Racing the Sky

By Layla Dorine

Nicky dreamed of Cliffhangers, Suicide Cams and the Kiss of Death, wanting more than anything to make it to the professional motocross circuit and dazzle fans. His bike was his life, his world, especially after his boyfriend, Terry, dumped him for earning a sponsor when Terry couldn't. It's still devastating, being cheated on and cast aside by the only man he's ever loved, but there's little he can do about it now but go out there and win, if only to spite Terry.

 

Enter Gray, and a chance meeting at a roadside diner that leaves Nicky with something more to focus on. As the sting of Terry's betrayal fades, Nicky finds himself drawn to Gray, returning to the diner in every free moment he can spare. It's almost perfect, but nothing ever lasts, not in Nicky's world, especially when Terry isn't done making him pay for his success.

 

In the aftermath, Gray is left helping Nicky pick up the pieces, but nothing will ever be the same. Will Nicky be able to see beyond his dreams of twisting in the air and dangling from beneath his bike.... to learn that when you Race the Sky…gravity always wins? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Desolate Press
• Release date: Sep 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223998297

Layla Dorine

LAYLA DORINE lives among the sprawling prairies of Midwestern America, in a house with more cats than people. She loves hiking, fishing, swimming, martial arts, camping out, photography, traveling, and visiting museums and haunted places.   Layla got hooked on writing as a child and she hasn’t stopped writing since. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggle, the journey, the triumphs and the falls. She writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other folks that she’s met and fallen in love with over the years. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes its aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she isn’t writing, or wandering somewhere outdoors, she can often be found curled up with a good book and a kitty on her lap.

Book preview

Chapter One

A person riding a motorcycle Description automatically generated with medium confidence

Juggling an armload of books and a six-pack of sodas, Victor Murphy shoved open the door to the house he shared with his best friend, Nicholas Erickson, grateful for the surge of A/C that smacked him across the face. Stepping inside, he quickly shut the door against the sticky, oppressive heat, and blinked, disoriented at the darkness of the room.

Thankfully, it didn’t stay that way. The click of a pull chain preceded a dim lamp’s glow, slashing light and shadows across Nicky’s face.

Shaking his head, Vic deposited his books on a high table just inside the door, pulled a soda from the pack, cracked the tab, and drank greedily while studying his friend. Nicky’s attempt at a smile looked more like a grimace as he lifted a bottle in salute, then took a long drink of his own.

Undoing a couple buttons on the brown, short-sleeved oxford shirt he was wearing, Vic sank down in an overstuffed chair and put his feet up, sighing loudly as he got comfortable. You wanna tell me why the hell you’re sitting here in the dark?

Not really.

Vic snorted and took another drink. Go figure. That was so typical of Nicky. Okay, so is this a private pity party or can anyone join in?

I’m not sulking, or feeling sorry for myself; I’m just sitting here.

In the dark, with a bottle of whiskey and sad country music on low? Vic questioned. Come on, talk to me, Nicky.

I’ve got nothin’ to say.

Vic sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and stared down at his can. Empty already. Damn, they weren’t going to last long at this rate. When Nicky proved true to his word and didn’t say a thing, Vic looked up at him and glared. If you won’t talk, then I will.

Groaning, Nicky slid further down in the chair and took another long drink from his bottle. I’d rather you didn’t.

Too bad, deal with it. Look, I know it’s hard to accept Terry dumping you. Hell, I was as shocked as you were to find out that he’d been cheating, and with who. Holy shit, I can’t blame you for being pissed. But it’s been a week, man, let it go. He’s all over town with Dirk. Do you think he cares that you’re sitting here moping?

I told you, I’m not moping.

Vic snorted and waved his hand around, gesturing at the room. "Then, pray tell, what is all this if not moping?"

Enjoying the peace and solitude of the night; or I was, until you showed up and started with your lectures and questions.

