Mature content: strong language, violence, sexual themes, and drug use. Reader discretion advised. Everything is fictional!!
Tyler
I wake up to a pounding headache. Sunlight cuts sharp lines across my bedroom, the sheets twisted and damp, reeking faintly of beer and sweat. My brain is foggy, but the first thing I notice... is the hard-on.
Shit.
I roll onto my back, trying to will it away. My thoughts drift back, uninvited, to the dream. Aaron. Us. Fighting like we always do—but not the usual, straightforward punches and scuffs. This was... different. Warmer. Too close. The way our bodies moved together, the way my hands brushed his chest, the way he stumbled into me, and my grip...
I groan, tossing a pillow over my face. My hand creeps toward the problem anyway. Just to see if it's real. To feel it. But the second I realize what I'm doing, I jerk my hand away. Heart racing, cheeks hot. Morning wood, nothing more. Nothing real.
I swing my legs off the bed, feet hitting the floor, still dizzy from sleep and... other things. I step into the hall, glance at the living room. Sofa empty. Aaron's gone. Figures. Typical. Leaving me stewing over... everything.
I make my way to the bathroom, staring at my reflection. Hair sticking up, face still puffy from last night's drinking and celebration with Cole. I zip, pee, and the erection presses against me again. Growl. Focus, Tyler. Willpower. Just a fucking morning wood. I scrub my face with cold water, hoping it knocks some sense into me.
Flush. Wash. I linger, letting my mind wander. The dream, last night, Aaron showing up at my trailer, how he just barged in... And now, this.
By the time I leave the bathroom, Mom's back. Surprisingly sober for now. I don't ask where she's been. She doesn't seem like she wants to talk. I nod. She nods. Mutual silence. Works for me.
"I'm leaving for work." I say not really expecting her to hear.
I get dress and try to fix my hair by running my fingers through it. Good enough.
Outside, the air feels sharper than usual. I pull out my phone. Cole's already waiting—he always is. I dial.
"Finally. Thought you forgot," Cole's voice teases.
"On my way," I snap, hopping into my truck.
At our usual spot, Cole's leaning on his bike, a joint dangling between his fingers. Smoke curls lazily. He smirks. "Ready to burn off some tension?"
I take the joint, light it, inhaling the buzz that warms my chest and loosens the tightness in my skull. Thoughts of Aaron crawl back in, but I push them aside. For now.
"Let's hit the shop first," I mutter, flicking the joint away. "Got that side job. No races, no motos today."
Cole grins. "Bout time. Can't ride anyway. Suspension still biting from the last one."
He got suspended last week after picking a fight with a juri, can't blame him, that juri sucks, Cole deserved away more points that he got.
We jump onto our bikes, careful since it's just a quick ride through the park to grab tools and parts for a job we cobble together when racing isn't an option. Every curve, every shift in the dirt track, every bump reminds me of Aaron. The way he leans, the way he fights, the way he irritates the hell out of me.
He's a fucking problem. My problem.
But I don't let myself think too much. Not yet. Not until the work is done.
The job is nothing glamorous. A small auto parts shop on the edge of town, the kind that survives on duct tape solutions and favors owed. The owner barely looks up when me and Cole roll in, just jerks his chin toward a busted pickup parked half inside the garage.
"Transmission's whining," he says. "Try not to make it worse."
Cole grins. "No promises."
We get to work side by side, hands blackening with grease, tools clanking against concrete. It's familiar. Easy. This is the stuff that doesn't require thinking, and I'm grateful for that.
Cole hums under his breath while loosening bolts. "Still can't believe the suspension, man. Last race of the season and boom. Benched."
I shrug. "Better than being out for good."
"True." He pauses, glances at me. "You okay though?"
I scoff lightly. "Define okay."
He smirks. "Fair."
We work in comfortable silence for a bit. This is why Cole's my guy. No pressure. No poking where it hurts unless I invite it. We've known each other since we were kids tearing up dirt lots with bikes that barely ran. He knows when to shut up.
"You still thinking about him?" Cole asks eventually, not looking up.
I stiffen, then force myself to relax. "No."
Cole snorts. "Sure. Still in the hate stage"
Before I can snap back, raised voices drift in from outside the shop. Sharp. Heated. I glance toward the open bay door, annoyance already crawling up my spine.
Then I see her.
Lexi.
She's standing just outside, arms crossed tight over her chest, jaw set. Some guy I don't recognize has her wrist in his hand, grip too tight, voice too loud. He's leaning in, saying something I can't hear, but I don't need to.
My stomach drops.
I straighten slowly, rag still in my hand. Cole follows my gaze, swears under his breath. "Shit."
The guy tugs her arm. She yanks back, saying something sharp. He laughs.
That's it.
I toss the rag aside and head out before I even realize I've moved.
"Hey," I say, voice flat but loud enough to cut through them.
The guy turns, eyes flicking over me like I'm nothing. "Mind your business."
I step closer. Close enough that he can see I'm not asking. "Let go of her."
Lexi's eyes widen when she sees me. "Tyler, don't—"
He tightens his grip instead.
That's a mistake.
I grab his wrist and twist just enough to make a point. Not a punch. Not a scene. Just pressure. His face changes instantly.
"Walk away," I say quietly. "Now."
He hesitates. Looks between me and the shop, probably clocking Cole watching from the doorway.
He lets go.
"Crazy bitch," he mutters, backing off.
I take one step forward. He bolts.
Lexi yanks her arm back, rubbing her wrist, fury flashing in her eyes. "What the hell was that? I had it under control."
"Didn't look like it," I snap.
"I didn't ask you to play hero."
I laugh humorlessly. "You never do."
She scoffs. "I don't need you babysitting me, Tyler."
"And yet here we are."
She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. "You're coming home."
Her head jerks up. "Absolutely not."
"Yes," I say, already turning back toward the shop. "You are."
"I'm not a kid, Tyler!"
"Then stop putting yourself in stupid situations."
Her face twists. "This is about Aaron, isn't it?"
That hits harder than I expect.
"Get in the truck," I say, jaw tight.
Cole steps outside, hands up slightly. "Hey. I'll cover here. Go."
Lexi glares at both of us, then storms toward my truck. "I hate you."
"Get in line," I mutter.
I toss Cole an apologetic look as I grab my jacket. "I'll owe you."
He grins crookedly. "You always do. Go handle your shit."
As I follow Lexi, irritation coils tight in my chest. I don't know why this bothers me so much. I just know Aaron would lose his mind if he saw this. And for some reason, that thought makes my grip tighten on the truck door.
I don't give Lexi a choice.
And she knows it.
Aaron is gonna kill me for showing up at his place, and kill her because she's showing up with me. Fuck he's gonna kill both of us.