Jesse
Damn. That sucks.
The high pitched buzz of the motorcycle engines added to the pounding in my head. I climbed off my 450cc and handed it over to Jamie so he could give it one more check. He said he didn't like the way it was sounding; I couldn't tell any difference but I wasn't at my sharpest, today. Something was gnawing at me on the inside and it wasn't last night's burrito; not that I'd even had a burrito since I left the U.S.
I pulled off my helmet so I could hear the words Coach was yelling at me more clearly. But as soon as I removed it, I wished I hadn't. “What's wrong with you, today?” His face was scrunched up, like he wasn't very happy. “Were you drinking last night?” Yeah, he definitely wasn't happy.
Fuck.
“I only had one beer.” One beer, plus a few more energy drinks mixed with vodka.
“Sorry, Coach. It won't happen again.” I pushed on past where Coach was standing, not wanting to get into it with him. Last night wasn't the best night for me, seeing that Niki and I had an argument.
Shit.
It was bad. She didn't say a word this morning and she didn't ask for me to order our usual breakfast of bacon and eggs. We didn't order anything at all. When I left, she just lay there like she was still sleeping, though I'm not sure she really was.
Just then, my trailer mate, Johnny Marrow, saw me and came over to talk. “Hey, man, are you okay? I saw you with Niki last and it kind of looked like you two were arguing ... well, everybody saw it. Is everything okay between you two? It seemed like you were okay, later.”
“No biggie. I got a little wasted, that's all.”
He hedged a little, like he wanted to say something more, picked at the zipper on his jacket and then said, “You want to be careful not to slip up now. A lot of guys want your spot on the team. They want the number one plate on the front of their bike. If you mess up... you could lose it.”
God damn mother fuckers. My stomach clenched. I felt like a trapped animal. Why doesn't everyone just leave me the hell alone? I have to pay attention to Niki and yet devote myself to the team. The stress was tearing me apart inside. The love for Niki and my love for my sport were at odds right now. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't drink it away. I couldn't take it out in a bar fight. Guess I would just have to ignore it, push it down and pretend it doesn't exist.
“Yeah, I’m trying.” I hated the way my voice sounded when that came out. It sounded like I was a loser and I didn't like to sound weak.
“If you need my help, Jesse, I've got your back. Don't worry about Ice and Santini.” It must have been obvious to Johnny too because he said, “You know Coach loves you. You'd have to really mess up bad to get kicked off the team... but still, they'd do anything to get your spot.”
We both turned our heads in the direction of Coach's voice as he yelled to everyone, “Break is over. Back to practice.”
Johnny gave me a friendly slap on the back as he headed off to get his bike from his pit crew. I strode off in the opposite direction to get my own from Jamie. On the way to the mechanics’ work area, I had to pass by Ice and Santini's trailer. Assholes. Thoughts were turning over in my mind about how suspicious those two were when I heard voices, rising and falling in excitement, drifting out the open screen door of their trailer. I could only make out part of what they were saying, but it was more like a loud discussion than a heated argument.
All I heard was, “That's never going to work...” and then the voices dropped so low I couldn't hear anymore.
What's never going to work? Suspicious thoughts began flying through my mind. Those mother fuckers had better not be messing with my bike.
I picked up my pace and jogged over to my mechanic, Jamie. “Has Ice been near my bike?”
“No, why?”
“Start it up, let's hear how it sounds.”
Jamie's brow furrowed. He didn't understand. He was trustworthy, but he wasn't jaded enough to even imagine what those other fuckers might do.
Jamie obliged and started the engine for me.
“It sounds fine, but don't let any other mechanics touch it. Only you. I don't know who to trust, anymore. Just watch out for it, will you?”
He cut the engine. “Sure, man. You got it.” His answer came with a look of bewilderment, just as Coach approached us.
Scratching a pencil on a tablet of paper attached to his clipboard, Coach didn't even look up at me when he barked out, “Jesse, I want you and Santini up against each other.”
“Why? He's not even in the 450 division.”
“I'm just covering all the bases, Jesse. And don't throw a fit every time I make an executive decision.”
“But whose bike is he going to ride? Not mine, I don't want him touching any of mine.”
“Jesse.” His voice was short and curt. “I'll have him ride one of Ice's bikes.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Shut it, Jesse. Be on the starting line in fifteen minutes.”
Coach shoved his pencil behind his ear and stomped off.
*~*~*
Covered in mud that had been kicked up from the track, I throttled hard coming out of the turns. It had rained earlier in the morning and the turns were treacherous. I could handle it. I hoped Santini couldn't, that little fucker. No one was going to take my number one rank away from me. I took the lead using all my skills and my special affinity for wet tracks, along with my cunning and guile, as Santini and I battled it out, lap after lap. I pulled strong in the end and laid down my fastest lap of the day. Then a chaotic chain of events unfolded and I made one slight miscalculation. My bike went down on its side. I let go to set it free, and it continued sliding out from under me until it hit the rails of hay on the perimeter of the track and came to a sputtering stop. Instinctively, I tucked and rolled away from the bike and managed to avoid any serious injury, though I hit the ground pretty hard. In the final moments, Santini crossed the finish line, a virtual streak of colors as he flew over the finish marker.
Fuck. He won.
Coach, Jamie, and even Ice, came running over to see if I was injured and to help me up, but Coach told me to stay down until the doctor could examine me in case of a neck or spinal injury. The doctor came rushing up a few steps behind the others as he had to be summoned from his trailer.
“I'm okay, really, I'm fine. I can get up.”
“Just wait, Jesse.”
Once the doctor arrived and he gave the nod of approval to Coach, he launched into a barrage of words, launching them at me like bullets from a rapid fire machine gun.
“Are you fucking crazy? What the hell were you doing? You were taking too many risks. You could've ruined the bike.”
“Thanks, Coach.” I said sarcastically. “I love you, too.”
“You have to protect yourself. We need a winning season. Taking risks like that might win a race but you'll never win the World Championship if you are injured. Safety always come first. We can't win anything if you're laid up in a hospital with a broken back. I've had it up to here with you, Jesse.”
His face was practically turning purple and the veins were bulging on his forehead when he turned his back to me and stormed off. Coach was pissed.
This is so fucked up.
Why the hell is Coach blaming me? It was Santini's fault. He had to act like a big shot and...and...
Fuck!
It was my own fault. I was so threatened by that weasel Santini that I pushed too hard. And I wasn't on my best game today either, after last night. Coach was right. Too many risks would only jeopardize our chances of having a winning season and going on to the FIM World Championship race. Just like dominoes falling in a row, one thing affects the other and I had to get control of the beast within me—my inner rage—before it ruined everything.