Vic tried not to laugh at the petulant look on Nicky’s face, but a chuckle slipped out anyway. Being mad at me isn’t going to change things.

Maybe not, but I was hoping it might get you to go away.

Nicky closed his eyes, but was startled into opening them when Vic snatched the bottle from his hand, took a gulp, grimaced, then swallowed hard.

God, that burns.

Yeah, well, it wasn’t meant for you, Nicky snarled, snatching the bottle back.

Look, what Terry did was shitty, but you can’t keep beating yourself up over it.

I never said I was sitting here drinking because of him; you’re the one who implied that.

Is it because of him?

Nope.

Then what’s going on with you?

For the last time, nothing is going on, so drop it.

Vic’s eyes narrowed; then he sighed and shook his head. Fine, consider it dropped, but I know you, and you’ll tell me eventually.

Whatever.

Vic frowned and headed into the kitchen to make a snack. For four years he’d lived in the little house on the corner of Osprey Street with Nicky and Terry, his closest friends from high school. They’d sort of clung together after graduation as Vic had entered college while Terry and Nicky had focused all of their free time on racing motocross.

Nothing had surprised Vic more than when Terry had casually risen from the table the week before and informed both him and Nicky that he was moving out and had been sleeping with Dirk Thompson for the past three weeks. It had devastated Nicky, despite how hard he tried to hide it, and it had angered Vic to see his friend in pain. It had disgusted him too, seeing as how Dirk had a reputation for sleeping around with damn near anyone who’d have him. Hell, Vic had it on good authority that Dirk had propositioned Nicky a time or two.

Both Nicky and Terry were mechanics by day, working at the same auto body shop across town, and raced their dirt bikes together in the evenings. They’d competed in weekend races for years, traveling up and down the coast, hoping to make a living at the thing they loved; and three months ago it had seemed like they were there. Or at least, Nicky was, when he’d landed a sponsorship following a huge win, his sixth of the season.

It hadn’t been long after when Terry had started finding more and more reasons to avoid evening practices with Nicky, but he’d had no reason to suspect Terry’s excuses had been lies. Looking back, Vic wondered if Terry’s jealousy had driven him into another’s arms.

The hardest part of it all was Vic was glad Terry was gone. Selfish as it might be, without Terry around he and Nicky could hang out more, maybe climb some boulders and hike the trails outside of town. Vic loved being up in the mountains, but Terry had almost never wanted to go, and when he had he’d complained or derailed the trip somehow. He’d always wanted to be the center of attention, especially back in high school, and Nicky had never seemed to care.

Easy going, wild child Nicky, with his long, blondish-brown hair, piercing green eyes, and infectious enthusiasm, had been the one Vic had been drawn to; though Nicky scared him at times. He took too many chances and tended to jump headlong into things. At times he could be downright reckless, and Terry had always seemed to egg him on. There had been times when Vic had longed to pull Nicky back, hold him tight, and wrestle him to the ground to keep him from harm, but that would have been like cutting off a bird’s wings, and Nicky, damn he loved to fly.

There were times when he’d envied Nicky and Terry their freedom from the classroom, but in just three weeks he’d be graduating with a degree in ecology and nature studies and was planning to take the summer off before deciding what he wanted to do. Park services was an almost natural choice, and Vic was pretty certain that was the direction he’d choose. Still, it would be nice to have time off to be sure. Especially now that Nicky was free.

Sighing, Vic sat at the table with his beer and a couple of slices of cold pizza from the fridge, listening to country songs drifting in from the other room. Sad, melancholy lyrics bemoaning loves lost and dreams broken filled the room, one after the other, reminding Vic of why he’d never been a country fan. He thought about burning that CD, but knowing Nicky, he’d just make another one and likely play it louder. Better to leave him be and let him get it all out of his system. He had to get tired of it sometime.

