Racing the Sky Page 11

  His father laughed and bounced him a little. “When you’re older.”

  “But that’s too long,” he whined. “Can’t I have one for my birthday?”

  “You’re still too little, Nicholas, but I promise, when you’re eight you can have one.”

  “Aw…but that’s forever!”

  “Only two years, kiddo. Don’t worry though; it’ll pass quickly enough. Don’t be in too big of a hurry to grow up. One day you’ll look back and wonder where the time has gone.”

  “Daddy,” Nicky asked, drawing back a little to look at his father. “Why don’t you ride anymore?”

  “Just don’t have the time for it, I guess. That old bike of mine isn’t in any shape to ride, anyway.”

  “Then how will you teach me?”

  “Guess I’ll just have to fix it by then.”

  Sniffling, Nicky pulled himself from the memory and swiped at a stray tear. He’d gotten a dirt bike for his eighth birthday, but it had been bittersweet, because his father hadn’t been there to give it to him, or to teach him to ride.

  It had taken time and some bribery on his aunt’s part, baking treats for the older boys at the track and tutoring them in their studies, to convince them to take Nicky under their wing and teach him. Most days he’d felt like an unwanted and begrudgingly tolerated younger brother: humored, but never really fitting in. Terry had been the first kid his own age he’d ever met who rode too. Just another of many reasons why they’d become inseparable.

  Since that first day at the track, he’d been crazy about dirt bikes. Racing, freestyle, he’d excelled at both; but freestyle had been his true passion. Somehow or another, though, he’d allowed Terry to talk him into racing more and entering freestyle events less and less. Maybe if he’d stuck to what he’d excelled at, he wouldn’t be sitting on the bed with an uncertain future, flipping past the channels showing the one thing he used to love.

  Working in the garage had never meant to be a career, only temporary. Now it looked like he’d be stuck with that kind of work forever, watching others jump and soar while he was trapped on the ground. No, fuck that; there was no way he was watching, ever. If he couldn’t race, then he was done with the sport. He’d find some other fuckin’ hobby.

  Nicky sighed, angry, frustrated, and more than a little sorry for himself. Lashing out with his good leg, he kicked the wheelchair, forgetting he wasn’t wearing a shoe. Cussing, he fell back on the bed with tears prickling his eyelids. The wheelchair smacked against the far wall, now so completely out of reach that there was no way he’d ever be able to get to it and get in. So much for making a sandwich, he thought with a groan, then closed his eyes. The psychiatrist at the hospital had tried to talk to him, but Nicky hadn’t been interested in anything the woman had to say. How the hell could she know what it was like to have your dreams crushed and everything you loved taken away? She’d probably grown up wanting to be a shrink, analyzing her classmates or some bullshit like that. Well, he didn’t want to be analyzed; he just wanted to be able to race again. He didn’t want to accept that he couldn’t. What use was modern medicine if it couldn’t make things right for him?

  Last night Vic had actually mentioned college. Yeah, like Nicky would ever be college material. There was a reason he’d never gone. There was nothing that he’d ever been interested in enough that he’d want to spend four or more years studying it—except racing. The track had been his classroom, not some stuffy old building with people talking at him all the time. He’d never be able to manage it. Hell, he’d barely managed high school.

  Nicky shoved his fingers through his hair, hating how tangled it had gotten since the accident. Both Vic and Gray had offered to brush it for him, but he’d balked at letting them. They already did too much for him. It was humiliating as hell, having Gray wash him every morning. Hell, he was shocked Gray had even bothered to stick around now that he was laid up. It wasn’t as if he could actually do anything for Gray. If he were in one piece, morning baths with Gray could have proved to be immense fun for both of them, rather than an exercise in frustration and humility for Nicky. Still, it was better than Vic doing it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to look his friend in the eye if it had ended up being Vic helping him that way.

  A jangle of keys marked Vic’s return, and Nicky rolled his eyes, imagining what Vic would say when he saw the scuffed wall, Nicky’s bruised foot, and the wheelchair across the room.

