Page 122 of Down & Dirty

“Take a walk, Stone.”

After looking both of us over, Ronnie did as he was told. But this wasn’t finished. I hadn’t done a damn thing to Sky. Whatever was going on, it had nothing to do with me.

“Keep your shit together,” Billy said as we started to get ready for the first qualifying heat. We made our way to the gate, the crowd filling in. But the buzz of energy was feeding into my agitation rather than helping me focus like it usually did.

“I didn’t do anything,” I told him, shaking my head before I put my helmet on.

“I know,” Billy said, grabbing the front of my helmet so I’d look at him. “Whatever is going on, you’ll sort it out. But right now, you need to take all that pissed off and put it on the throttle, okay? Focus and stay on your line.”

It was rare Billy gave me pre-race pep talks, but I needed this one. I nodded, his hand still on my helmet.

“See you at the finish,” I said, desperately trying to quiet my mind as I climbed on my bike.

“You got this.”

I shook out my goggles and pulled them on. With one last thumbs-up, Billy slipped behind me and headed for the pit, leaving me with the rest of the riders. Engines revved and the crowd grew quiet. The pretty girl in front of us holding up the countdown timer smiled my way, and I closed my eyes.

It had been raining off and on all week and the course was sloppy. A muddy shit show that was already going to tax my concentration. If I didn’t calm down, I’d be lucky to finish at all when I needed to place high enough to get into the main event later that night. I fought the urge to scan the crowd for her, forcing myself to focus so I didn’t screw this up.

The gate dropped and the bikes around me took off. Eyeing the inside line I throttled hard, spinning the nubby tires we’d gone with, and sending mud spraying out behind me. I stayed focused on the line I wanted, my front end inching farther ahead as we neared the first corner.

The crowd had gone wild, the pack flying through the first muddy patch, and as we went to round the first curve, I pulled a half bike length ahead of the next rider. I could hardly see, the splatter coming from every direction, so I had no idea who I was up against. But when we turned again and I started over the first section of whoops I caught sight of the bike on my right. It was Ronnie.

The rest of the pack around us were in dark blues and grays, their jerseys tame compared to the lime green we wore, so I knew the rest of our team had gotten stuck back in the crowd. We tipped and bumped our way through the whoops, getting none of the traction we were used to, and struggling to hold onto the rear end every time we landed. It was like taking a jackhammer to my spine, the pain adding to my frustration.

Sliding into the next sharp corner, Ronnie skidded into my line, boxing me out of the inside and forcing me to take a hard hit into a new groove.

“Fucking punk,” I yelled, even though he’d never hear me with my helmet on and the noise of the engines. I gassed it to get some air over the rollers, my bike squirreling every time I touched down on the other side of the large rounded jumps. More bikes came up beside me, the track getting messier, and as we pushed through the first straight away I yanked on my throttle as hard I could.

Surging ahead, I put Ronnie in my rear view, but the distance was quickly eaten up by two other riders. They crowded me on either side and I cursed as one of them nicked my rear tire, sending me forward, nearly toppling me over. I grabbed for my gears, but it was too late, they were already closing the loop around me, and when I went to power through them, I got knocked sideways. I flew over the handle bars, the bike crashing into the sideline as I slammed into the dirt.

Fuck. Shit Fuck. I scrambled to get clear of the course, the surge of adrenaline powering through me. Yellow flags waved as the ground crew rushed over. The rest of the pack rushed by as I gasped for air. I’d taken the hit to my side, my ribs screaming like they had after the fall last season. I winced, clutching my side as one of the medics skidded to a stop beside me.

“You hurt?”

“No,” I barked, but the word got cut short when a stabbing pain shot through me.

“Up or out,” and official called over from the other side of the barrier and I shoved off the ground.

“I’m fine,” I told the medic, brushing him off to get to my bike. I tugged it hard, the mud making it nearly impossible to stand it up. But finally I hauled it upright and swung my leg over. Everything hurt. My head was ringing and I saw stars swimming in my vision. But I kicked the engine started and looked over my shoulder before gunning it back onto the track. I had enough time to make up the ground. I had to get back into a contention spot.

I rode the rest of my heat with a frightening numbness in my right arm, barely catching my breath after every jump. But I had to finish. The mud wrecked several other bikes and I was able to close the gap, overtaking a handful of riders and finishing ninth overall—barely qualifying. As I pulled off the course, I looked back over my shoulder; placing high enough to get me points tonight was going to be a fucking nightmare.

“Jesus, are you all right?” Billy asked, rushing over and snatching my helmet from my hand while I fought to catch my breath.

“I’m great,” I snapped, wiping mud from my face.

“Why the hell did you keep going?”

I looked at him like he was crazy—because right then he sounded like it. “I need the main event, Bill. If I don’t ride, I don’t get any points. I can’t fucking toss in a whole weekend.”

He shook his head, but didn’t argue. “Let’s get this thing cleaned up. See if we need to replace anything.”

We rode together back to the tent, but I was hesitant to dismount, not trusting my own legs to keep me upright. When I swung my leg over Billy held the bike steady until I’d gotten my feet under me. He knew that fall had knocked me sideways, and without saying anything he let me lean on the bike for the first few steps.

“You straight, Ellis?” Ronnie asked, walking toward me with his helmet under his arm. He still had his chin tipped up, but the concern on his face was genuine.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

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