After finishing his snack, Vic wiped the table, washed his dish, and turned out the light, determined to get the last ecology chapter read before he called it a night. Thank God he didn’t have any classes before noon. He’d never get any studying done if he couldn’t do it late at night when the house was quiet and focus was easier to maintain.

Passing through the living room, Vic saw that Nicky had fallen asleep in the chair, the bottle of whiskey in his hand. At least he’d screwed on the cap. Vic carefully removed it and sat it on the floor beside the chair. Snatching a throw blanket from the couch, Vic covered Nicky and headed to his room.

***

Nicky woke with a throbbing pain behind his eyes and an awful crick in his neck. Not to mention he was pretty sure his left leg was asleep, and he had to piss. With a groan, he opened his eyes and instantly regretted it when sunlight from the living room’s bay window assaulted him. Shielding his eyes, Nicky stumbled to the bathroom, leaving the lights out while he took care of business. His body ached from having spent the night in the chair and his brain screamed that it needed coffee.

He washed his hands and headed to the kitchen, slamming his shoulder into the doorframe on the way. Cussing, he considered just stumbling upstairs to bed when a loud beating on the door caused him to swear more and change directions. Yanking the door open, he cringed at the light, sun spots erupting in front of his eyes and blinding him to who stood there. Terry’s electric blue gaze scowled down at him, framed by his stylishly spiky black hair.

You look like shit, Terry commented, practically pushing past Nicky to step inside.

Nicky grunted, unsure of how to respond to that, and not sure if he really wanted to.

We came for the rest of my things, Terry stated flippantly, already crossing the living room as Dirk stepped past Nicky.

Of all the fucking nerve. Nicky saw red and closed his eyes, willing himself not to slam the door and throttle Dirk, or, better still, throttle Dirk, toss him out on the lawn, slam the door on him, and then spend the next hour cussing at Terry. Taking a deep breath, Nicky paused, then blew it out slowly as he counted to thirty. Only then did he finally close the door. His head felt like broken glass and he desperately wanted a drink. He even considered detouring to the kitchen to get one, but Dirk and Terry were already upstairs in the bedroom, and Nicky wasn’t about to leave them there alone.

Rubbing his temples, Nicky followed them, stopping in the doorway as Terry pulled a suitcase from the back of the closet and began to pack.

Hey, Nicky piped up. That’s my T-shirt.

Terry scowled and threw it at him.

Those are my jeans too.

Terry held them up, looking them over before he tossed them to Nicky. They look better on me.

Nicky seethed as he counted to thirty and then counted to thirty again, holding his tongue rather than going off on Terry.

Terry had turned his attention back to packing and picked up the rune necklace from the dresser that matched the one he was wearing and put it in his pocket.

Nicky’s eyes widened as he did, and he could feel himself getting clammy and cold. Why are you taking mine?

Because I bought them, Terry reminded him, not even turning around to see the look of hurt on Nicky’s face. Every race since sophomore year when Terry had purchased the runes for them, they’d worn them as good luck charms. It was hard for Nicky to believe that Terry was actually going to take his away. It was more than a prized possession; it was a symbol of failures and triumphs.

Wanna move? Dirk asked, and Nicky blinked at having been caught reliving the past.

Wanna die? Nicky shot back, shoving Dirk. Before he could do anything more, Terry had pushed him into the wall, hard enough to crack the plaster.

I thought you were more mature than that, Nicky, Terry snapped as he pinned Nicky by his shirt.

Nicky wiggled and fought, tears pricking his eyes. Why the fuck did you have to bring him here for, huh, Terry? Was it just to rub it in my face?

Newsflash, Nicky, not everything has to do with you. He’s my boyfriend. He’s helping me move. Why don’t you go take a shower or something and leave us alone? You smell like a fuckin’ brewery.