  Vic juggled an armload of bags as he stepped through the doorway and kicked the door closed behind him. “God it’s hot out there,” he complained, wiping the sweat from his brow after he’d set down the bags.

  “Then I guess I’ll be grateful for air conditioning,” Nicky muttered.

  “Yeah, it feels good in here.” Vic sorted the bags, taking some into the bathroom, then coming back for the kitchen ones.

  “Sorry I can’t help,” Nicky told him.

  Vic chuckled. “No big deal. It’s not like I bought half the store or anything. Just a few supplies for the week.”

  “Still, this sucks.”

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t know, Vic. Trust me, you don’t ever wanna know what this feels like.”

  “Give it time, Nicky,” Vic told him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

  Yeah, like Nicky had any choice in the matter.

  “I got some salad, avocado, and salmon for dinner. Won’t take me long to get it on the grill.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Think you’re up for poker tonight?”

  “You suck at poker.”

  “So? Maybe I’ll learn something for once.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Nicky shrugged, then hissed when he felt the stitches in his arm pull.

  ***

  In the kitchen, Vic got the small indoor grill down and let it heat up while he went about mixing lemon juice and herbs for the fish. Letting it soak a bit, he moved on to slicing the avocado and mango, putting them on the grill with the fish when he was done. He made the salad while they cooked, mixed some pomegranate juice with blueberry sparkling water, and soon carried it all into the living room.

  The first thing he noticed was Nicky glaring at the TV. The second thing he saw was the wheelchair against the wall. Vic set the food on the TV trays.

  “Did the chair decide to run away from you?”

  Nicky frowned harder and gave a little grunt.

  “Maybe it got scared,” Vic quipped. “Could be you glared at it too hard and it figured it was safer over there.”

  “You’re not funny,” Nicky grumbled.

  “I’m just saying, is all,” Vic said. “I think I’d sit across the room too if you were glaring at me like you are the TV. What? Don’t like the show? You can change the channel, you know. Unless you’re practicing changing it with your mind.”

  Nicky couldn’t help chuckling a little. Soon as Vic saw him smile, he kept at it. “Glare us up some cartoons, will ya?”

  Nicky finally laughed and reached for the remote, turning it to the cartoon channel.

  “What? Glaring didn’t work?”

  “Remote was easier.”

  Vic pushed a tray up by the bed and then took a seat in the chair next to it.

  “This looks really good, Vic, thanks,” Nicky said, his stomach growling so loud Vic could hear it.

  “You’re welcome. Maybe you’ll eat a whole meal for once.”

  “I’ll try,” Nicky said as he dug in.

  Vic watched the clumsy way Nicky struggled to eat, unable to use his dominant hand, scowling and grumbling curses in between bites. Still, Vic was pleased to see that Nicky managed to eat all but a small amount. Grinning, Vic took the dishes back to the kitchen, whistling while he washed them.

  Once he’d done the dishes, Vic broke out the cards and poker chips, and the two settled in to play.

  “You know,” Vic began, midway through the second hand. “I never did get to ask what you were doing way up at the diner where you met Gray.”

/>   “Just driving,” Nicky said, smiling faintly. “It started as a way to forget about Terry: the driving and Gray.”

  “I sense a but coming,” Vic interjected when Nicky paused.

  “But I really started to enjoy spending time with him,” Nicky said. “We were having coffee one morning and I mentioned that I couldn’t cook for shit, unless it was something I could grill, so he started teaching me to make a Boston Cream Pie. It was a simple, basic recipe, but as we mixed the ingredients, it dawned on me that he was actually interested in doing stuff with me, not just…” Nicky sighed heavily. “I guess I started seeing things with Terry in a different light after that. I mean, outside of racing, the only things Terry and I had in common were fixing cars and the same taste in music.”

  “Come on, Nicky, those can’t have been the only things. You guys were together for four years; you did damn near everything together.”

  “You mean damn near everything that Terry liked to do; don’t you?” Nicky said.

  Vic paused, waiting to see how honest Nicky was willing to be. Nicky had always been such a staunch defender of Terry, no matter how condescending and awful Terry’s behavior was. It was nice to see that he hadn’t been completely blind to the way he’d been treated over the years.

