend had to do with fucking racing. Who gave a rat’s ass where the damn bike was? She was lying on a cot with ice packs on her ankle and a lump on her forehead the size of a baseball. Mal didn’t care if the bike slid all the way to the west coast. Turning around to tamp down her temper, Mal looked at Riot. “You talk to her. I’m about to kill her.”

Riot put his hand on Mal’s shoulder, smiling down at her. “Go see where the medics are, please.” He watched Mal huff off. Shaking his head at River, Riot grabbed a chair and sat down next to the cot. “How bad are you hurt?”

River rubbed a hand down her face. She did not want to have a conversation with him. It was too hard to let herself care again. Her heart betrayed her head, and her mouth had a mind of its own. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m not sure. I think I bounced across the infield.”

“You did, and a whole lot more. Like Mal said, you did not slam into the wall. But your bike did.”

“Shit.” She did not need this crap.

“The bike can be replaced.”

She closed her eyes. She knew a fucking bike could be replaced. But you had to have money for that, and as of now she didn’t. “Please leave.”

“Why? Do I make you nervous, JoJo?”

Somewhere someone was laughing at her. “At least stop with the nickname.”

“You’re in luck, here comes Mal and a medic.” Standing up from his seat Riot, leaned over and whispered in her ear that he would see her later. The smell of her hair was still the same… honey. He missed that smell and the feel of her. Riot felt like a fool trying to sneak moments with River. She had left him to chase her dreams. He did not blame her. Time is supposed to heal all wounds. But his heart hadn’t healed yet from River ripping it out of his chest.

***

Hot water ran down her sore muscles. The bruises on her hip and leg where she had landed on it looked vicious. Her ankle didn’t look much better. She had little bruises here and there as well. She thought her wrist was fractured, but she wouldn’t be caught dead in a clinic in Austin. That’s all she needed to have caught on tape.There had been enough press running the accident with comments like,“Is River Wile done racing?”Leaning further under the shower head, River tried tuning out her own thoughts.Hold your head up, little sister.“I’m trying.”

Running. That’s all she had done for seven long years. Problem was she had been running in place like being on the damn treadmill. You could run a hundred miles and still be stuck. Emotions were a person’s downfall, so you should lock them down tight. That’s what she had been doing, and now they were spilling out just like the water cascading from the showerhead. All of it the water, the emotions, the pain, every drop made her feel fragile.

Sweetheart, I love you.Old memories creepingin had her shutting off the shower. After all, who was she hiding from? The memories would follow her wherever she went. Why stand in a tiled box, waiting for them to leave?

Chapter Eight

River threw the remote at the TV as Sports Center reported on the race. The big news was Archer Morgan winning his first race and Canyon Racing picking him up for their newly acquired superbike team. Fuck Laurel Canyon. Fuck Archer Morgan. She would get back on her feet and get new sponsors. She knew how to get sponsorships. It would take a lot of work on her part, especially with the TMZ reports making her look like she was a temperamental woman.

Racing for River wasn’t just racing on the weekend, it was an everyday thing. She raced either at the nearest track or she used simulators to run the different circuits for the AMA. River lived, ate, and slept racing. Most of her friends didn’t understand her need for speed. What could she say? Fear and adrenaline fueled her. She doubted Archer Morgan still hadn’t learned all the lessons racing had to teach him.

Every racer had something that drove them. Some pushed every aspect of their life to see how far they could push themselves, turning danger into thrill. It was exciting. It was addicting. It was their religion. And River was right there amongst them.Fighting.

Some did it for glory, some did it for the money. River believed the glory was great, but the money was better, it also took money to be able to make the run for the glory. When she sat back and thought about how her brain processed operating at such high speeds, she found it fascinating. The performance coaches said speed created chemicals in the body, and those chemicals make up the adrenaline she experienced and then craved like an addiction. Damn right it was addictive. All of them had their own opinion. Probably why she didn’t have a coach, bullshit speculations.

The truth was, and is, that everything is done by emotion. Hesitancy. Fear. Faith. All of it came down to what she sensed, felt, and believed. If she could see it, she could make it real. Sometimes it was all about making the right judgment call.Damn but wasn’t that the truth.

Maybe what pushed Archer was her, his need to punish someone for his brother’s death. Couldn’t punish Cypress because he wasn’t around. That left her in his line of fire. “Well damn, kid. Two can play that game.”

***

As Laurel and Archer laughed about River being pushed out of the race, all Riot could think about was River. Hating himself as he continued to sit with a bunch of people who kissed Laurel’s ass, he shoved away from the table. He needed to meet Jason and Michael to finish working out the details on their new venture. But first he was going to check on River. It was almost a compulsion within him to know if she was all right. “Good night, everyone.”

“Where are you off to?”

“I need some fresh air.”

“Don’t wait up, we’re going to party all night.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

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