Page 10 of Broken Trails
“Yeah, well, he’s changed his tune,” Jax says. “He’s already signed up. Don’t let him show you up, mate.”
“Rick’s an idiot,” I mutter, shaking my head, though a flicker of temptation creeps in.
“Maybe, but he’s an idiot who’ll be at the starting line. And if he can do it, so can you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say dismissively, but Jax isn’t letting it go.
“You’ve got three months, Michael,” he presses. “Plenty of time to shake off the rust. Practise, stretch those legs, and come out swinging. You were always a natural.”
“Natural or not, it’s been years, Jax. It’s not as simple as just hopping back on.”
“Bullshit,” he snaps. “You always do this—shut yourself off when something scares the shit outta you. It’s time to stop hiding, Michael. Get your ass on that track.”
I let his words hang there for a moment, the silence stretching between us. He’s not wrong, and that pisses me off. “I’ll think about it,” I finally say.
“You better. And don’t think I won’t drag you there myself if I have to.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, a small smile tugging at my lips. We hang up, and I’m left standing in the quiet of the shop. My hand brushes against the helmet on the bench, and for a moment, I can almost hear the roar of engines, feel the heat of competition.Maybe Jackson’s right. Maybe it’s time. Outside, the air is warm as I straddle my Ducati.
The engine rumbles to life beneath me, a sound that’s always felt like home. Before I can pull out, Harrison’s voice calls out. “Oi, dinner at mine! Lasagne’s on!” I glance over my shoulder to see him leaning against his WRX.
“Imogen’s cooking?” I ask, half-smirking.
“Of course.”
“Alright. Just don’t let her burn it this time,” I retort, revving the engine lightly.
“She’ll kill you for saying that.”
I flash him a grin, then take off toward his place.
Inside the granny flat, the first thing I hear is the rapid pitter-patter of tiny feet. Before I can brace myself, a small body barrels into me, nearly knocking the wind out of my chest.
“Mike!” Joseph squeals, his little arms flailing as I scoop him up. He’s babbling something half-intelligible about his day, his wide grin flashing with a hint of mischief.
“Whoa there, mate! You’re getting heavy,” I tease, tossing him gently into the air. He squeals again, laughing so hard his chubby little cheeks puff up.
“Not ‘eavy!” he protests, wriggling as I hold him close.
“Not heavy, huh?” I grin, pretending to weigh him like a sack of potatoes. “Nah, you’re a tank, Joseph.”
“Taaaank!” he repeats, giggling as I set him down. He toddles off toward the kitchen, shouting something about lasagne.
“Dinner’s ready!” Imogen’s voice calls out, and I follow Joseph to the dining room. Imogen’s by the kitchen bench; her blonde hair swept back into one of those ribbon things she’s always wearing.
“Hey,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
She gives me a warm smile. “You’re just in time. Sit.”
Joseph’s in his highchair, smacking the tray with his tiny hands while Imogen feeds him little spoonfuls of mashed veggies in between bites of her own lasagne. Harrison’s already halfway through his plate, shovelling food like he’s never eaten before.
“So,” I start, glancing at Harrison as I cut into my food. “Jax called me today.”
Harrison pauses mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. His eyes narrow. “Like… riding Jax?”
I nod, taking a bite.
He drops his fork, grinning like a kid on Christmas. “What did he want?”