  “Think about it,” Nicky prompted as he added two chips to the pot and indicated he wanted one more card. “Terry loved bowling, so we joined a league. Me, I’d much rather have been fishing. Terry loved football on Sundays. I’d have rather have gone hiking in the mountains than sit at home watching a game. We had season tickets to hockey, because Terry loved seeing it live, but I’d have preferred the rodeo. We hardly ever camped out, because Terry complained about everything from allergies to the rocks poking him in the back. Terry hated heading down the coast to the beach and spending the day at the ocean, so when was the last time we all went?”

  “You could have told him no.”

  “Yeah, I could have.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  Nicky sighed. “I guess at first I was just so shocked that he wanted to be more than friends. I mean, we’d come out to each other when we were fifteen, and we’d talk about the guys we thought were hot. The guys he talked about were smart, athletic, and super fuckin’ good looking, but then he asked me out. Me! And I never thought I’d be so lucky to have him want to be with me.” Nicky brushed a hand through his hair, tangling his fingers in the mess. “I guess after a while it just got easy to follow his lead. I liked making him happy.”

  “But didn’t you ever want some of that happiness for yourself?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Come on, Nicky, you can talk to me.”

  “I guess it really doesn’t matter much anymore; it’s not like we’re still together. I guess I was afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “Everyone loves Terry. He’s like energy and charisma. He could have anyone.”

  “And you figured if you didn’t keep him happy he’d find someone who would?”

  Nicky hung his head. “Yeah.”

  “That’s bullshit, Nicky. How the hell could you stay in a relationship like that?”

  “I loved him,” Nicky said simply.

  Vic was silent for a while. “I saw it, you know,” he said at last. “I saw the way he acted like a spoiled brat when he didn’t get his way. It took a while, but in the few months before you broke up, I could really see how selfish he was. I realized he was the reason we stopped spending time in the mountains, or much time together at all.”

  “Then why did you ask?” Nicky grumbled.

  “’Cause I wanted to hear you say it.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe because anytime anyone tries to say anything about Terry’s behavior, you damn break your neck rushing to his defense. Remember that argument we had back in April about you skipping meals?”

  “That had nothing to do with—”

  “That had everything to do with Terry. If you’re being honest with yourself tonight, then don’t be half-assed about it. He made comments about your weight so you stopped eating, when there was absolutely nothing wrong with you in the first place.”

  “I know,” Nicky muttered and hung his head. “Do you wanna know why he broke up with me?”

  Vic leaned forward close enough to brush a wrecked piece of Nicky’s hair back from his face. “Yeah, Nicky, I would.”

  “You remember the Wave Dunes Supercross, in Tacoma?”

  Vic frowned, thinking hard. “Wait. Yeah, it was the race where you got the sponsorship. But what does that have to do with you and Terry?”

  “It’s why he broke up with me.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “He claims I cut him off and stole the sponsorship from him. Vic, if I had seen him there I…”

  “You still would have taken the hole.”

  Nicky looked up at Vic, pain in his eyes. “That’s the shit part of it, Vic. I don’t know if I would have. As bad as I wanted to win, I knew how much it meant to Terry. If there was only room for one of us, I… I think I would have hesitated and let him have it. I already had five other wins; I could have afforded to come in second.”

  “Christ, Nicky! That’s crap. Sheer and utter crap! You earned that win. If you had given it to Terry you’d have been cheatin’ yourself.”

  “Yeah, ’cause winning that race and the sponsorship really means anything right now. I lost everything because of it. Terry, the sponsor, and the ability to race ever again. If I’d have let him win none of this would have happened.”

  “No, but what would have happened the next time there was only one line? Would you have kept giving Terry wins? If he couldn’t earn them on his own, then he didn’t deserve them. How long do you think it would have taken for you to resent him for what you were doing?”

  Nicky flipped over his cards. A full house. He’d beaten Vic again, but made no move to take the chips. “I know, Vic. I would have started hating him, or racing, either way. I guess it still wouldn’t have ended well, but—”

  “No buts.”

