Ring. Ring.
"You've reached the office of Marcus Hale. Please leave a message."
Ryder hung up. He dialed again.
This time, it went straight to voicemail. The "Ignore" button had been pressed.
Ryder stared at the phone. He felt a cold, sinking sensation in his gut that had nothing to do with the painkillers. It was the feeling of being deleted.
He opened his email.
From: Hale Management GroupSubject: Contract Termination - R. Stone
Ryder, per the morality and injury clause (Section 4.2) of your representation agreement, we are terminating our professional relationship effective immediately. The sponsor pool for a rider with a career-ending injury is non-existent. We wish you the best in your recovery.
Career-ending.
Ryder read the phrase again. It looked like a typo. He was twenty-six. He was in his prime. He had broken bones before—collarbones, wrists, ankles. He always came back. He always healed faster than the doctors said.
He wasn't finished. He couldn't be. If he was finished, then he was just... Ryder Stone. The guy who ran away. The guy with no land, no money, and no family.
He threw the phone across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a satisfyingthudand slid to the floor.
"Dammit!"
He tried to shift his leg.
The pain woke up. It roared. It was a jagged, hot knife twisting inside his marrow.
He gasped, gripping the sheets. The titanium rod inside his femur—a foreign intruder drilled into his own bone—felt like it was conducting lightning.
"Okay," he panted. "Okay. Bad idea."
He lay back, sweat stinging his eyes.
He needed a pill. He needed it now. Not for the high. For the silence.
The door handle turned.
Ryder froze. He wiped his face quickly, trying to compose the mask of the "Tough Cowboy."
Elena walked in.
She looked fresh. Sharp. She was wearing black yoga pants and a fitted athletic top under her white coat. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that swung when she walked. She looked like energy personified.
She looked at him. She looked at the phone on the floor. She looked at the sweat on his face.
"Rough morning?" she asked. Her tone was neutral, professional.
"I dropped my phone," Ryder lied.
"From across the room?"
She walked over and picked it up. She placed it back on the nightstand, just out of his reach.
"Check your vitals," she said, pulling a blood pressure cuff from her bag.
She wrapped the cuff around his good arm.Velcro rip. Pump. Pump. Pump.
