Screams erupt all around me as my boyfriend makes his way over. Trip shakes his head with a big grin on his face when he catches me staring at him. His black t-shirt clings to his chiseled chest and shows off the definition in his toned body. The tattoos covering his arms may give the impression of bad-boy, but I know now that there’s nothing but a big softy hiding behind that filthy mouth.
Trip twists the baseball cap on his head backwards and bends down to kiss my cheek. “Hey, beautiful. How are you doing? Do you need me to help you?”
I shake my head. “The line will take three times as long if you sit here with me. People will line up to see you rather than register. So as much as I would like to take you up on that, I’m going to have to pass.”
A random female fan yells, “WE LOVE YOU, TRIP!” from the back of the crowd somewhere.
I give him an I-told-you-so look and he laughs. “Good point. I’ll send Max over to help you out.”
I smile. “Good idea.”
He kisses my lips. “I’ll see you in a bit. I’m going to head over to the hotel and catch up with the guys. Tyke texted me a few minutes ago and told me Noel and Riff just made it in with their families.”
“I’m nervous about meeting them,” I admit.
He touches my cheek. “They’re going to love you.”
The crowd starts chanting, “Black Falcon. Black Falcon. Black Falcon.” The noise is deafening.
“Is it like this for you all the time?” I ask as I shove a finger in my ear.
He nods. “Always. I’ve got to go, before they jump over this table.”
“Go!” I shout to him over the crowd.
I can see he’s reluctant to leave me, but we both know there’s no way in hell he can stay out here and help. I push his arm and shoo him away until he finally turns and pushes his way back through the crowd.
I purse my lips and let out a long breath. This is some crazy life I’ve gotten myself mixed up in, but being with Trip is worth all the craziness.
The rest of the day goes on without a hitch. The riders made it through qualifying runs, and moved into the quarterfinals. This event is going better than expected. There are even a few scouts out there checking out the riders in this open class event.
After all the bikes clear out, and there’s nothing but chatter from the campers, I breathe a sigh of relief.
We did it.
“Checking out your success?” Max asks next to me.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Yeah. It was pretty great.”
“Agreed,” he says while digging a small scrap of paper out of his pocket. He hands it to me. “Check it out.”
I snatch the paper from his hand as he waves it in front of my face. “What is this?”
He chuckles. “Open it and see.”
I unfold the paper, and a very male script is scrolled onto the paper asking Max to call him and then listing a phone number.
My eyes widen. “You met someone?”
Max grins. “I did. He’s nice…and hot. I’m excited.”
I laugh and hand the paper back to him while he practically glows. “I’m happy for you, Max. Everything is falling into place for you.”
“And for you,” he adds. “Trip and you are great together. I’m glad you ditched the asshole. Trip is so much better for you.”
“He is. I love him so much.” I give him a sad smile, not knowing if I can really ever forgive myself for not seeing the signs for how Jackson treated him for so long, but Max finally being in a good place is a start.
“I checked the county jail’s website. Jackson hasn’t made bail yet, but I’m sure he will. One of these days he’s going to land himself in prison. I can’t wait until we have our day in court and tell the world what a rotten bastard he is,” Max says.
I take his hand in mine. “And I’ll be right by your side.”
He smiles. “Thank you, Holl. I’m glad I have a best friend like you.”
A text message chimes in on my phone.
Trip: I’m waiting at your house for you. I’m excited you’re meeting my friends.
Rock the Beginning
(Black Falcon Prequel, #0.5)
Chapter 1
Freshman year…
LANE
So this is it. Freshman year.
I stand in the pristine hallway of Cedar Creek High School next to my best friend Cassandra Lutz as we survey the same faces we see year after year. Nothing in this town ever changes. I was hoping that I would be wowed in high school—dramatically swept off my feet on my first day by a dashing upper-classmen, living the dream of going to the prom as a freshman. Well, at least it’s a big dream of mine.
But sadly, I’m disappointed yet again.
I sigh heavily and lean my back against the red locker and squeeze my books tighter against my chest. I can’t wait to get out of here and run off to a big city where I can make something of myself. I’ve always thought a job in advertising sounded fun. Maybe I’ll try that someday.
“Just once I’d love to have some fresh meat in this place,” Cassandra says pulling her brown hair into a loose bun on the top of her head. “I hate knowing everything about these guys. There’s no mystery. None of them do anything surprising.”
I nod in total agreement. “Where are all the guys I read about in books—the ones that know exactly what to say? The first day of school is practically over and nothing remotely exciting has happened yet.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, a crash against the lockers a few feet to my right draws my attention. I suddenly feel the urge to take back the last thing I said. This is not exactly the kind of excitement I was hoping for.
All the kids in the hallway stop dead in their tracks in unison and stare at the scene playing out before us like a bad teen sitcom. Roger Robertson, the guy we all know as the school bully, grips Wendell McFarland, a kid in my grade, by the collar of his shirt. Roger’s large arms twist as he repositions his wrists in order to get a better grip, while he wears a sickening smile on his red, pimple-covered face. Roger isn’t the kind of guy you want to mess with. His temper is about as red-hot as the flaming color of his hair and we all know he’s been held back to the freshman level three times now. If Roger walks down the hallway, you get out of his way or duck for cover. His reputation of assholeism precedes him.
I instantly feel sorry for Wendell. His tiny, pencil-like frame is no match for the likes of Roger. “Give it up, you fucking pussy.” I flinch as Roger yanks Wendell forward and slams him back even harder. “Don’t make me tell you again. I know your parents are loaded. Cough up the dough.”
Wendell gasps for air as Roger shoves his knuckles into his throat. “I don’t have any money.”
Another slam and Wendell’s glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. “Cough it up you little shit stain.”
My mouth gapes open and my eyes grow wide. It’s painfully hard to watch. Someone has to stop this.
I glance around. Several of my classmates stand frozen. No one is making a move to stop this outright appalling display of human behavior. This makes me sick. What’s wrong with these people? A desperate need to make this stop fills me.
Before I even realize what I’m doing I take a couple quick steps and open my mouth. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”
It’s like a movie when a hush falls over the crowd. I know this isn’t the smartest move, but I just can’t stand by and do nothing. And, okay, I know the odds of me being able to stop Roger physically are about as good as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, but I can’t idly sit by. I wasn’t raised that way.