Page 1 of Theo (Stone Brothers #6)
ONE
THEO
"Y ou've got this, buddy." Dad gave me a short, confident pat on the back.
"Just push this morning's crash out of your head.
" He handed me the bike helmet. I tried to mirror his confidence with a short nod, but the gash on my right shin was working hard to steal that confidence.
My morning practice run had been going great.
I was fucking flying down the course, one of the gnarliest courses I'd ever raced on.
I took a jump and flew a good fifty feet and landed it solidly.
Just a hundred yards from the end of the course, I met up with the wicked hairpin turn that launched instantly into a jump from one smooth boulder down to another rock twenty feet below.
I dropped through that obstacle smoothly and had the finish line in my sights.
I lost my concentration, hit a sharp edge and flew off the bike.
Skill, strength and guts were what got you down the course in downhill mountain biking, but if you let your mind wander, even for a second, you were toast. And I was fucking toast after my brain fart.
Twisted my bike up good and my body wasn't feeling all that great either.
For the first hour, Dad and Jules cleaned the gash that wouldn't stop bleeding.
The on-site medic checked me from head to toe and said I was cleared to race, but he also advised against it since every fucking part of my body was sore.
The regional championship was a big deal, and I was in good shape to take a top medal.
A win at regionals meant more sponsorships and more money.
I'd been working construction for my Uncle Colt and occasionally on my dad's boat, but bikes and racing—that was where my heart stayed. I fucking loved it.
"Wait, don't put on the helmet yet," Jules said. "Now give me that famous Theo Stone smile."
I flashed her a big fake grin.
Jules lowered her phone and tilted her head.
"Really? That's the face you want me to post on social media?
You look like a creepy villain." Jules always came along on race day to take pictures for social media.
It was something she was good at, and she'd insisted a big social media presence would get me more sponsors.
She was right. As soon as she began taking photos and videos, I started getting contacted by some big companies, athletic wear, mountain bike brands, energy drinks.
Even nabbed about a half dozen marriage proposals.
She lifted her phone again. "Now give me a nice smile or I will post that last potential serial killer shot."
"Hey, Stone, how you doing after that tumble?
Good for you getting back on the horse ," Rafe said cockily and rightly so.
He was already on top with his incredible ride, and he was the one to beat.
Raphael Brett was always my biggest challenger out on the mountain.
I always managed to come in just a hundredth of a second behind his win, and it was pretty damn annoying, like the man himself.
Couldn't stand the asshole. His jersey was plastered with sponsorships all because of that hundredth of a fucking second.
I was about to tell him to fuck off, but Jules stepped in for me. "Uh, hello, I'm taking a photo here. Could you get your big fucking head out of the way, Rafe?"
Rafe turned around. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite trackside angel. Hey, Jules, one of these days, baby?—"
Jules smiled at him encouragingly, but I knew my cousin too well. "Yes, of course, one of these days, Rafe."
"Yeah?" he asked.
Jules laughed. "Oh wow. Good thing you can ride a bike."
Rafe didn't understand the comment, but he understood the look on her face.
He was a great rider. I was sure that was mostly because his head was so empty, he never had those disastrous thoughts that veered into his concentration.
He'd already taken his ride, and he'd pulled in a fucking fast time of 3:43.
Just a few years back, coming in close to four minutes was earth-shattering.
It meant you were at the top of your game, but as bikes improved and training got more intense, coming in at over four minutes put you at the back of the heap.
Jules waved Rafe away curtly.
Rafe glanced back at me. "Careful of those invisible gremlins out there on the trail. They sure took you out this morning." His boots kicked up dust as he walked away.
"They want you at the starting gate," Cormac said. He handed me a bottle of water. I shook my head.
"Don't need that. Just need a new shin." The gash had been deep enough that the medic advised stitches. For now, there were a dozen bandages holding it together. I was sure the race would open those bandages right up.
My brother looked at me. "Hey, no pressure, but Rafe had a great fucking time.
And since your practice run ended in a wipeout, there is no telling how fast you were coming down that course this morning.
I mean, the early numbers were fucking awesome.
Dad and I thought you'd be nailing something around 3:40 but then …
" Cormac pulled his sunglasses down over his face. "Guess I don't need to remind you."
"Mac, I'm trying to take pictures." Jules waved her arm in aggravation.
Cormac spun around, stuck out his hip and gave her a sweet little head tilt. "Take all you want. I know my face will bring in thousands of likes."
"Never mind." Jules huffed and walked away.
Cormac spun around, and I put up a gloved hand to stop him from saying anything else. "Fuck off, Mac. Don't need any of your pep talk." I headed over to the starting gate.
"Next up, rider 12, Theo Stone." The announcer's voice echoed off the surrounding rocks and rolled down the trail.
Spectators were always good at finding shady crevices to stand in to watch the race.
Most of them liked to gather at the end of big jumps.
That was where most of the wipeouts happened, and as much as the fans liked to cheer on a great ride, they also didn't mind the occasional crash to liven things up.
Dad reached me at the gate. He didn't say a word.
His presence was just one of those fortifying things he did before the start of a race.
I pulled on my helmet and wrapped my fingers around the grips.
The announcer was reminding the crowd about my earlier crash.
I tuned him out and got into my zone. My whole body filled with adrenaline like a thoroughbred waiting for the gate to drop.
And just like a pumped-up race horse I was ready to torpedo off the start.
I blocked out everything and focused only on the steep trail in front of me. This was where it all came to a head. The training, the bumps and bruises, the sweat and constant muscle aches, all of it for these next few minutes.
I shot down the starting hill. The people, the blurring landscape all disappeared, and it was just me, the bike under me and the rough fucking trail.
I sailed through the first jump and landed it perfectly.
I heard a few cheers somewhere in that blank world around me.
I tucked the tire between rocks and flipped my back tire out for a tight turn.
Another jump with a textbook landing. The first hairpin turn was a breeze.
The other riders had softened some of the ground, but I swept through it without slowing down.
The crazy drop gave me a rush, and I was feeling fucking solid.
The finish line was in sight. I pedaled through the flat spot and traversed the rock garden without a pause.
I rode past the place where I'd left a chunk of skin and pedaled hard as I crossed the finish.
I swept the bike around to stop from crashing through the barrier and the excited spectators.
I glanced around for Dad and found him waving his hat in the air. I glanced up at the time clock, and my time popped up—3:39. I'd beaten Rafe's time. I yanked off my helmet. The crowd cheered and clapped as Dad, Cormac and Jules rushed out to greet me.
"Fuck yeah, Theo. You nailed it," Dad said as he hugged me.
Jules stepped back to take some pictures.
Cormac was wearing a crooked grin. "Well, fuck me, you did it. By the way, you're bleeding."
I'd already felt the warm liquid trickling down my leg. It was staining my pants.
"I want one with the three of you," Jules said. "I promised Aunt Brit." I was pumped, so it was hard to stand still for a photo, but Mom would be pissed if she didn't get a flurry of them.
Jules took a few shots and then glanced at her phone. "I'm getting pretty damn good at this. Looks great."
"What else did you expect with the three of us in the shot?" Dad quipped. "Let's get you back to the trailer for some medical attention. You can't go on the podium with blood dripping down your boots."