Clutched (Wild Riders) (11 page)

“Sleeping,” I replied. “For a while.”

“I'll say. I even beat on your trailer door this afternoon.”

“Sorry. I must have had a bit too much fun.”

“You think?” His tone just screamed sarcasm. “I was starting to wonder if you went home with Travers.”

“Ha!” I said almost immediately. Home with Travers. Link had lost his damn mind. Hoyt Travers wouldn't take me home with him even if his life depended on it. “Nope. I'm safe and sound in my own bed thanks to you.”

“Well I'm not the reason you're there. I can promise you that.”

“No?”

“No. Your coach,” he explained. “That's why I figured you were at his place.”

“Wait...”

Hoyt brought me back here?

“How do I not remember this?”

“Probably the bottle of Jack you drank.” Link laughed. “I mean, damn girl, you were really tossing them back.”

“Get to the point, Link.” My head was throbbing in time with each word he spoke. I didn't need the long version.

“You were drunk. You were dancing. Hoyt saw you and didn't like it one bit.”

I closed my eyes and tried to remember. I was surrounded by people—most of which I didn't know. I was dancing with Link, and then with whoever was closest, and then with...

Dance with me, Hoyt.

My hands were on him. My body was on him. My lips were on his neck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Omigod,” I said with a sigh. The tiny threat of vomit that I'd felt when I woke up was now tenfold.

“Um, yeah... so now he's all pissed at you. He's pissed at me. He even threatened to call Pilsner and tell him it was my fault you were out.”

“That's ridiculous,” I told him. “I went there on my own. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Tell your boyfriend that,” he suggested. “I'm probably going to get dropped by Throttled.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” I said, hearing the disdain in my voice. “And, no you won't,” I assured him. “I'll make sure that everyone knows you had nothing to do with my bad decisions.” And boy what bad decisions they were. I told Link good bye and not to worry about Hoyt.

The idea of talking to him after I'd rubbed my body all over his was mortifying. How could I have been so stupid? Nothing could happen between us, but I'd still somehow managed to try and push him into it. And here I'd thought I'd been handling myself so well. After our conversation following the meet and greet, I knew that nothing could happen between us. Drunk Chayse apparently missed the memo.

I pulled up his number and thought long and hard about whether or not I actually wanted to hear his voice. I should apologize and thank him for driving me home. I should make sure that he knew that Link had nothing to do with the way I acted. Sending a text seemed like a much better idea. It would be much easier than hearing the disapproval in his voice. I was sure I'd hear enough of that tomorrow morning when we resumed training.

Me: Sorry about last night. It was a mistake. Don't blame Link. It was all my idea. Thanks for making sure I made it home safe.

I hit send and dropped my phone onto the bed. Reaching over to the nightstand, I found a bottle of water and guzzled it as I waited for him to respond. The dryness in my mouth couldn't be quenched and it tasted a lot like regret. I was beyond embarrassed. The whole night had blown up in my face and all I could see when I closed my eyes were the blurry details. The phone finally chimed.

Hoyt: Be on the track at nine.

So that's how he was going to play it, huh? Typical Travers fashion. Pretend it didn't happen. He was either avoiding or ignoring. Both of which sounded a hell of a lot better than discussing. I fell back asleep after praying he'd just let this go and never mention it again.

* * *

T
o: Chayse McCade

From: Nick Pilsner

Subject: Per coach's request...

Starting next week, all Throttled riders will be subject to random drug testing. Please be advised that if you fail a test, your contract will be terminated. We hold our riders to the highest standards and expect that there will be no foreseeable issues. Thank you for time.

Nick

So much for letting it go.

I read over the email twice after my alarm sounded the next morning. I tossed off the covers and grabbed a quick shower. The subject line of the email was flashing like a neon sign in my head.
Per coach's request.
This was bullshit. Hoyt actually thought I was on drugs? I had a few too many drinks. Zero drugs were involved in my escapades. I might have been a little reckless, but I wasn’t a complete idiot. I'd never touched a drug in my life. One pot brownie my junior year in high school notwithstanding. I had a friend who liked to bake... and get baked. It was what it was.

