Page 29 of Furious
The clash between my body and the ground still knocks the wind out of me and it takes me a second to catch my breath.
Fuck. I could have won that race, but first I got distracted by that Ducati that seemed to materialize out of nowhere; then when Cal tried to overtake me, I don’t know what the fuck happened.
Or at least I think I do, but I’m too weirded out to even try to make sense of it.
The grass crackles and rustles, alerting me that someone is coming toward me.
“Chance,” I hear Lev’s voice before I see his boots. “Are you ok?”
I grab the hand he offers. “I’m good.” I reassure him as he pulls me up, back on my feet.
“What happened there?” he asks. “You had a solid lead, well, you and the Ducati. Did Fox hit you?”
I take my helmet off, shaking my head. I still feel confused. “No, he didn’t hit me. I thought I was going to get away, but then something distracted me. Maybe a bug flying in front of my face. I don’t know. I lost control, and I didn’t want to ram into the Ducati or cause a pile up if I fell on the tarmac.”
Lev’s eyes go down to my helmet. “Hmm. A bug? It must have been one lucky motherfucker if it didn’t end up splattered all over your visor. Your helmet’s clean.”
I know he doesn’t believe me. Maybe I should tell him about that weird flashback, but I don’t want to. As long as I ignore it, I can pretend everything is ok. “I’m fine. My bike is fine. But what the fuck are you doing here? Did you win?”
He shrugs. “No, I didn’t win. I came to check on you. I have no idea who won. The Ducati was first on the curve and Cal was right behind it.”
“The fuck?” I groan. “You should have finished the race. Now we owe that dipshit money. Remember? We went double or nothing with Dave.”
Lev clasps my shoulder. “Fuck the money. I had to make sure you were ok.”
Lev helps me get my bike upright and we walk back to the road. “Just in case we were wondering, I guess Cal Fox hasn’t changed at all in the last two years. He’s always a reckless idiot. He makes up for his lack of skills on two wheels by doing crap that could end badly.”
I nod. “Yeah, but I let him fuck me over like a noob.”
“You were distracted. I thought you had a handle on Fox, but then it was like you weren’t even paying attention to the road.”
I can’t get anything past Lev. He knows me better than anyone else. “Yeah. That guy on the Ducati. Where the fuck did he come from?”
“I have no idea.” He muses. “But did he look kinda familiar to you?”
That’s when it hits me. The guy on the Ducati reminded me of that new rider in Bridgeport two years ago. Smith. Maybe that’s what triggered that weird flashback. The idea gives me hope that I’m not going crazy. “Let’s see if anyone knows him. I want to tell him that he’s one hell of a racer.”
It takes us no more than a couple of minutes to get back to the hangar. Cal and his crew have been clearing every trace of the race. If I weren’t still on my motorcycle, I could almost think that I imagined the last hour of my life.
“Who won?” I ask Dave.
“Sure as shit it wasn’t you, or Lev.” He cackles. “You owe us a grand each. Pay up, motherfuckers.”
I must have hit my head and I must have misheard what Dave just said. “Come again? A grand? I thought our old bet wastwo hundred, and we doubled it. Last time I checked, that makes it four hundred, not a grand.”
Lev backs me up. “Chance is right. Besides, are you tried to tell us that Cal won?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And I don’t appreciate the lack of trust in your frat president. But since you had a bad fall, you must not be thinking straight, so I’ll break it down for you. Four hundred was our doubled bet. Then you have two hundred entry fee and two hundred penalty for not finishing the race.”
I’m still doing the math in my head, but Lev is faster than me.
“Wait a second,” he argues. “That still doesn’t make it a grand. It would be eight hundred.”
“It would be, yes.” Cal comes out of the hangar, followed by Tucker. “But there was that Ducati that came out of nowhere. I’m charging you the entry fee for it. And another two hundred because the motherfucker didn’t stop at the finish line. He rode it and disappeared.”
Tucker chimes in. “If he had stopped, he would be the winner because technically, he finished in front of Cal. But he hadn’t paid the entry fee, and he ran, so the win goes to Cal.”
“That’s the biggest load of fucking bullshit I’ve ever heard.” Lev scoffs. “Why should we pay for a stranger? And you didn’t even fucking win. I’m not giving you a dime.”
