“Yeah, I hear you.” I manage a fake smile that I know he sees right through. After all, he signs my paychecks, and his company is also responsible for the sweet collab deals I get, managing my social media, and all the other shit I wouldn’t know how to do on my own. I owe my entire life as I know it to Grey Patterson. Which is why, when he announced we were moving to a team format this year for the Winter Classic Games, I kept my mouth shut instead of arguing and backing out like I wanted to.
I don’t do team competitions…but I’ll do them for Grey.
The Winter Classic is this year’s main event, and it’s being hosted right here at Ricochet. Scouts from the Olympic committees are going to be here, and because it’s my best shot at going to the games next year, Grey has informed me it’s the only event I’ll be competing in this season, which blows, but what can I do? He’s the boss.
“We have a good group coming in,” he says, like he’s trying to convince me. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. We’re all the same. Egotistical assholes who aren’t too bright when we’re off a board. “Help them get settled, and show them around since this is your home turf, will ya?”
“Sure, Grey,” I say with a tight-lipped smile and a nod.
Kill me right the fuck now.
“Good. I asked Frank to let you off early today. Go grab a shower and clean up; the team should be arriving soon.”
I nod again as my stomach churns.
Patterson Performance has sponsored a handful of riders in the past, but it’s always felt like they only sponsorme. Grey has never handed me off to one of his lackeys to manage. I think it’s because he got me so young and helped me through so much shit when my grandmother died; he feels responsible for me, but with all these new faces coming in wearing Patterson orange, well, it feels like they’re encroaching on what’smine.
Doing as Grey asks, I clock out, grab a shower, and throw on some jeans, boots, and a bright orange sweatshirt with the Patterson Performance logo on the front and my last name splashed across the back.
Might as well let everyone know who the favorite is right off the bat.
Looking on the bright side, at least I live in employee housing since I’m here year-round, which means I won’t be slumming it in the athlete housing at the bottom of the mountain. It’s a small, non-flashy two-bedroom condo, but it suits me just fine.
Grabbing the beanie I keep on the table by the front door, I toss it on and brush my hair out of my eyes.
As I make my way down the icy sidewalk, I easily spot the first member of my new team.
Unruly hair.
Glassy eyes.Chill with the weed, dude.
Gangly gait.
And…wait…he’s wearing a replica of my Olympic jersey from three years ago.
Huh, maybe this guy’s not so bad.
He sees me walking toward him, and his bloodshot eyes grow wide.
“Holy shit, dude! You’re Vox Montgomery!” he says in a slow, classic surfer accent, like that turtle fromFinding Nemo.
I laugh becausehellloooo stereotypes.
“That’s me.” I hold out a fist for him to bump.
“Angel,” he says to a girl rooting around the back of the SUV he pulled up in. When she doesn’t respond, he tries again with more impatience. “Angel!”
“What,Eric? I’m a little busy!” she fires back.
“Angel,LOOK!”
Finally,Angelpokes her head around the corner of the vehicle. She looks me over once and gives me a chin nod.
“What’s up, Vox? I’m Angel Creedmoor, your new teammate.” Then she goes back to digging around the back of the car, less than impressed.
Okay, she’s not so bad.
Laughing, I look back at the guy she called Eric. “I thought it was you who was moving in.”
