Rick sat at his desk, twirling a pencil around. He wasn’t procrastinating. Absolutely not. He was…reliving his trip to Atlanta with Drew. Julia had to back out at the last minute. They’d driven down Friday, getting there just in time for dinner. Coop had told them that he’d see them Saturday morning at the track. He had to attend a party on Friday night with his sponsors. Guess with him in the top five, Coop was needed to schmooze.
There had been way more in attendance than Rick thought there would be. He knew how important NASCAR was but never really thought about bike races. Rick had watched Coop race that night on the street and he’d been impressed. But that was nothing compared to seeing Coop in his racing gear—tight pants and jersey? Yes, please and thank you. Watching Coop in the pit before he walked the track and his team took him over, until after the race, was stunning. The intensity that overtook Coop’s whole persona made Rick sit back and take notice. Rick had realized that motocross wasn’t the safest profession. Something in how Coop held himself and focused brought the danger to the forefront of Rick’s mind.
Was he cut out to watch his partner balance on a bike? Throwing himself and the bike over hills? And in the dirt and mud? Rick wasn’t sure he ever thought he’d be in this position. Having a partner hadn’t been in his plans. Jumping out of planes? Check. Rappelling from a helicopter? Bring it. But watching someone he loved put hi—wait! Love? Did he love Coop? Could he love Coop? Was Coop the type to wait while Rick deployed? Christ, maybe they needed to talk more.
“Still haven’t made up your mind?” Drew asked from the doorway. Drew stood in an old Orioles jersey and ripped sweats. Bare feet tapping to some rhythm only he could hear.
“Have you?” Rick shot back. He spun in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “What wussies we are. Can’t even decide what branch we want. We were supposed to decide in September, not April.”
“You know which you want. Don’t lie. Infantry has your heart and soul. I could tell when we went through Advanced Camp last summer. And I’m pretty sure that if you have your choice, you’d opt for Airborne or Air Assault.” Drew moved over to Rick’s bed and sat, dropping his head to his chest to stare at the floor.
Rick watched his best friend struggle. Should he say something? Say nothing? He knew that Drew was having some second thoughts, but he wasn’t sure about what.
“What’s going on with you? You’ve been a bit withdrawn. Even snapped at Dowd during PT yesterday.”
“Oh, Dowd deserved it. Jackass showed up late, didn’t have his gear, and tried to lie about it all. Moron needs to man up and stop his bullshit. He thought ROTC was an easy, all-tuition-paid solution that he wouldn’t have to put any effort into. Wrong, motherfucker. You’ve got to earn the respect of your soldiers, not just expect it because you’ve got a bar on your uniform. He needs—”
Rick jumped up and put his hands on Drew’s shoulders. Drew was about to lose it. “Whoa there, big fella. Dial it back.” Drew closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay, you ready to tell me what the real issue is here? Dowd has been a pain in the ass since he showed up in the fall. He won’t last past this semester. His grades suck and he’s got the ethics of a clump of dirt.”Oh wow, look at him thinking in terms of dirt.
Drew opened his eyes and Rick swore he saw tears. This could not be good. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I let everyone down with my branch choice? What if I don’t want to make it to twenty?” Drew whispered.
Opening his mouth to respond, Rick slammed it shut. How the fuck was he supposed to answer Drew? Rick stood there, thinking. He nodded his head and then pulled Drew up and out to the kitchen nook. They had a big whiteboard for brainstorming training exercises. A quick glance at what was scribbled in different colors told him that he could erase it. He pushed Drew into a chair and grabbed the eraser.
“Hey, what’s with the manhandling?” Drew groused as he moved to stand. “I’m just going to—”
“Sit your ass down and do some MDMP with me,” Rick commanded. Across the top, he wroteWhat does Drew want to do?“Okay, let’s start with the easy part. What branch do you want to go into? Off the top of your head, no thinking, no stressing over what your dad or uncles or brother want you to do. What do you want to do?”
“I want to work with dogs,” Drew said with no hesitation.
Drew had stunned Rick, again. “Ummm, best buddy of mine? Dog handlers aren’t officers. That’s an enlisted job. Dog outranks the handler…sound familiar?”
“You asked what I wanted to do from my gut. I want to work with dogs. Work with them in search and rescue, saving people.” Drew was completely serious.
“All right. Then let’s work that in the grand scheme of your time in the Army. MWD teams are part of the MPs, so there’s your branch.” Rick wrote that on the board. “Now that you’ve chosen your branch, let’s see what else we can plan out.”
Rick turned from the board and met Drew’s stunned gaze. “And yeah, I’m going Infantry. Get me another set of wings,” he said as he wiped his hand against his chest. “Need some more bling.”
Chapter Eight – Coop
The Orleans Arena in Vegas was packed. They played hockey and basketball here on any other night, but not tonight. The dirt was out, and the crowd was already riled up, more than ready for the opening ceremonies. But Rick wasn’t here yet.
Coop’s pit wasn’t much more than a couple of tables in front of a curtain and a mount for the bike, but it was enough to work on the bike. Other people had family and friends hovering around their pit, but Coop only had his mechanic, Kevin Haas, and his manager, Brett Bowers, for most of the season. They had been the team this year. Coop’s support. Well, Vick was around. He popped in here and there, but he couldn’t be counted on. That’s who he was, and Coop accepted it. It was fine. Except, now his body was practically vibrating with anticipation that had little to do with the upcoming races. No, it was all about Rick.
He'd texted Coop when they landed, when they picked up their luggage, when they had the rental car, and when they checked into the hotel. That hadn’t been that long ago, and Coop expected them to text again that they were in the stadium. Hopefully, before he had to go out for the opening show.
Brett put his big hand on Coop’s shoulder. “Relax. You’ve got this.”
Coop grunted. “I know. It’s not the race. I have someone coming.”
Kevin’s head popped up from the other side of the bike where he’d been working. “The boyfriend?”
“Yes…” Coop glared at him, daring the mechanic to give him shit about it.
Kevin wasn’t like that, nor was Brett. Or anyone on the Bandy Tires team. His sponsors were very progressive. In fact, theydidn’t give a shit about anything except winning races, making a name, and getting the fans behind him. Obviously, so they would buy Bandy Tires. Well, that was why they sponsored racers in the first place.
The announcer said some shit over the PA system and music started blaring. The crowd cheered. Coop took a long, deep breath. The night was starting. Where the fuck was Rick?
“Please rise for our nation’s colors…” That sentence from the announcer had more meaning to Coop now than ever. It represented more than the United States. It meant those who had fought and died for our freedom. It meant those signing up to do the same in the future. It meant Rick.
