Bishop

Dean Toms is an arse. Unfortunately for me, he’s the arse who owns DeanStars, the team I ride for. When I say ride, that’s exactly what I mean. I just ride. I don’t train, I don’t develop new tricks, I just sit back and watch everyone else do the hard work before copying their shit and running with it.

I’ve always been blessed with the ability to pick things up easily or mimic someone else’s performance. My rivals say it shows a lack of respect to take advantage of that. I say I’m Bishop fucking Royal and I do what I want. If that means using my God-given talents and their hard work to make me look fucking awesome, then so be it. And look good I do, which leaves me confused as to why the aforementioned arsehole that is Dean Toms has called me into his office.

I saunter in and take a seat opposite his imposing oak desk with equally massive chair. I mean, who needs a chair that big anyway? If you ask me, I reckon somebody is trying to make up for the fact he’s lacking in other departments, if you get what I mean.

“Ah, Bishop,” he says once I’ve taken a seat. His weird-arse yellow eyes take me in and creep me the fuck out. Seriously, it’s like staring at an owl or something, the unblinking, unwavering eyes never leaving my face.

“Dean,” I say, my tone clipped.

“How have you been?” he asks.

“Fine, I guess.”

He nods. “Good, good. And your riding? How’s that going?”

“Same as usual.”

“Right.”

“Why? How do you think it’s going?” I ask.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says.

“Okay….”

“I think we both know that your riding isn’t hitting the heights we want it to.”

“Actually I’m pretty happy with it,” I say. “I’m placing in all the events I’m entered into, so I’d say that’s a good return.”

Dean’s usually smarmy smile turns unimpressed. “Just placing is okay with you?”

“A place is a place.”

He shakes his head. “Bishop, Bishop, Bishop, what am I going to do with you?”

“Make me a star like you promised,” I say, arching an eyebrow.

He chuckles and taps his desk once, twice, a third time, then stops. “No, I’m sorry, that just won’t work.”

“What won’t?”

“This relationship.”

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” Dean says. “I need stars to ride for me, actual bona fide stars, and I don’t think you are one.”

“First off,” I say, “you thought I was enough of a ‘star’”—I make air quotes—“to sign me in the first place. Two, you promised me you’d make my profile skyrocket. The fact that it’s the same as it’s always been is on you, not me.” I guess I shouldn’t be surprised Dean is taking the easy way out. He’s weak and doesn’t have the sticking power needed to truly make it in this industry. It’s not like it’s my fault either. He knew what he was getting with me. The fact it didn’t turn out the way he wanted, when he put in zero effort, can in no way be blamed on me. I’m just a rider. As the team owner, everything off the bike is his domain. This whole foray was a waste of time and in the end has gotten me nowhere.

“A man can only do so much,” he says, “and unfortunately I’m only human. I can’t perform miracles. Looking at you now, I’d say that’s what I’d need to get you anywhere near a level worthy of you staying on this team.”

“Why don’t you cut the bullshit and get to the point? If you’re canning me, can me. I’ve got better things to do and way more interesting people to waste my time on.”

He leans back in his chair and chuckles. “Where was that fighting spirit when you were riding? If you showed even a hint of that on the track, then I would’ve had something to work with.”

“Are we done here?” I ask. I need to get out of this pretentious office before I punch Dean in his smarmy face. While it’ll be a relief not to have to deal with his shit anymore, I can’t sit here for a second longer and listen to him drone on about how I could’ve been great. I get enough of that from my father, I don’t need that shit from someone I am no longer contractually obligated to listen to.

“It’s such a sham—”

Before the words are out of his mouth, I’m on my feet. “If that’s all you’ve got you can save it,” I tell him. “I get it, I’ve heard it all before, but as I’m no longer part of your ‘team,’ I don’t have to sit around and listen to your particular brand of bullshit. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but we both know that would be a lie.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face as I walk out, but I don’t give a shit. Fuck him and his promises. I was a fool to ever think Dean Toms gave a shit about me; the only thing he cares about is his bank balance.

If I had a therapist, I’m sure they’d say it’s just another example of me looking for love in all the wrong places. They’d say I was hoping Dean would fill the void my father left when he realised building his business empire was more satisfying than watching his son flounder, trying to grow up without a mother. I should’ve known this would be a flop, just like everything else I do.

In my pocket my phone rings. I manage to fish it out before it goes to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I just wanted to see how things went.” The voice, which sounds as good as rain on a tin roof in the middle of a drought, belongs to my best friend, flatmate, and object of my affection for over a decade, Jake Ellis.

I give him a wry chuckle. “Pretty fucking bad actually.” But hearing Jake’s voice helps me forget all the shit that just went down in Dean’s office. He’s always had that effect on me.

“Ah fuck, man, I’m sorry.”

Jake and I have been friends since we were in primary school, but it was only when we hit high school and everyone was trying to steal glimpses in the girls’ changing room after PE that I realised I wasn’t interested in joining them. No, I was more interested in sneaking peeks at my best friend. Not that I’ve ever told him, or anyone. I have an image to uphold, and even I’ve got to admit I do it pretty fucking well.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Dean is a douche anyway.”

“What happened?” he asks.

“Got the sack,” I reply.

“Shit. Are you okay?”

“Eh.” I shrug, even though he can’t see me.

“Do you want anything? Need anything?”

I’m not going to lie; the fact that Jake is so concerned for me, for my wellbeing makes my heart swell. He knows me so well and that right there is why there will never be anyone else for me. “I think I’m okay,” I reply.

“Still, it’s got to suck.”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t have a fucking clue.”

“When are you coming home?” he asks.

I look at my watch. “There’s a flight leaving in a couple of hours, I’ll be on that.”

“Good. Just come home, and we can work out your next move. You don’t have to have everything worked out right this second, okay?”

I nod. This, right here, is why I love Jake so much. He gets me. He’s the only one that ever has, and I know he’s the only person who ever will. “Thanks, Jakey, I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“You know I’ll be here,” he says before hanging up.

My professional future might be a clusterfuck right now, but as long as I have Jake, that’s all I’ll ever need.