Ridley Holland has just lost the love of her life. She has no desire to return to the world of motocross, but she knows Teuvo would want her to continue. So she plays the part: an upcoming professional athlete with inevitable determination to domina...
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Ridley
"What do you think of Jacks?" Blakely asks.
Dyami and I exchange a glance, both weirded out by the abruptness of her question. We're at the Capital News Centre in Kelowna for our early morning workout session. Sweat beads at my hairline and drips down my temples. Although I've been on a regular exercise plan, I haven't pushed myself as hard as I did today for months. My mind is weary and my muscles are screaming. It feels pretty damn good, though.
We're sitting on the mats, winding down the workout session with some stretches. Spending time with my teammates has had its pros and cons today. We could laugh and crack jokes, and discuss some mundane topics tied with heavier ones. However, we're all feeling the effects of Teuvo's lack of presence. There are moments where awkward silence will kick in, causing the three of us to distance ourselves.
Dyami, who has his long black hair tied back in a braid, clears his throat. His deep brown skin glistens with sweat and his chest heaves. We were racing each other on the treadmill. "He's been fantastic. I think he's great with the technical shit and knows how to put that sleaze Martin in his place." He raises his eyebrows. "Did you hear the argument they had the other day? Jacks had him squirming."
My lips twist into a smile. Jacks had Martin's face turning beet-red by the end of the argument. I was waiting for him to stomp his feet like a child. Instead, he stormed away muttering incoherent shit. "Martin knows nothing. How he runs this franchise... Fuck it if I'll ever know. I like how defensive Jacks is. If Martin thinks he can get away with cutting our practice time to make a profit off of rentals, and have us still be at our best... He's mistaken. Every professional rider has something they need to improve on. Without time at the track, I won't be able to do that."
Dyami laughs, giving me a nudge with his elbow. "Martin's a fucking hypocrite, eh? He nags you about being a better rider, then thinks something like this is better for the franchise. You carry the franchise like Taylor Swift carries the music industry. Without you, this would be nothing."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Dy."
We both chuckle, turning our attention back to Blakely. She's sitting across from us, leaning over her stretched out legs. Her hands grip the bottoms of her shoes, and she pushes out a hefty breath, wrinkling her nose. "Don't you think he's a little pushy? Like, why does he care so much about me being late? At least I'm showing up."
I bite my tongue and stare down at the mat. It's a dark-blue and has moulded to my body like memory foam. The last thing I want to do is start an argument. Prior to the accident, I wouldn't be applying a filter. But I promised Jacks I would play my role as a teammate. Listening to Blakely's side of the story counts as a contribution. Just because my relationship with Jacks is playing out better now, doesn't mean hers is, too.
"We're supposed to show up on time, Blakely," I say, keeping my voice light. "Punctuality is important. But if you have things going on in the morning, Jacks should take that into account. Have you told him you have to drop your sister off at work in the morning?"
