“We dropping your bike off at your dad’s shop?” Christian asks as he hops into the driver’s seat, Xed and Matthew taking up the back, and my world just… Stops. Slams to a halt so hard that I feel myself reeling from it. “No. Take it to the dump,” I spit through clenched teeth. Because I’d rather spend the rest of my life never setting foot on a dirt bike track again than be in my father’s presence. Apparently, I’m done with motocross, too. And it feels like the line on a heart monitor just went flat.