Nicky struggled out of Terry’s grasp and grabbed up the jeans and T-shirt Terry had thrown at him. Stalking into the bathroom, he slammed the door, shaking it in its frame seconds before he rammed his fist into the mirror. The glass shattered and several chunks of it fell into the sink, but it did make him feel just a little bit better. Home repairs were going to be a bitch at this point, but he was beyond caring as he turned the water on hot enough to scald. Stepping beneath the spray, he gasped and let the heat wash over him. Pain helped, as did thinking about the ride he was going to go on as soon as he got done.

Nicky washed his hair and let the water flow over his face, all the while telling himself to calm down, that losing his shit because Terry decided to be a dick wasn’t going to help anyone, especially him. Remembering Terry stuffing that rune into his pocket was almost too much and he had to resist the urge to punch the wall. With a furious oath, he turned off the water and got dressed, realizing as he did that his boots were back in his room.

Still drying his hair with a towel, he entered the bedroom in time to see Terry with Dirk pressed against the dresser, kissing him passionately.

Get your shit and get the fuck out! Nicky yelled.

Terry broke the kiss slowly before looking over his shoulder and giving Nicky a lazy smile. Dude, you need to chill. We’re almost done. Besides, I paid my share of the utilities for the month. I’ll go when I’m ready.

Nicky swallowed hard, trying to control the surge of rage that was threatening to spread out of control.

What the hell is going on in here? Vic bellowed from the doorway, glaring at the three men in the room with tired, bloodshot eyes. His hair was disheveled and he hadn’t even bothered to pull on a shirt. Nicky jumped at the sound of his voice and turned, fists clenched. Terry still had Dirk pressed to the dresser.

Damn, Vic muttered from the doorway, eyes on the two men across the room.

I’m going out, Nicky grumbled, finally able to make himself move. He got his keys and boots, trying not to look at Terry as he did.

As he passed Vic in the doorway he hardly felt the other man’s hand come to rest on his shoulder. Be careful.

Just get his key before he leaves, Nicky snarled, shrugging off the hand.

I lost it. Why do you think I knocked? Terry shot back.

Whatever, Nicky muttered as he turned and headed out the door. It didn’t take him long to load his bike in the back of his truck and leave. As soon as he hit the highway he felt calmer, and thirty minutes later, when he reached his destination, he almost felt normal again. He unloaded his bike and went through the usual ritual of checking it over before he pulled on his helmet and hit the track.

Riding fast and loose, he put the bike over the first few jumps with little flair, then broke into a backflip on the high one. The feel of the air, the roar of the machine: it was like the bike and his heartbeat became one and pushed everything else away. He wobbled a bit on the landing, easily corrected, and then gunned the throttle, pushing for more speed before launching into another jump. It was like breathing, easy, in and out, over the dirt mounds, into the air, body and machine in perfect sync. He never wanted it to end.

***

Vic remained in the doorway while Terry packed. With his arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the frame. Want to tell me why you have to be such a dick to him?

Terry glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. He’s the one with the problem, not me. I just came to get my stuff; then I’m gone.

Yeah, and bringing Dirk here wasn’t your way of deliberately provoking him?

I can bring Dirk wherever I want.

Yeah, you can, Vic conceded. But did you ever stop to think that maybe you shouldn’t? Doubt you’d like it much if the shoe was on the other foot.

Terry scoffed. Yeah, like Nicky ever would have left me. He knows he had it good.

Vic’s eyes narrowed into a glare as he stood there wishing he could knock the smirk off Terry’s face. It might not do anyone any good, but it would make him feel better at least. He resisted the urge while Terry finished packing, saying nothing more. As Terry and Dirk were leaving, Terry paused and gave Vic a lopsided smile.

Look, we’ve been friends a long time, and I don’t want that to end, Terry told him. We’re having a barbecue at our new apartment next weekend, and I really hope you’ll come. Saturday at two. If we have enough people we’re going to get a touch football game going and maybe even break out the Super Soakers too.

Maybe, Vic muttered.