I changed into my riding clothes and went out to clear a few things up with Mr. Self-Righteous before I lost my mind. I found him in the shed talking to Brett Sallinger. Brett was in full riding gear and sitting on his bike. He must have been released to ride by his doctor, which was fantastic news for Throttled and Sallinger. I was so focused on what I wanted to say to Hoyt that I didn't even introduce myself to Brett or tell him congrats on his knee being healed.

The smug look on Hoyt's face as I approached made me want to slap him. The arrogant bastard was standing there with his hands tucked in the back pockets of his jeans. A simple gray t-shirt clung to his chest and arms and taunted me to lose my focus.

“I cannot believe you told Pilsner I needed to be drug tested,” I said, poking him in the chest with my finger. He and his sexy body could go to hell.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you it won't start until next week,” Hoyt fired back. “You'll have plenty of time to get your system clean.”

“You're a real son of a bitch, you know that? You have no right—”

“I have every right,” he fired back. “It's my job on the line here, too, you know.”

“Uh... so I'm gonna go ride,” Brett said, breaking the stare off Hoyt and I were currently in. Both of our heads snapped in his direction. As soon as he fired up his bike, Hoyt and I were back to shooting daggers from our eyes at one another.

“I'm not on drugs,” I told him. “I had a few too many drinks. That's it.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that?” Hoyt replied. “You were completely out of it. I need to be sure of what I'm involved with here. You couldn't even hold your head up.”

“Oh, so you've never had too much to drink?”

“No. I haven't,” he said with an unwavering of emotion that had me on fire. “I know my limits.”

“Come on,” I said, rolling my eyes. His stoic stare remained. “Well, aren't you just a fucking saint?”

“I didn't say that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And this isn't about me. It's about you. You clearly have a problem.”

“Relax, coach,” I deadpanned. “I don't have a problem. I'll pass every drug test you
request
.”

“That's not even what this about,” he paused. “Throttled always looks out for their riders. You're underage. You were clearly intoxicated and hanging around some very questionable looking people.”

“I was with Link,” I clarified. “He's a teammate and a friend. We were looking out for one another.”

“He was really looking out for you when he left you dancing with the Sons of Anarchy, huh?” He shook his head. “Link Hoffman can barely look out for himself. You need new friends.” The tiny spark of jealousy in Hoyt's eyes kind of turned me on. Here he was giving me a lecture like he was a disappointed parent and all I could do was think about how much fun it would be if he turned me over his knee. I was a sick and twisted soul.

“Is this really about what Throttled expects out of me or is it about something else, Hoyt?”

“It's about you,” he told me. “You say you care about this deal with Throttled, but you're doing a shit job of showing it. You want to fuck this whole thing up the way your father did? You want to be like him?”

“That's a low blow and you know it.” That one stung. He knew how I felt about my father. I could feel my eyes starting to well with tears. Not that I'd let him see it. I turned my back and walked over to my bike. I pulled on my gear and my helmet to hide my eyes.

“I'm just calling it how I see it,” he said smugly before started up my bike.

C
ommunications between Chayse and I came to a screeching halt after our “conversation” that morning. Not that it had ever been that great, but she'd barely spoken five words to me after I compared her to her dad. It
was
a low blow. I felt bad about it. Really bad. The wounded look in her eyes had cut deep into my chest and the residual had been a constant ache ever since. I was all set to apologize a few days later. I was sick of the constant tension between us. With her set to compete in just a few days, I wanted us to clear the air. She didn't need any distractions and neither did I.

She was currently on the track with Brett. He'd offered to run a few laps with her and help her work on her jumps. He was a damn good racer even if it wasn't his specialty. He knew the precise amount of air a rider needed to maintain their lead in a close race. Maybe hearing from him that she was taking the jumps too high would hold more merit than me saying it... over and over again.