  “Okay, Vic,” Nicky said softly.

  “If Terry had loved you the way you loved him, then he would have been happy for you. He wouldn’t have broken things off with you and acted like an asshole.”

  “I guess.”

  “Nicky!” Vic exclaimed, kneeling in front of his friend so he could look Nicky in the eye. “You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

  Nicky’s eyes were watering when he lifted his head to look at Vic. “Didn’t I? Chris and Jason agreed with Terry that I did a shitty thing by gunning it and pulling into that hole in front of him, but I didn’t see that it was him coming up on the side of me; I swear I didn’t.”

  “I believe you,” Vic said gently. “I’ve seen you race. I know how focused you get. You’d have been aware of an approaching rider, but not specifically who it was, and Terry should have known that too. Just because he was jealous, it didn’t give him the right to blame you.”

  Vic watched a flush creep over Nicky’s pale face. Tears shimmered in Nicky’s eyes and slowly slid down his cheeks.

  “I just wish I understood why this had to happen to me?” Nicky said sadly. “What am I gonna do, Vic?”

  Vic hugged Nicky as his tears intensified. “First, you’ll heal. You can worry about the rest when you’re back on your feet.”

  Nicky cried himself to sleep against Vic’s shoulder, and Vic carefully laid him back on the bed and tucked him in. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing, having gotten Nicky to admit the truth about his and Terry’s relationship. He hoped good, so Nicky would finally get over what had happened between them and move on. If Gray was the rebound guy, then in time, maybe he could become the real thing.

  Chapter Eight

  The knocking on the door jarred Nicky out of a perfectly good daydream: the kind where he’d been paddling out to meet a wave, the sun hanging low on the horizon, turning the sea red.

  “Come in!” h
e yelled, hitting mute on the television and turning his attention toward the door.

  River shoved it open and slammed it closed a little too hard. His hands were shaking and his hair looked disheveled. As Nicky watched him pace and mutter and twitch, he noticed that River’s shirt was torn and there was bruising and blood on his hand.

  “What happened to you?”

  River whirled, shoving his fingers through his hair, messing it up more. “Fucking Dennis!”

  Nicky cocked his head, trying to keep track of River’s ever more frantic movements. “Your brother? What the hell did he do? And stop pacing around for fuck’s sake, you’re making me dizzy.”

  “Fuck! Sorry!” River brought a hand to his face and rubbed it. It seemed as if he finally noticed the blood because he started trying to wipe it on his jeans. Nicky maneuvered himself toward the cooler beside the bed, reached in, and pulled out a soda. No beer. He was on painkillers, which sucked.

  “Want one?” he asked, holding it out to River.

  River eyed the soda and shook his head. “Got anything stronger?”

  “I wish. Vic cleaned the place out. Didn’t want me to get determined enough to make it to the kitchen and try to sneak one. I’ve got water or juice if you’d prefer.”

  “Oh, man, orange juice without vodka? No thanks. I’ll just take the soda.”

  Nicky handed it to him, and River perched on the edge of a chair and drank it down.

  “So, you gonna tell me what Dennis did or are we gonna play twenty questions ’til I get bored and go back to watching court TV?”

  River glanced from the muted TV back to Nicky, shooting him a look like Nicky had just grown a second head. “I won’t even ask.”

  “Can only watch so many cartoons before even I get sick of them.”

  River finished his soda and set the can down, studying his hands before responding. “I guess.”

  “Hey,” Nicky prompted, concerned as he watched River pick at the torn flesh on his hands. “Talk to me, man. What happened with Dennis?”

  “Man, Nicky, it was fucked up. I went over there to take a look at that Challenger he’s had rusting in the back the last few years. I was thinking maybe I’d see if he wanted to sell it. The thing’s a classic. Fixed up, it would be awesome to take out to car shows. So we’re talking about it, having a beer, and his girlfriend comes out and asks if he’s got ten bucks. She forgot to pick up onions and potatoes when she was at the store. Well, first the douche starts yelling at her. Yelling for asking for ten bucks to fix his fuckin’ dinner! Then he hit her.”