“You absolutely have to nail this last course,” my manager Christopher says as I climb onto my dirt bike.

I take a deep breath to calm my excited nerves as I grip the throttle and squeeze it. Christopher is right. I fucked up the last landing in the semi-finals when my bike slipped in the mud, and if I want to win the Freestyle Motocross gold medal, I have to do something big.

Something only a lunatic would try.

Good thing I’m the right kind of crazy.

We’re at the EXXXtreme Motocross Championship, the biggest event in Freestyle Motocross, and this year I’m determined to go home with the medal. I finished second last year, and it’s still a sore spot with me. I’m not going to fail again.

Christopher is biting at his lips as he looks up at the clock. “They’re about to announce you,” he says, blinking rapidly.

I’m the one about to risk my life doing insane acrobatic stunts on a dirt bike in front of forty thousand people watching in the stadium and another million or so watching at home, and he’s the one who’s nervous.

“Relax, C,” I say as I slip on my helmet. “I got this. I’m going for it.”

“For what?” Christopher asks as his face goes pale. “Shane?”

I give him a playful grin as I lean back, completely relaxed. This is my moment. I’ve got this.

“The Kamikaze Twister. I’m going to do it.”

Christopher rubs his sweaty forehead as he closes his eyes, trying to calm his nerves with deep breaths. I’m his only client, so if this goes bad for me, it’s going to go bad for him too.

“Shane,” he says, sounding breathless. “You’ve never landed it once in practice.”

I grin as I look past him to the huge crowd of people in the motocross stadium. The flashes of cameras, the big screen, the energy of the crowd—it’s all making me that much more sure of myself. If I can do it anywhere, it’s going to be here in Seattle, the city I live in.

“This is not practice,” I say, feeling more confident than ever. “This is where dreams come true.”

“Shane,” he says as I slap down the visor on my helmet. I rev the throttle, drowning out his negative words with the rumbling sounds of my motor.

I know I can do this. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for my whole life. The moment where I test myself to see what I’m really capable of. If I pull it off, I’m a hero. If I don’t, I might be leaving here in a body bag.

“Make a big Seattle welcome for Shane Winters,” the announcer hollers through the stadium speakers. The crowd roars as I ride up to the starting line to complete the last tour of the night.

I’m competing in the Sexy Six. I have to perform six aerial tricks, and the rider with the best scores on style, level of trick difficulty, and crowd reactions wins.

I ride to the top of the ramp and grin as I look at my picture on the huge jumbo screen. I’m soaring through the air at last year’s competition in the middle of a Fender Grab, my signature move. Until now.

Next year’s competition will have a picture of me completing the Kamikaze Twister—the insane move that’s going to win me the gold medal.

The crowd is going nuts as I take one last breath and drop down the dirt ramp with every cell in my body on full red alert.

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins like a broken fire hydrant, but I’m in perfect control as I hit the first jump and complete my signature move, the Fender Grab. The crowd goes nuts as I land it easily and turn toward the second ramp.

I whip around the course, nailing each landing after soaring through the air and twisting my body like a pretzel.

I can hear the crowd over the pounding in my ears as I line up for the last ramp.

“Let’s do this,” I mutter to myself as I take off at full speed, about to complete my destiny.

I hit the ramp at a breakneck speed, flying up the steep incline as I grit my teeth. It’s the last jump. The time to lay it all on the line and win the gold.

My knuckles are burning as I crank the throttle to the max on my way up. The crowd explodes into camera flashes as my tires leave the ramp, and I soar through the air like a motherfucking fighter jet.

Time slows to a crawl.

I don’t have to think. My body just reacts.

Turn hips. Release handlebars. Rotate. Faster. Faster. Good. Kick feet up. Dip head. Grab the handleb—

Fuck!

I stretch my arm so far that it feels like it’s going to pop out of my shoulder, but only two of my fingertips graze the handlebars.

My bike dives to the ground as my body flies forward. A feeling of dread and panic fills me as the hard ground comes up insanely fast.

“Fuck!” I scream into my helmet through a clenched jaw.

The ground is racing at me. I close my eyes.

And then…

Nothing.