Page 47

I ride up to the top of the roll-in, the city lights of Santa Monica visible. Closing my eyes, drowning in thoughts of purple, I take a deep breath then roll down the ramp, revving the bike as they announce me. “Crowd favorite,The Wild Cat, Tiller Sawyer up next.”
D12’s “Purple Pills” blare through the course. Planned by me? Yup.
I do a couple of bike hops, front wheelies, flip the judges off and right from the gate, I have the crowd on its feet waiting in anticipation for what the “Wild Cat” has planned and knowing it’s nothing choreographed.
I start by flipping the biggest gap on the course. I do a showcase of flips, racing around the track, trying to excite the crowd for my last trick. I hit the ramp perfectly and initiate the turn over my left shoulder while forcing my front wheel to stay down, level with the back wheel. I spin 360 degrees. . . land. Then I go for a superman seat-grab backflip. My left shoulder is weak. I’ve dislocated it so many times and shattered it once. That’s when it decides to give out. I miss the grab and then lights out. I don’t remember anything after that.
Well, I kind of do. I lie on the ground curling into myself for a few minutes. I land on my shoulder, I think, with a face full of dirt. Rolling around, I try to catch my breath and see if I can move.
Then, the adrenaline hits me, and I jump up and stand there, high-fiving the cameraman.
“What happened on that one?” the ESPN reporter asks me, looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“What? I crashed?” I ask, laughing and looking for my helmet. I don’t remember taking it off, but it’s by my bike some twenty feet away. “Was it bad? What trick was I doing? The 360?” I must look like an idiot because he stares at me. Blinking.
“No,” he says, shifting his weight in confusion. “You crashed on the superman flip.” Right. I knew that. . . didn’t I? More than likely I’d lost consciousness but at this point, it’s hazy. “What happened?”
I stare at him for a few seconds, Shade and Ricky approaching behind him along with the EMTs. I run my hand through my hair. “Guess I crashed then.”
But then I attempt to lift my shoulder, and immediately fall over in pain. By the way, it’s dislocated and if you’ve ever dislocated your shoulder, you know the pain I’m talking about. It’s fucking unbearable.
Picked up off the ground, I’m escorted off the course on a 4-wheeler, my arm in a sling.
Rod catches me in the medic trailer. “You did that on purpose!”
“Did not.” I’m pissed, because while I planned to, I actually didn’t do that on purpose.
Willa pushes Rod out. “Now’s not the time for this.”
The real highlight of the injury, not the drugs surprisingly, is when Amberly rushes to the medic trailer. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”
Fuck. Yeah.
And then I wonder, if this grabs her attention, what else can I get out of her while I’m injured? “No.” I wink, grinning like a doped-up fool. I’m being given Demerol by this point in an IV. “Wanna play doctor?” And then, and I’m not sure why, but I start to unbutton my riding pants with my right hand. The only one that’s free. “I’ll show you mine if you promise to show me yours.”
She frowns, and I realize who’s at her feet. Shit. River.
River steps up on a stool, a can of orange soda in one hand and a sucker hanging from her mouth. “What you do? You have an owie?”
It’s the first time she’s ever talked to me. I smile, kind of wanting to hug the barely three-foot-tall toddler. I don’t know why, maybe because she’s never spoken to me before and she’s looking at me. And she has green highlights in her hair.
I sit up, swinging my legs around the side of the table and stare down at her. “I like your hair.”
River’s eyes brighten. They look like milk chocolate kisses with gold and emerald swirls. They’re the prettiest fuckin’ things I’ve ever seen.
“I like your hair,” she adds, and reaches up to touch it. She giggles and retracts her hand like I shocked her. “It poky.” Then she sits next to me and offers me a sucker. The one in her pocket. “Here. Take it.”
I do. “Will it make me feel better?”
She shrugs. “I no know.”
I laugh. She’s so fuckin’ adorable. My eyes drift to Amberly and I wish they hadn’t. She’s staring at me like I’ve just made every dream of hers come true. And you know it’s going to turn to shit, don’t you?
Willa notices too. Her brows draw together, and she hands Berlin to Ricky, who just walked in with Shade to check on me. They talk amongst themselves. I don’t listen. I enjoy a sucker with a girl.
Doug appears next, with an ESPN official and of course, Rod again. His eyes move from Willa, to me, then his daughter and granddaughter. “What are you doing in here?”
Amberly jerks back, her eyes widen with surprise. “I uh. . . .” She doesn’t have an answer for him, at least not one he’s going to be okay with. I was warned to stay away from the Johnson daughters when I was fifteen. Clearly, I didn’t listen but at the time, Doug didn’t know I’d already finger fucked his youngest daughter two weeks before the warning came.