Chasing Perfect (Fool's Gold #1)(53)
“I enjoy a good rescue.”
Her dark eyes stared into his. “You’re a really nice guy.”
He pressed his index finger to his mouth. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.”
That earned him another smile. “I think word has already gotten out.”
DEMONS CAME IN ALL shapes and sizes. Josh’s were in the form of twelve guys from the local high school. They ranged in age from fifteen to eighteen, mostly skinny and awkward-looking on the ground, but they could fly like the wind on bikes.
Coach Green, a tall, skinny guy about Josh’s age, practically danced in place. “This is the best,” he said, grinning. “I raced in college. Nothing like you did, of course. I didn’t have the raw ability. But man, I wanted to be just like you. I can’t tell you how excited we all are to have you working out with us.”
Josh swallowed against the tightness in his chest. It didn’t help. The worship in Coach Green’s voice was only making a crappy situation even more potentially disastrous. What the hell had he been thinking when he’d agreed to participate in the race? It wasn’t that he was going to get his ass kicked—it was that he was going to humiliate himself in front of the world. Everyone was going to know he was a sniveling, frightened coward. Talk about a shitty legacy.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a bike,” Josh lied. His last ride had been the previous night. But it had been what felt like fifteen lifetimes since he’d ridden with anyone else. Stood next to other riders. Heard the sounds, exchanged conversation, then focused on the race.
Even looking at the kids who kept glancing at him, he felt the bands lock around his chest. He couldn’t breathe, but that was the least of it. What killed him was the mind-numbing terror. Anywhere but here, he told himself. He’d rather stand in fire than go through this.
“The guys will go easy on you,” the coach joked.
Only it wasn’t a joke and no one knew, Josh though grimly.
Green called the guys over. They walked their bikes toward him, their young faces bright with anticipation. They introduced themselves. A couple shook hands with him.
He’d seen most of them around town. He recognized their faces. Now he was supposed to ride with them. “Josh is coming out of retirement for a charity race in a few weeks,” Coach Green said. “He’s going to be training with us until then.”
“Sweet!” one of the guys said.
“I’m old and out of shape,” Josh said. “Be gentle.”
The guys laughed.
Coach Green yelled for them to line up and start the warm up.
Josh moved behind the kids. He’d go in the back, he thought. Keep the other riders where he could see them. A few miles at an easy pace would be good.
A whistle blew. The riders pushed off and cycled away. Josh waited until they were at least a hundred yards ahead before starting himself. He focused on moving the bike forward, of warming up his muscles, of the familiar feel of what he did.
It had been two years since he’d ridden during the day. He’d forgotten how bright everything was, the colors of trees and buildings as they passed in a blur. There was a light wind and the temperature was in the sixties. Perfect, he thought.
The kids in front of him had picked up the pace, so he did, as well. Inside of him, something woke, stirring to life. A burning need to reach them and pass them. The desire to win.
The sensation surprised him. He would have thought humiliation would have crushed any competitive spirit he had left, but obviously not.
Without any kind of a plan, he pedaled harder and faster, easily closing the distance between him and the students. One of the guys noticed and yelled something. The pack sped up. Josh continued to gain, feeling the blood moving through his body, the rush when he realized all he was capable of, knew that he hadn’t lost everything.
“No way, Golden,” one of the kids yelled as he reached them. “You’re not beating us.”
They crowded together, around him. Moving close to trap him between them.
Their tactic was obvious and not especially skillful. He knew the maneuvers to outflank them. He didn’t even have to think about it—the movements were instinctive.
Only he couldn’t do it. The instructions flowed from his brain to his muscles, but somehow never arrived. Maybe it was the coldness seeping into his body. The chill that told him he was afraid. Maybe it was the memories flashing so quickly that he couldn’t see anything but Frank soaring through the air before falling to his death. Suddenly Josh couldn’t breathe. Cold sweat broke out everywhere. His muscles cramped painfully, forcing him to stop.
He didn’t remember moving, but suddenly he was beside his bike, hunched over, waiting for his heart rate to return to something close to normal. Nausea rose inside of him. He shook like a frightened, dripping dog.
When the kids started to turn, to come back and check on him, he waved them off. After he pointed to his bike, they nodded and waved, then continued their ride. They would assume he had a flat or something mechanical had gone wrong. With luck, they would never guess the truth.
As much as he wanted to compete, as strong and powerful as the drive was within him, he couldn’t do it. That part of him, the pieces that made him whole, were shattered beyond repair. None of the trophies sitting in boxes mattered. There wasn’t enough money in the world to make this right. He was a loser and a coward, and the hell of it was, he didn’t know how to make any of it better.