Terry and Dirk turned and headed for their truck, leaving Vic standing in the doorway. He knew he had no intention of going to their gathering, and as they pulled away he called Nicky’s cell phone, letting him know that Terry and Dirk were gone. Worried for Nicky’s well-being with the mindset he’d left in, Vic asked him to call back when he got the message, knowing it would likely be a while. He just hoped Nicky was safe.

In the meantime, he sat at his desk, cracked open a textbook, rummaged around in his mini-fridge for a soda, and tried to read. He reread the same paragraph three times before frustration hit and he slammed the book closed, his hand sweeping in a wide arc, knocking the soda from the desk.

Fucking hell!

The can hit the wall, toppled a lamp, and bounced harmlessly onto the bed while Vic carded his fingers through his hair and stomped from the room, annoyed. If he couldn’t study then he might as well clean up the place. He reached the hall closet, yanked it open, dragged the vacuum out, and plugged it in. At least it gave him something to do with his hands, and the noise had a way of boring into his skull, which helped drive his worried thoughts away.

He thought nothing of moving from the vacuuming to sweeping and mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors, fuming as he cleaned up the glass from the broken mirror. Muttered curses colored the air around him as he plucked shards from between the counter and the toilet and deposited them in the small trash can he carried. By the time he was done, he’d run out of names to call Terry and began making up new ones. Finished, he flopped on the couch and turned on the television. Reality TV, lovely. He flipped a few stations and stopped on a movie about fighting robots, trying not to imagine what Nicky had gotten up to. Nothing too self-destructive, he hoped.

Fifteen minutes in and he was fidgeting, wiggling and shifting around on the couch, having already dug all the lint and loose change from beneath the cushions, along with Nicky’s battered flask and a crushed coke can. He didn’t even wanna know how that had gotten stuck there.

Fuck it, he grumbled as he turned off the television. He’d mow. At least the noise would make thinking harder. The rumble of the mower and the warm afternoon just coupled to make him more irritable though, and when he finished, covered in sweat and bits of grass, his first thought was to grab a shower then find himself some lunch.

He checked his phone on the way through, wishing Nicky had called, but the only text was from a classmate, asking if Vic could email her his notes from the bug lecture. With a sigh, Vic stomped to his room and righted his lamp, rummaged through his papers, scanned in the notes, and then e-mailed them. For the briefest moment he considered trying to study some more, then said to hell with it, put on his headphones, flopped on his bed, and stared at the posters of mountains taped to his ceiling.

At some point he must have dozed off because he awoke to the feeling of his cell phone buzzing in his pocket. It was Nicky. He breathed a sigh of relief as he answered it, feeling some of the tension drain from the muscles in his neck.

Hey, Vic answered.

Just got your message. I had my phone turned off.

Just wanted to make sure you were okay, Vic told him, glad to hear that Nicky sounded calm.

Just peachy. Was that all?

Okay, so maybe Nicky didn’t sound so calm. There was an edge of sarcasm to his voice that Vic wasn’t sure he liked. Do you want to go for Chinese when I finish my class?

Nope, I’ve got dinner and beer, I’ll be home in the morning.

Oh, okay, Vic replied, frowning at his phone. Nicky hung up before Vic could say anything more, and with a shake of his head Vic dialed the Chinese restaurant and ordered a meal, resigned to having to eat alone, again. But first, a shower. He reeked.

***

Out at the desert track, Nicky sat beside a bonfire with a six-pack and a small bottle of whiskey. He’d fibbed a little when he’d told Vic he had food. Booze was better anyway.

Staring into the coals, Nicky listened to the wood pop and watched the sparks drift on the wind. He tried to figure out what he’d done so wrong that it had made Terry decide to cheat on him. He’d never asked his ex for a goddamned thing and had almost always been willing to let him take the lead in everything they did. He’d thought they had fun together, working on their bikes, racing, and helping each other improve, learning new tricks and analyzing races, often ending up fucking like bunnies in front of the television rather than waiting until they got to their bed.

