Throttled (Wild Riders #1)(60)

“Reid,” I yelled. “Omigod.” I dropped to my knees beside him and took his hand in mine.

“Nora,” Reid said, but not from the ground where I expected to find him. “I’m right here.” He was instead on his knees on the other side of whoever was lying on the ground between us.

“Reid?” I said, hoping that I was dreaming that he was okay. I wanted to smile and ask him to pinch me, but that would have to wait. I was so grateful that Reid was okay and I desperately wanted to hug him and tell him that I loved him, but I held onto the rider’s hand instead. He was the one who was hurt. He was the one who needed someone to hold his hand. As soon as I saw blonde hair fall from the helmet Reid was gently pulling of his head, I knew it was Brett. I’d keep holding his hand as long as he needed me to. As Reid called 9-1-1, he grabbed Brett’s other hand. Both of us telling him that he was going to be okay, both of us trying to keep him from looking down at his leg.





“What do you mean the bike just seized up?” Hoyt asked when I called him from the hospital waiting room. I’d rode in the ambulance with Brett to the hospital and managed to get a few details from him before they drugged him with enough morphine that he couldn’t speak in full and coherent sentences. And, with good reason. The paramedics stabilized Brett’s knee and I could tell by his face that the damage was bad. Miss a season bad.

“He said that something went really wrong mid jump. It just shut off. No brakes, no throttle.” I paused, the memory of seeing my friend free falling was clear in my head. I couldn’t imagine that the image was going to be leaving anytime soon. “It just fell from the f*cking sky, Hoyt. It was terrible. His knee is really f*cked up.” I should have at least taken it for a couple laps to make sure everything was working correctly. “This is all my fault. I should have never let him ride my bike.”

“Reid, listen to me,” Hoyt said sternly. “This is not your fault,” Hoyt reiterated the same way Nora had when I was blaming myself for my best friend laying on the ground in pain as we waited for the rescue squad to show up. “You know it. I know it. And, I’m damn sure that Brett knows it.”

“I know.” Or at least I was trying to make myself believe that I did.

“It’s not like your bike is unreliable and Brett knows how to ride. Something’s up, dude, and I don’t like the sounds of it.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, sitting down in one of the waiting room chairs. Nora entered the waiting room with a bag full of clean clothes for me and a few things for Brett. She’d offered to meet us at the hospital so that I could go with him. I was grateful she was there because besides her, I didn’t have anyone else in Halstead to turn to. “You mean you think someone messed with the bike?”

Nora took a seat next to me and laced her fingers with mine. I took in a breath, feeling calmer with her by my side. She didn’t say a word as I continued my conversation, but I could see her concern for Brett as clearly as I could see the relief that it hadn’t been me under that helmet. Seeing her so upset hadn’t helped me keep my cool at all. I’d seen many of my friends—including Brett—get hurt on the track over the years, but this was worse than I had ever seen. I knew how long busted knee would take to heal, and Brett had to have surgery. He was looking at missing an entire season. A single season could be the difference between making it in the pros and being totally forgotten.

“Could be,” Hoyt suggested. “It’s not the first time someone in Halstead has f*cked with your bike.”

“If he did,” I seethed, thinking about the possibility that Beau could be responsible for all of this. “I’ll kill that motherf*cker, I swear to God.” Nora squeezed my hand and gave me a look to remind me that we were in a waiting room filled with people. “I’ll keep you updated,” I promised Hoyt before saying goodbye.

Before I said a word to Nora, I leaned over and kissed her cheek and pulled her into a hug. A hug I really needed. Call me a *, but feeling my girl in my arms was therapeutic. The way she fell into my arms and then smiled through tears when she looked up at me said she needed it just as much as I did.

“What did the doctors say?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands when we released our hold on each other. I kept my arm around her shoulders as we sat side by side, needing to feel her touch.

“He’s in surgery now. It was pretty bad. I’m guessing a few pins and screws, but who knows. They said they wouldn’t really know until they got in there.”

“I feel so bad for him,” she said. “It looked like he was in a lot of pain.”

“He wasn’t feeling anything by the time we got here,” I said, hoping to ease her mind. “He’s in good hands now, babe. I’m sure the doctors will take good care of him.” It wasn’t the pain or surgery that I was worried about, though. It was the long road to recovery that would take him off the circuit that had me concerned. Brett could handle pain. He could make it through surgery. Not being on a track for a year... that was a different story. I knew how I would have felt if someone took riding away from me.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?”

“My brother,” I answered. “He seems to think that the bike wouldn’t have just shut down the way it did. Like maybe someone messed with it.”