Chapter 9
Jax
Bentley and I have been working out now for three weeks. It’s been good. It’s also been hell not to try and get in her pants, but it’s better this way. There’s also a novelty factor in just being friends with a chick. It’s amazing the things you can talk about when you take sex off the table. Maybe it’s Bentley, or maybe all girls are like this, but she’s really cool to talk to. She knows all kinds of things. It’s almost like she’s a dude, but with boobs. That’s not to say that when she bends over and I get a shot of that juicy, round arse of hers I don’t have to bite back a groan. Or when her boobs accidentally brush my arm I don’t have to close my eyes and will my dick not to jump to life in my shorts. If I didn’t know she was trying to help me, I’d think she was trying to kill me.
“So tell me about Bishop Royal,” she says as we’re working out one day.
“He’s an arse,” I say.
“And?”
“And that’s it.”
“I take it you guys don’t get along.” She stretches over one of those giant exercise balls.
“What gave it away?” I ask as I sit at one of the leg strengthening machines. Don’t worry, I’m only doing light weights. I’d rather be doing Bentley, but you know, baby steps.
“Oh, not much. Just the look of total hate coming from your eyes right now.”
I let the weights I’m supposed to be lifting slam down. “The guy’s a dick, all right? He thinks he’s god’s gift to BMX and he hates when I prove he’s not.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” she says, giving me a sly look.
“Hey, I have no problem admitting when I’ve been bettered; it happens. BMX is constantly evolving and when someone beats me with a new trick or a better version of the one I’m pulling, then I’m man enough to admit I’ve been beaten. The difference between me and Bishop fucking Royal is that I go back home and work on perfecting my runs and try to come up with even gnarlier tricks. He doesn’t. He sits at home on his fat arse, enjoying the praise he gets from the people he pays to be around him, and waits for the rest of us do the hard yards with our new tricks.”
“So you’re saying he copies you?” she asks.
“To a certain extent we all copy each other. There’s only so much we can do, so crossovers happen all the time. But when they do, we each put our own spin on the tricks. Bishop doesn’t. He never comes up with anything new, either.”
“But he won Big Air and Vert at the Extreme Games this time round.”
“I never said the guy wasn’t talented. He’s an incredible mimic. I’ve never seen anything like it. He can see a trick done a couple of times and it only takes him about half an hour to have it down. For the rest of us, it would take months.”
“So you’re jealous of that?”
“Sure. I’d love to have the ability to get things down so quickly.”
“But why hate him because of that?”
“I don’t hate him because he’s quick on the uptake. I hate the fact that in the entire time I’ve been on the Extreme Games tour, I’ve never seen him pull an original trick. Part of what makes, or made, me great was my innovation in coming up with new tricks. On any given day, most of us are out there trying to come up with new and exciting moves. It’s a lot of fucking hard work. A lot of blood, sweat, tears, and wear and tear on our bodies, but we love it so we put up with it. Hell, some of us even welcome that shit. It’s what makes it worth it in the end. But Bishop,” I stop and shake my head, “he doesn’t ride for that. He rides for the fame and the money and that’s it.”
“Because you’re such a shrinking violet yourself?” she asks.
“Hey, I take my place in the spotlight because I’ve earned it. If I just wanted fame, I could have it, but at least I’m doing something to warrant it, unlike that unimaginative fuck.” I get up, grab my towel and head over to grab a bottle of water.
“I’m sorry,” Bentley says when she catches up to me.
I shrug. “It’s nothing.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
I slam my water bottle down. “What? You don’t believe me?”
She turns so she’s facing me. “No, I don’t.”
“Why the fuck not?” I demand and cross my arms over my chest.
“Because of your reaction,” she says and mimics my movement.
“What reaction?” I ask, spreading my arms wide.
“The one you’re having right now.”
What the fuck? “This isn’t a reaction,” I tell her.
“Yeah okay, keep telling yourself that,” she says as she picks up her own water bottle and starts heading towards the locker room.
“So I take it we’re done for the day?” I ask her retreating back. In response, she flicks her hand over her shoulder, not even bothering to turn around. This right here is another reason I’m better off not getting involved with her. Bentley, whatever the hell her last name is, is one infuriating woman.
I’m still fuming about how Bentley’s and my session ended on the drive back to Mav’s. That woman might get me going in all the right ways, but she also drives me fucking insane. I stomp into the house and slump in the recliner I’ve come to claim as mine.
“What’s up your arse?” Mav asks as he comes out of his and Josh’s computer lair. Who would’ve known my big bro was a closet computer geek? But he loves it, and without it he wouldn’t have found Aubrey. If there’s one thing I know from watching Reed fall for Bria, it’s a couple in love. There’s no doubting Mav and Aubrey are in love, like, way in love. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them even if their PDA can get a little nauseating.
“Nothing, man, I’m good,” I say.
“Uh huh, sure. That face you’re making screams everything is just hunky-dory.”
“Hunky-dory? Who are you? Carol Brady?”
“Come on, Jax, I know something’s wrong, so why don’t you clue me in?” he asks.
I smirk. “Yeah, it sucks when your brother has something going on but doesn’t tell you about it, doesn’t it?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know it’s a low blow, but I can’t help myself.
Mav visibly recoils, like I slapped him. “Fuck you, Jax. I was only trying to help, but if you’re going to be a dick you can forget about it,” he says.
“Whatever,” I say as I get up, only stumbling slightly. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back whenever.”
