Page 165 of Shade
“Get the fuck out of my way. You work for me, remember? So move if you want to keep your job.”
I move.
I cry.
A throat-clenching feeling stirs inside me. Gasping at the tightness in my chest, I stand and watch him ride away, the visions of the tears rolling down his cheeks a memory I will never forget.
Life just isn’t fair. Sometimes. Always. Never. Whatever at this point.
People come into our lives, then they leave. They don’t show up. They leave before you’re born. They take their own life. They run away to Vegas with their newest boyfriend.
Or maybe they stay and dirty up your life and wrinkle all the pages in the story book life you thought you’d have. They write words and make you believe them because they’re so beautiful you can’t help but trust them and their intentions.
And then they rip the fucking pages right out of the books, pour lighter fluid on them, wad them up and burn the motherfuckers to ash.
That’sexactlyhow I feel about my current situation. Take a look at it. I’m the girl standing in the shoot, my view of Shade slowly fading, watching my life go up in a giant ball of flames because I hadn’t told him the truth as to why I was in his life.
Tiller stands beside me, his brow pulled together, his hair wild and sticking straight up, helmet in hand having just come off his own run. “Goddamn it. Why’d you let him go out there? You know he’s going for the triple tonight. You should have fucking stopped him, Scarlet.”
Me? I should have stopped him? But then his words hit me.Triple. Shade’s going for the triple backflip.
“No!” I scream, horrified, wanting to punch Tiller in the goddamn face. I went to him three hours ago and begged him to talk to Shade. The selfish bastard told me no. Flat out fucking no. “I didn’tlethim go. He told me to move and who said he was going for the triple?”
Tiller shakes his head, but I can see an emotion in his eyes, one that says he’s concerned. And then he points to the far ramp that had been pushed back earlier in the night. “He had them push the ramp back.”
Goddamn it. I knew it. I fucking knew Ishouldn’thave let him go. He’s practiced the triple but hadn’t without the foam pit that I knew of. He hadn’t landed it on dirt yet. Hard, unforgiving dirt.
I want to run out there, throw myself in front of the ramp and beg him not to do it, but how can I? I’m not going to stop him, not in his current mental state.
I look over my shoulder to the pits and the commotion of officials and riders. “Where’s Jaime?”
Tiller doesn’t move his eyes from where Shade is at the opposite end of the arena setting up for the triple. He’s in the tunnel now. “Reece and the Red Bull officials are dealing with him. He’s been disqualified.”
“And they didn’t disqualifyhim?” I motion to Shade.
Tiller shifts his weight nervously. “No.” Then nods to Shade. “He can’t land it. He’sneverlanded the triple.”
I know it. I do. Do you? Is your heart in your throat? A painful beat, a reminder things don’t always turn out the way they should? Do you have that nervous anticipation in your body humming through you?
Shade started that fight with Jaime, and I know if the officials had their way, Shade wouldn’t be on the course. It’s hard to say if this run is even going to qualify, but it doesn’t stop Shade, and it certainly doesn’t stop the fifty thousand fans in their feet cheering him on.
What it stops is my heart. I can’t help but feel responsible for this.
I hear the scream of his bike first, each shift, and I hold my breath when I see his bike hit the ramp and leave it the very next second. His bike soars through the air, his body strained, pulling hard to roll into the first flip, then the second, and the third, but that’s as far as he gets when he lands, head first into the dirt.
Did you see it? Did your heart stop? Is your heart pounding with anticipation, throat tightening, your mouth dry?
Do you cover your mouth, a silent scream held back because sound isn't even possible?
The crash is quiet, metal hitting dirt with a thud and the dead silence of the crowd that follows.
I don’t breathe.
I can’t.
I won’t until I know he can.
TILLER IS THE first one to him. Then me. Then Roan, officials, medics, about twenty people surrounding him as he lies in a prone position in the dirt, limp, lifeless. I go into immediate hysterics when I see the blood pouring from his face.
