Page 8 of Fighting For Light
His eyes turn angry, and I can see the intent flashing across his face. I learned that look well. “Why am I even listening to you?Get the hell out of my way,” he grumbles, trying to push past me. I hold my ground, giving him one last chance.
I see his fist coming. He’s drunk and a lot slower and not nearly as strong as me. I hit him with a right hook, then put him on the ground with his wrist twisted behind his back, holding his arm up in the air. “Move wrong, and I’ll break it,” I threaten.
“Come on, man, let go,” he grumbles into the dirt.
Cordi is next to the woman, consoling her. “Call the police, tell them it’s a domestic dispute and there are witnesses.” She nods and pulls her phone out as the poor woman cries.
I dig the heel of my shoe into his back, hoping he moves wrong. I’d love to leave him with a broken arm because he deserves worse. But while we wait, he remains still, realizing he shouldn’t test me.
When the police arrive, they handcuff him and put him in the back of a cruiser. They collect our statements, and by the time they finish, it’s already midnight. We all need to get some shut-eye before the race.
Cordi and I walk back towards our trailers, and she grabs my wrist.
“What—“ I start to ask her, but she throws her arms around my waist, tucking her head into my chest. I drop my arms around her, hugging her close and inhaling her honey scent she’s had since we met.
“You’re a good guy, Kai. I hope you know that.”
I dodge her words and rub her back. “I’m just glad we could help that woman,” I tell her.
“Me, too. Hopefully, she leaves him.”
“I hope so too, Cordi. No woman deserves to be treated like that—ever.”
5
Cordelia
I watch Kai returnto his trailer, and his strong, sweaty back glistens in the sun. Every time he launches himself and the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound machine into the air andlets goto fly, my heart stops. But I think for a moment, the world lifts off his shoulders, and he feels free, which is why he loves it so much. His next race is tomorrow, and I’m sure the nerves are building by now. They usually do for most of the team. I don’t get along with the other guys as much as I do with Kai. We’ve built a friendship for more than a decade. But he still hasn’tlet goaround me.
Last night still runs through my head. I watched the way he stood between a woman he didn’t know and a man who was clearly drunker than a skunk. He didn’t hesitate to protect her. Kai has never seen me as anything other than the coach’s daughter and his bestfriend, but watching him be the hero made me fall in love with him even more. The reality is, though, I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman who only loved one man who will probably never love her back.
I’ve never dated anyone long-term. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not waiting around for Kai…entirely, but I lose interest every time I go on a date. So it’s not for a lack of trying. I just know no one, and nothing will come close to him.
Instead, I’m focusing on other areas of my life. I never went to college and decided to stay with Dad and help him with the business side of things, like organizing the campgrounds and cross-checking schedules with corporate. Dad is not an organizer, and I’ve grown up around dirt bikes, dirty boys, and a father who thrives on the adrenaline. I know the sport and the business. My main goal was to have a better relationship with him since most of my teen years were spent with my mom, but there is only so much dirt and dirt bikes I can take. So, I started doing freelance graphic design work on the side.
“Cordi, I’m going to go get the boys ready. Will I see you out there?” Dad asks.
I look up from my laptop. I’ve been killing myself to meet this deadline for a client who hired me for website design and wanted to be done in time to photograph the race.
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” I mumble.
Ever since I graduated from high school early, I wanted to be there for Kai. It’s not like his mom wasn’t. She and his little brother were as much as they could be, but Kai told his mom to stop coming as we got older. I don’t really know why. I figured maybe she was too busy with his little brother Liam, or maybe he didn’t want her to see him get hurt. Now, I make a point of being there.
After double-checking my grammar for the clothing boutique website I’m working on, I cross-check the color scheme to make sure it fits and complements the other marketing materials before sending it off. It’s hotter than Hades out here, so I throw on my cowboy boots and grab my baseball hat and sunglasses. Before I open the door, I remember my camera and head out.I’m also the team photographer for our sponsorships now. I can’t miss a single race.
The heat of the day immediately makes me sweat, and I’m glad I wore a dark-colored tank top. I roll my eyes as I walk past some motocross girlfriends in their crop tops and short shorts. Thank God for sunglasses. You wouldn’t catch me dead in a crop top or with my butt cheeks hanging out of my shorts. Chub rub is real, and I’m a little too thick for that.
I walk up the hill to where teams usually gather before they line up to race. There are only four of them now, which is typical for a team with their level of sponsorships and multiple world championships under their belts. They need to score the top four positions in this race to hold the top four spots in the overall standings. Freestyle is different in that the performance is judged and then scored.
Dad is talking to the team, and the guys are all suited up. I spot Kai with his jersey tucked in and his bike balanced between his legs. His big white number seven stares at me. He used to be one-twenty-two when he started on the Outlaw International Racing team. When he and the team won the championship the last couple of years, he chose a single-digit, seven, and as far as I’m concerned, the number belongs to him.
Kai’s helmeted head turns, and I swear he’s looking at me. I can’t tell for sure, but it’s a feeling. He’s staring. I look down at what I’m wearing, then spot a few other women looking much cuter. I wave, and he waves back.I knew it. I give him a thumbs up, and even though motocross is the furthest thing from surfing, he throws me a hang-ten sign. I stick my thumb and pinky out, throwing it back to him. We started doing it years ago before he was about to race. I was there, and words got caught in my throat. So I threw him the gesture, and it became our thing.
My heart twists in my chest with a longing I have only ever felt for him. I hate that I feel it some days. He doesn’t give meattention in that way because we’re friends, but he is everything I want. I know I shouldn’t say that. I’m old enough to know he keeps things locked up tight—it should be a red flag. But I’ve never been someone who pays attention to those. I prefer checkered flags, anyway.
Dad dismisses the guys, and they ride their bikes over to get lined up at the starting line. The beginning of the race is always the most nail-biting to me. A good rider picks their line before the gates drop so they can get ahead of the mass. If you fall behind, you could cross rut and find yourself in a world of hurt, crashing into other bikes.
This team is one of the fastest Dad’s ever had. There’s nothing to worry about. We know the competition, but it doesn’t make it any less scary to me. I’ve seen some nasty accidents where guys lose control of the bike, fall off in the middle of the jump and break their backs, or crack their heads open because the helmet flew off their head. But it’s also an exhilarating thirty minutes. I don’t have to be on a bike to feel it. Dad stopped competing when he almost snapped his spine, possibly leaving me without a father or one who couldn’t be there to see me grow up. I was only ten at the time. He healed up and said he was done. I imagine the possibility of leaving me with only my mom made him open his eyes and decide to coach instead. I’m not scared of bikes, but I stopped riding when that happened. I’m all he has.