I watched them from across the track. He'd do a lap and then she'd repeat his motions. By the third time I could barely tell who was who. Everything she was doing was spot on. Her times were better. Her form was strong. Hell, maybe being mad at me was making her a better rider.

The sun was starting to set and I knew that there were only a few more minutes of riding before the track was too dark to safely ride on. When I looked over to wave them in, I saw Brett and Chayse sitting next to one another on their bikes at the starting line. Each of them were revving their motors and rocking back and forth to count off the holeshot. They must have decided one run together before dark was a good idea. Chayse was good at mimicking what she saw, but seeing if she could implement it next to another rider was the real test. Not to mention, I knew that Brett was anxious to put his new knee to the test. So far, he was looking on top of his game.

They took off. Neck and neck through the first turn. Brett pushed her through the whoop section and she fell back a bit. She started to look a bit too loose on the bike and I could tell him inching ahead was grating her.

Get out of your head.

She rallied on the third turn, but Brett wasn't taking it easy on her. I didn't expect him to. He knew that she needed to be pushed. It was better to lose in practice than on race day. Her resolve was starting to break. I could tell by the way she let him scoot out in front of her on the final turn. Brett crossed the finish jump, giving his bike a hard whip and looking over his shoulder at her. No one liked to boast as much as Brett Sallinger. Chayse wanted to be treated like every other rider. She was getting her first taunt from him.

I thought she'd take losing with a grain of salt. I should have known better. That girl didn't take anything with a grain of salt. I watched her twist her wrist, maxing out her bike before she hit the final jump. What should have been full speed ahead was playing out in slow motion in my eyes. Her bike soared through the air and the second she pulled back on the handlebars; I felt my stomach lurch into my throat.

No, no, no...
I thought as I stood frozen in place. Not only was she not intimidated by Brett's little taunt, she was throwing it right back in his face by attempting a backflip on her final jump. The bike rotated and she stayed seated until it was time to land. Her wheels came down a little harder than they were supposed to, but she was on the ground. Thankfully.

My legs had never moved faster. By the time I got over to where they were, both of them had their helmets off.

“That was insane,” Brett said, reaching his hand out to give her high five. The smile on her face as she connected her hand to his had me seeing red.

“What the fuck was that?” I seethed.

“A backflip,” she said non-nonchalantly as I paced in front of her.

“Yeah it was.” Brett chuckled.

“Are you out of mind?” I said, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Do you know what could have happened? You can't just go throwing tricks like that whenever you want? You could have killed yourself.”

“But I didn't,” Chayse spat back with a smirk. “I'm fine.”

My frustration with her was at an all-time high. I thought having to carry her home the other night was my breaking point, but thinking about all of the bad that could have come out of her attempting a trick she wasn't familiar with was scarier than I'd ever imagined. One little mistake and she could have broken her neck or worse. Visions of her lying unconscious on the track played out like a nightmare in my head. I could practically feel her lifeless body in my hands. The helplessness I felt imagining the worst-case scenario had my knees weak. I hated that I cared so much about her. I hated that I'd let myself.

“Dude, she's fine,” Brett said, trying to calm me down. I shot him a glare. “She won't do it again,” he promised. “Right, McCade?”

“Um... yeah,” she said with a shrug. “I wouldn't do something—”

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” I muttered to myself. When I realized that she heard me I couldn't stop my anger from directing itself directly at her. “This is the same kind of shit your father would have pulled. Same shit he did pull,” I clarified. Her eyes fell from mine as she looked down at her bike. Her fingers fidgeted with the cables and tank cap. “If he hadn't been so fucking hell-bent on showing off maybe he wouldn't have blew out his back. Is that what you want? You want to end your career before it’s even started?” The louder my voice became, the harder she stared down—avoiding all eye contact with me. “Well? Is it?”

I looked to Brett hoping for a little support. His eyes were wide and I could tell he wasn't about to get involved in our conversation. His lips pursed as if he didn't know what to say or didn't want to get in the middle of it. I couldn't blame him. The tension level between Chayse and I was at an all-time high. I would haven't touched that shit with a ten foot pole.