I head to bed early and decide to get some extra rest ready for the race tomorrow, but I can’t sleep. I hear laughter, all be it faint. I can still hear it, so I peer out of the window. Beside the van, they have a small fire pit, and a few of the other racers are there with Ryder, his boyfriend, and his Dad, sitting around drinking beers. I wasn’t invited clearly.
I watch them for a few hours, and slowly, they start to disperse. When only Ryder and his boyfriend are left, Ryder cleans up, puts the fire out, and they step into the back of the van. I wait with bated breath to see if they come out, but they don’t, and then the van starts gently rocking back and forth, and my breath hitches. Oh my god, they’re having sex. They have to be.
I can’t take my eyes off the van. I need to keep an eye on it, just in case they… I don’t know, but I need to see. The van continues rocking, and my dick starts to stir. I rub the heel of my hand into it, grunting at the sensation while I concentrate on the motion of the van. I match it with my own strokes. I gasp as my erection is almost painful. I slide my hand inside my boxers and start to stroke my penis, squeezing at the base as I pant and stroke faster as the van's gentle rocking becomes more vigorous. I crack the window open a little and listen against the gap. I hear faint gasps and grunts, and I groan as my dick throbs in my hand. I slide faster over my strained shaft before I hear a louder grunt followed bya gasp and a groan. It catches me off guard, and I cum into the front of my boxer shorts.
Iimmediately feel violated, disrespected, embarrassed, but most of all, disgusted with myself. I storm into the bathroom and slide into the shower. I’m angry at myself for the way my body responds to his groans and sounds coming from the van. The way thinking about it now has my dick hard again, but most of all, I’m ashamed of how he makes me feel.
After tossing and turning for hours, I can’t get him out of my head, I get up and get ready, but when I get outside, my bike isn’t there. Ryder turns and scowls at me as he and his dad work on his bike, and there are those feelings again: envy, anger, and jealousy. I storm to my pit crew, but all the bikes are in the truck, and the team are packing everything away.
“What are you doing?” I screech out at them, and they shake their heads.
One of the team—Marco, Marcus, Marc, something—informs me that I have been withdrawn from this race and the next three meetings due to my homophobia and that I will be reinstated once I make a formal apology to Ryder and his family.
“Are you fucking serious?” The next thing I know, Mr Jefferies walks around the corner.
“There you are. Your father is expecting you.”
He gestures towards the car park, and I storm off. If my father has come here, he best have some answers for me because I won’t settle for being treated like this.
As we get to the car park, a town car is waiting, and Mr Jefferies pushes me towards the back. I climb in. It’s empty, the doorslams abruptly, and there’s a bang on the top before we set off. I sigh. Of course, Father wouldn’t come here. What was I thinking?
I curl in on myself and close my eyes. It’s a far drive, so I might as well sleep.
We pull up to the estate, and I get out and storm up the stone steps to the front of the house. I push in through the door just as Dobbs opens it.
“Good afternoon, young sir. We weren’t expecting you home so soon.”
“Where’s my father?”
“Sir, Mr Bartholomew II is in Bali with your mother. They won’t be back for another four weeks.
“Why the fuck am I even here?” I scream at him, livid that my father would allow me to be excluded from the race, but also seething that he isn’t even here to talk to me and won’t be for weeks.
I storm upstairs to my suite. My clinical suite, with nothing of interest in it, is nothing discerning to say; this is Arch’s room. It’s as generic as the guest suite down the hall, with all white and cream furnishings and gold trim. Even my trophies are packed away in my walk-in, hidden out of sight.
This doesn’t look like an adult lives here. It doesn’t look like anyone lives here. It’s like a hotel room; it's plain, dull, and boring, and that’s just how I feel, but mostly, I feel empty. I throw myself down on the bed and scream out in anger. But no one comes, no one checks, no one cares.
Ryder
Chapter 8
The whole weekend is amazing. I get holeshot in every race. I win all the heats and finals. Without that cunt here to sabotage me, I flourish. If he put the same amount of effort into racing as he does into pissing me off, he would be so much more impressive instead of average. What makes him so good is money. He has the best of everything, so even a monkey could excel with that advantage.
There’s a recruiter for one of the bigger teams who’s impressed and wants to come back next weekend to make sure this isn’t a fluke. Although I’ve been riding since I can remember, I’m new to this league and a new name to watch out for. As the recruiter leaves, I spin, and Dad and Lee are standing there waiting patiently for the outcome.
I screech and run towards them. “He’s coming back to see me next week.”
We all hug, and I have to admit, with Archi-fucking-bald out of the way, things go a lot smoother, and I have it on great authority that he won’t be at the next three races, so it’s a win-win for me.
I just need to consistently show up in the top three, although taking the win won’t hurt for them to take me seriously. There’s one place on their team, and I want itto have my name on it, especially after Arch seems to think it’s already his.
I swing Lee around, and he kisses my cheek. “I’m so proud of you. You were amazing.”
We head home, and although I’m excited, something will have to give. I really like Lee, but I don’t see how I will have the time to give him the attention he deserves while chasing my dream. I’ve barely seen him this weekend. There’s so much to do, and I love his support and enthusiasm, but he’s spent most of the weekend sitting alone watching us. It can’t have been much fun, and if I get on the team, I don’t know when I will see him.
I sigh, and Dad rests his hand on my leg. “You okay, son?”
“Yeah, just thinking.”
