Page 91 of Still The One

‘You set up your physical therapy with Dr Dave?’ Matty asks, walking up from behind me and interrupting my memories. Neither of our gazes leaves the track.

Dr Dave is the go-to doctor for taking care of Matty’s riders. He specializes in sports medicine and is renowned as the best in the business. Over the years, he has helped me recover from numerous injuries sustained in crashes and accidents.

‘Yep,’ I reply with a nod, my gaze fixed on my friends as they take turns performing their daring stunts.

‘How does it feel to be back?’ he inquires.

I shrug nonchalantly. ‘I dunno yet.’

‘Wanna reunite with your bike? I’m sure it’s missed you.’

With that, my insides light up a little. ‘Yeah.’

‘It’s taken a while, but Jeremy has finally managed to get it in even better than its original state, just the way you like it. It looksas good as new and is all set for you, whenever you’re able to get back to using it.’

As we walk into the shop not far from the track, the sight of our impressive collection of motorcycles greets me. Most of them have been generously donated by our sponsors and are worth a substantial amount of money. The walls are adorned with posters of Matty’s riders – me included – performing stunts, and the floors are scattered with tools and spare parts. The center of the garage is dominated by a large workbench covered in tools and surrounded by motorcycles in various states of assembly.

Jeremy, one of our mechanics, diligently keeps our bikes in top-notch condition and race-ready. Each of us has a favorite, but we also have back-up options available for when one of them is out of commission. Unfortunately, I had the accident with my preferred bike, so I’m certain it suffered just as much as I did, and I can’t wait to see it again.

‘Foster!’ Jeremy calls out at the sight of me, his voice echoing through the shop as he makes his way over. ‘Jesus, man. I was worried. How do you feel?’

‘Broken,’ I chuckle, my gaze fixed on my bike. ‘But look at this shit,’ I exclaim with a smile as I instinctively swing my leg over the seat to climb onto it, placing one hand on the handlebar.

‘Start her up!’ he encourages.

As he speaks, I am already kicking her over, twisting the throttle with my uninjured hand, and reveling in the powerful roar of the engine. Ah – home. I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm and contentment wash over me.

‘How’s it feel?’ Matty yells over the engine.

‘It feels good,’ I shout back, bouncing a little to test the shocks.

Against my better judgment, and in a move I think we all knew I’d make, Jeremy hands me a helmet. I slide it on, thenengage the gear and ride out of the workshop, heading toward the track. Despite my initial apprehension, I gradually regain my confidence with each gear I shift, all the while mindful of my immobile arm. No jumps for me today. Instead, I focus on relishing the rush of riding again.

As the other bikes come to a halt, I can feel the eyes of my friends on me as I race around the track. Despite my best intentions, I’ll never be able to resist the urge to pick up speed and catch some air. And it feels damn good, too. As I return to the shop, Matty and Jeremy give me a standing ovation.

‘You’re crazy as fuck,’ Matty says as I cut the engine.

‘“One-armed Bandit” should be your new name!’ Jeremy teases. ‘How was that?’

I steady myself by planting one foot on the ground. ‘Incredible,’ I say, wishing I could keep going but knowing I can’t tempt fate quite yet.

‘Eve woulda killed ya if she were here,’ Matty says.

I drop my head, my helmet in my hand still. ‘Yeah, she woulda.’

‘That didn’t end great, huh?’

I shake my head.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions that arise at her mention, one memory stands out – the image of waking up in the hospital and seeing her. I remember it like it happened last night. She would be pissed if she knew what I just did yet deep down, I think she would understand. Because somehow, she gets me like no one else ever has. There’s a connection between us that defies words, but despite that, I never found the courage to tell her the truth until it was too late. I never said, ‘I love you’ or ‘I want to stay.’ It’s a realization that hits me like a ton of bricks – I am a fucking idiot.

‘Why is it so dark in here?’ Matty asks, meandering through my house the day after I visited his place, pulling open curtains and allowing the light to invade my cave of heartbreak. ‘And why are you asleep at noon? And what in the fuck are you listening to?’ he asks, in search of the source.

‘Taylor Swift,’ I answer, shoving the source of the music into my pocket so he can’t take it and throw it out my front windows.

‘Taylor Swift?’ he balks, a comical look on his face. ‘Why?’

I run my hand through my hair as I sit up, frustrated that I’m lying here alone and all I can think about is her.

---