Mav grunts as I walk towards the door. I don’t even know why I brought up all that stuff from when he left a year ago. If we’re talking truths here, I’m actually really fucking proud he had the balls to leave Booker and everything we have going on down there. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to do that. But it’s too late to take back what I said, so I guess I’m just going to have to apologise when I get back.
The area where Mav lives is pretty awesome. It’s not too developed and the houses are pretty spread out, so there’s a heap of space everywhere. It’s almost like living out in the bush, but the Coast and all its glitzy lights are only half an hour away. Taking into account all of the traffic on the roads, that’s a pretty decent effort.
I’ve been walking for about fifteen minutes, just bumbling along, when a mewing sound from my left catches my attention. I stop and listen again, trying to get a better idea where it’s coming from. I hear it again and take a step, then another, before I come across a tiny kitten, hidden in the bushes. I remember passing a bit of roadkill on the road, and can only assume that was its mum.
“Hey, little dude,” I say as I reach for it. It’s tiny, with blue eyes almost too big for its cute, fuzzy face. It’s tabby, a mixture of grey, black, and white, with white paws. “What are you doing out here, buddy?” I ask. It mews in reply. “Yeah, I thought so. Was that your mummy on the road?” It mews again, and the sound goes straight to my heart. I can hear my brothers now: Jax Ryan, taken down by a tiny ball of fluff. “Come on,” I say, and manage to get my shirt off so I can bundle it up. “Let’s get you home, okay?” Seemingly satisfied with that, the kitten promptly falls asleep.
“Hey,” I say as I walk into the house and spot Mav in the kitchen, “do we have anything we can feed a cat?”
“Why yes, Jax, I do accept your apology for being a dick,” Mav says, ignoring me.
“Pfft, you know I didn’t mean it. Besides, I’m always a dick, have been for twenty years now. I figured you’re used to it.”
He nods. “There is that.”
“Good, now that’s all settled, do we have anything we can feed to a cat?” I ask.
“A cat? Why would we need to feed a cat? And why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“Afraid I’ll make you look bad in front of your lady?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows.
“Hardly,” Mav replies, lifting his own shirt to show me his abs of steel. Sometimes, just sometimes, it sucks to ride a BMX bike. We can’t carry as much bulk as the FMX guys, so in comparison we look a little weedier, but more trim. “So why no shirt?”
“Because the cat I found is sleeping in it.” I motion to the sleeping floof in my arms.
“Where the fuck did you find a cat?” Mav asks.
“On the side of the road.”
“Jax,” he sighs.
“What? I saw some roadkill so I’m pretty sure that was its mum. Just look at it, Mav, so fluffy and tiny.” I offer him the cat wrapped in my shirt. He looks, and shakes his head. “Can I keep it?” I ask, hopefully. Not that it matters if he says no, me and my dude Buttons here are bonded for life.
“Are you going to look after it?” he asks.
“Course, I’ll clean its kitty litter tray and everything,” I promise.
“Why do I feel like Pop in this scenario?”
“Practice for when you and sis have kids. So can I keep him, Dad?” I ask, “Please?”
He takes another look at the sleeping kitten. “Ugh, fine, but it’s your responsibility.”
“Yes!” I crow. “You’re the best big bro.” I grab him around the neck and smack a kiss on his cheek.
“Ugh, gross, get off me,” he says, pushing me away. There’s a smile on his face though, so I know he loved it. “You better take it to a vet and get it checked out,” he says.
“Huh, that’s not a bad idea,” I say, looking around.
“Not here, you idiot,” Mav says. “There’s a vet in town. Hang on, I’ve got a flyer here somewhere.” He rummages through a pile of junk he’s accumulated on the kitchen bench. “Here we go.” He hands it over to me.
Somewhat skilfully, considering my recently broken collarbone and the sleeping kitten in my arms, I manage to get my phone out of my pocket and give them a call. They say they can fit us in in forty-five minutes. I grab another shirt from the floordrobe in my bedroom before carefully making a nest for my dude Buttons on the front seat of Mav’s car.
When we get to the vet, I take the nesting Buttons inside and am met with a hulking mass of pit bull, which I’m sure is also half horse. I slam up against the glass window, crushing Buttons to my chest as I try to stay as far away from the canine goliath as possible. The dog is straining at its leash, trying desperately to get at us.
“Hey, excuse me,” I say, a slight touch of hysteria to my voice, “but is there somewhere I can go to get away from goliath here? I think he wants to eat my cat for dinner.” Both his owner and the girl behind the desk look unconcerned about the imminent threat my dude Buttons is under. “Seriously,” I say as goliath lunges for me again, “he’s going to eat my cat!” I look at the girl behind the desk and appeal directly to her. “You work at a vet clinic, doesn’t that mean you like animals?” When she doesn’t say anything, I change tack. “Fine, you don’t give a shit about animals, but do you care about the mess you’ll have to clean up if you don’t get my dude here out from underneath his nose?” I gesture to the dog that now has drool coming out of its mouth. I’m just about to start yelling when a door opens and Bentley walks out.
“Jax?” she asks, confused.
“Yeah hi, do you work here? ’Cause this dog/horse cross-breed is about to eat my cat, and no one is giving a shit.”
She laughs, a sound I haven’t heard before but one I won’t forget, before stepping back into the room she just came out of and gesturing me in. I skirt around goliath, Buttons held tightly to my chest, and shoot dirty looks at his owner and the girl behind the desk. I shut the door behind me and drag the only chair in the room underneath the handle. Bentley chuckles again, and when I turn to face her, I see she has an amused look on her face.
“What?”