Mature content: strong language, violence, sexual themes, and drug use. Reader discretion advised. Everything is fictional!!
Tyler
I don't remember who threw the first punch.
I just remember the sound of plastic snapping, engines screaming to a halt, and then Aaron's shoulder slamming into my chest like he'd been waiting his whole damn life for it.
I hit the ground hard, dirt in my mouth, gravel scraping my palms. I was back on my feet before anyone could blink. I didn't race him for years just to stay down.
"You did that on purpose," I snarled, swinging blindly. My fist connected with his ribs. By now, we we're both used to end up like this.
He grunted but didn't go down. Of course he didn't. "You cut into my line, you dumb fuck," he shot back, shoving me so hard I stumbled again. "You think you own the track?"
"I would if you weren't riding like a drunk piece of shit."
That did it.
He lunged, fist cracking against my jaw. White exploded behind my eyes. I tasted blood and suddenly I couldn't hear the noise around us anymore, our best friends trying to stop us from doing something stupid since we had already been disqualified from the stupid race, pain was the only thing that ever shut my head up. I grabbed his shirt and drove my knee into his thigh, over and over, until he cursed loud enough for the whole fucking park to hear.
We crashed into the dirt together, rolling, elbows and fists and knees everywhere. Someone yelled our names. Someone else cheered. Typical.
I got on top of him for half a second before he bucked me off like he was throwing a rider. My back hit the ground, knocking the air out of me. He was on me instantly, forearm pressing into my throat, breath hot and furious. Fuck, he's strong. Always stronger than I expect.
"Stay the fuck down," he growled.
"Go to hell."
I shoved up, twisting, catching him across the face with my elbow. He swore, stumbled back, then kicked dirt straight into my eyes like a coward. I swung anyway. Missed. He didn't. I don't care if I go blind. I don't care if I break something. Just... fuck him.
His fist slammed into my shoulder, then my stomach. Hard. Precise. Like he'd done this before, which he did.
I staggered, rage burning hotter than the engines still ticking behind us. "You think you're better than me?" I yelled. "You always think you're better."
He wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand, eyes dark, cold. "I know I am."
That was it. No thinking. Just noise and heat and the old familiar fury crawling up my spine. I tackled him again, both of us crashing into a pile of tires near the edge of the track. Rubber and dirt everywhere. He punched my side. I punched his jaw. Again. Again. Until my knuckles screamed.
"Jesus Christ, Tyler!" Cole's voice cut through the chaos. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I didn't answer. I never did.
Mason was there too, grabbing Aaron from behind, trying to haul him off me. "Aaron, let it go! You're both disqualified already!"
Aaron fought him, snarling like a trapped animal.
"Get off me!"
Cole hooked his arm around my chest, yanking me back. I thrashed, trying to break free. "Let me go! He started it!"
"You always say that," Cole snapped, breath heavy, reeking of weed and sweat. "You're gonna get yourself banned, dumbass."
I strained against him anyway, lungs burning, vision still blurry from dirt and adrenaline. Aaron was doing the same on the other side, shouting over Mason's shoulder, veins standing out in his neck.
God, I hate him. We had one shot, one last race before the new season began, and he had to crash his stupid bike into mine, throwing us off the track, making me lose my temper—and that's how we ended up here, because of Aaron fucking Hawkins.
Cole and Mason finally shoved themselves between us, grabbing our arms, dragging us apart. I swung my fists a few more times, but it was useless. Mason had Aaron by the chest, Cole held me back like I was some fucking child.
"Enough! Jesus, you two are insane!" Cole yelled, sweat and dirt streaking his face.
Aaron snarled something back I didn't even hear, eyes blazing, veins standing out like he was gonna kill me if I so much as blinked. I spat blood on the ground and glared at him one last time. I hated that I still felt the adrenaline, the heat of him near me. Just hate. Pure fucking hate.
I stumbled toward my bike, hands still shaking, knuckles raw and bleeding. My ribs burned. My shoulder screamed with every move. My right eye was already swelling, turning that lovely shade of purple that screamed "you fucked up, kid." Every bruise a reminder. Every drop of blood a medal I didn't want.
The engine roared as I kick-started the bike, mud flying from the wheels. I didn't even look back. Cole and Mason were still arguing with Aaron, but I didn't give a damn. I just needed to get the fuck out.
Rolling up the driveway to my trailer, the neighborhood stretched out like it always had. Rusted trailers lined the cracked asphalt, weeds poking through every crack, bikes and random trash scattered everywhere. The chain-link fences leaned like they were about to collapse, and the sunset hit the corrugated metal just right, making the whole place glow golden and ugly at the same time. I'd lived here all my life, and somehow it never looked any better. It just was.
The trailer door creaked as I pushed it open, my boots leaving streaks of mud across the floor. I froze for a second. There she was—my mom, slumped on the couch, half-lidded eyes, a bottle dangling from her hand. I could smell the sharp tang of whatever she'd taken today.
"Where've you been?" she slurred, voice dragging like it was a fucking chore to speak.
I tightened my jaw and stepped back, hoping she wouldn't see the state I was in. Blood, bruises, dirt—I didn't want her eyes on me like that. I didn't want anyone seeing me like that.
"Race," I muttered, trying not to let the pain in my shoulder make me wince.
"Yeah, yeah," she waved a hand, not even looking. "Don't be late for dinner or whatever."
I ignored her. Couldn't. Couldn't deal with her, couldn't deal with anything but the ache in my body and the thought of the next steps. My body was screaming, my head was pounding, and I felt every bruise, every scrape, every drop of blood on my skin.
Closing the door to my room, I collapsed onto the bed, boots still on, helmet beside me. I stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, mind spinning with every stupid, reckless thing that had led me here. And it hit me—the bike wasn't gonna fix itself.
And, shit... I was going to have to take it to Aaron Hawkins' dad. The guy everyone in the neighborhood called the best mechanic around. And, fuck... knowing me, I was probably gonna have to talk to Aaron, too.
I groaned, pressing a hand to my face, feeling the heat from my swelling eye. This was just the beginning.