Page 1 of Big Trouble
1
Jack
“I’ve got this, Jack.”
Mom rushed over and grabbed the suitcase from the trunk of my rental car. In her fifties, with streaks of graying hair, I’m not sure anything could’ve made me feel more emasculated than the sight of her swinging the case with ease. Still, I knew better than to argue with her. Mom always got her way. Most of the time, it was with ‘the look’ look. In some instances, words. I’d never in my life seen her resort to violence, but I wasn’t entirely sure it was off the table. She had always shaken a wooden spoon at me rather convincingly.
I stared up at my childhood home, not expecting this to be the way I would return; patched up and limping. Mom opened the front door and I followed her inside, the familiar smell unexpectedly comforting. Little had changed since I’d last been there, although I shouldn’t have been surprised, Mom wasn’t all that fond of change. Having me home at short notice was upheaval enough.
“Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Juice?” She busied herself putting the kettle on.
Wincing, I sat down at the table. The plane ride had been hell with my leg cramping from being in a confined position. Thank God the rental car had been an automatic. At least I could retain some semblance of independence while I stayed at home. I suppose I should have been grateful my accident had been in the States. A four-hour flight from Austin rather than ten and a half hours from Amsterdam had been a blessing in disguise. I reached into my gym bag and pulled out the painkillers the doctors had given me, placing them on the table.
“I’m good, Mom, thanks. Had enough to drink on the flight.”
“And they looked after you?”
“I couldn’t have had better treatment unless I’d been a football star.”
That much was true. Had I been ‘Jack Cairney, NFL legend’ rather than ‘Jack Cairney, MotoGP superstar in the making’, I had no doubt the stewardesses would have been falling over themselves to look after me. The cane and the limp had been enough to get a few extra drinks and snacks, but no other special treatment. Not even a phone number.
“What about when you got back to this end? Did you get help at the airport?”
“Yes, Mom. I felt very…special.” My gaze fell on the pills again. How long before I could take another one? Mom’s questions thudded around my brain.
“How are you feeling now, Jack?” She looked at me with such pity, I wanted to grab my belongings and run. Figuratively. Not literally. I could barely walk after the efforts to get on a plane and then drive.
“Great,” I lied. In reality I needed a hot shower and one or two of those pills.
Mom arched her brow. “Then you won’t need these.” She swiped the bottle from the table and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans.
I swallowed hard. “I’m due another. I took the last one in Austin.”
Her eyes narrowed.
I knew why.
The pills had become a game. I would see how long I could go before taking one. Enough had been prescribed for me to have one, five times a day. Back in the hospital, I’d had morphine. Seriously, that shit kicked ass. But I was afraid of discovering I had the same addictive personality my father had. The genetic makeup which had meant he couldn’t go without drugs. The disease that had ultimately killed him. So, I’d been regulating myself. Mom’s reaction to the pills told me she worried about the same.
“I’ll take charge of these,” she said. She turned her back on me, thinking I hadn’t seen her swipe away a tear. She’d be thinking of Dad and drawing inaccurate comparisons. “Think of me as your personal nurse.”
There were plenty of other women I would have preferred as a personal nurse. Before the accident, I’d started hanging out with one of the grid girls. She hadn’t visited me in the hospital. I hadn’t heard from her since the MotoGP family had moved out to Europe for the next few rounds of racing. In fact, apart from the team boss, I hadn’t really had much contact with the other riders, apart from a few ‘get well soon’ messages. It seemed the moment I’d been packed off back to Cali Cross for my recuperation, Jack Cairney ceased to exist.
“Mmm,” I grunted. “That’s not really what I had in mind.”
“I’m doing my best,” she snapped. “That’s why you’re here.Thisdrill sergeant will have you whipped back into shape in no time.” Mom eyed me for a moment. “You do plan on returning to racing, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course.” I nodded vigorously. I wasn’t good at much. I’d never had a passion for school. I liked books…for propping open doors and standing up my phone. Hell, I wasn’t even particularly athletic in the same way a football player needed to be. But put me on a motorbike and I became fearless.
I didn’t want to admit the accident had shaken me. Scared me more than I’d ever expected. Waking up covered in sweat almost every night as I relived the sounds of metal crashing into tarmac and my body hitting the track. When my eyes flew open, I had to pinch myself to make sure I was still alive.
I would never let on to anyone about my fears.
I was Jack Cairney.
I was invincible.
A God among men.