Their arguments had been few, far between, and petty—never a serious rift. So where the hell had he gone wrong?

Nicky cracked open another beer and kicked it back, watching the stars as he downed it. Four years, hell, twelve years of friendship, and all of a sudden Terry flips a switch, kicks him to the curb, and starts going out with someone else? Had it truly been out of the blue, or had Nicky just failed to see the signs that it was coming? Hadn’t he paid enough attention to Terry and their relationship? Had he somehow let Terry down? Everything had gone to hell the moment Terry stood up and made his announcement. Nicky wondered if he could have stopped it all if only he’d done something differently. But what?

With a sigh, Nicky set the empty beer bottle down and stretched out on his side, his head cushioned by his wadded-up jacket. He drank and watched the fire while he pined for Terry, remembering the way they’d come out here together, sitting and staring into the flames, talking about their hopes and dreams for the future. Terry’s head pillowed in Nicky’s lap as Nicky stroked his hair.

Nicky sighed again as he thought about the nights he’d surprised Terry with picnic baskets full of food he’d carefully prepared in their kitchen. Not like he was really proficient at cooking—he wasn’t—but for Terry he’d tried. He could grill a steak and make amazing baked beans. Couple those with some seasoned sliced potatoes and a pile of brownies for dessert and the meals had been more than adequate. Or maybe Terry had just been being kind to him when he’d praised the food.

If he were being totally honest, Vic was the real cook in the house. He’d already started wondering how long it would be before Vic ditched him too. With the way things were going, Nicky was pretty sure that if it came down to it, Vic would choose his friendship with Terry over a friendship with him. Terry was funny and outgoing, smarter than he cared to show, and had a wicked sense of humor to boot. Nicky knew deep down that he couldn’t compare. Maybe that was why Terry had left him; maybe Dirk was everything that he never could have been.

Nicky cracked open another beer and chucked a log on the fire before drinking it down. Tonight he wished he were far away from here. Halfway across the country in the place he’d lived the early years of his life. Too bad there was nothing there to go back to and no one there who would even remember him.

Besides, he had a good sponsor and a real chance of touring the country. He owned the house he lived in, thanks to the insurance money his aunt had kept in trust for him after his father died, and while living alone might suck, he knew he could do it if it came to that. Maybe it was time to make some friends outside of the racing circuit anyway, since many of the other riders had been talking to him less and less after he and Terry broke up. He wondered what Terry had said to them; or maybe it was better if he didn’t know. Best to just say nothing to any of them before he came off as an insecure and jealous bastard, like he’d looked today.

His jaw clenched when he thought about the way he’d shoved Dirk, prompting him to take another drink. That was just the kind of crap Terry would get a kick out of spreading around.

Had he been too jealous over the course of their relationship? Too possessive maybe? Had he taken up too much of Terry’s time? He frowned, trying to recall if he’d ever had reason to be jealous, but he couldn’t remember a time when Terry hadn’t said I’m taken before Nicky could say a word. So what the fuck had he done so wrong?

In his anger, Nicky slammed his fist down, sloshing beer over his fingers. It was a bad move. The glass bottle smashed into a rock, shattering. White hot pain shot through his hand and he looked down to see the bottom of the bottle impaled in his palm and wrist.

Nicky cringed and pulled the glass from his hand, blood gushing into the sand. It took him a minute to realize the cut was bad and that he’d better stop the bleeding. Fumbling, he pulled off his T-shirt, trying to remember back four years to high school health classes and the first aid unit. What had the teacher said? Elevate and put pressure?

He wrapped his T-shirt around his hand, flinching when he pressed on the wound and felt the stab of glass still in his palm. Something must have broken off in there. He raised his hand over his head and felt blood beginning to slide down his arm. He wrapped the T-shirt tighter and staggered to his feet, nearly tripping over the empty whiskey bottle. He was too drunk to drive and he knew it. Shaking, he leaned against the side of his truck, holding his hand pressed tight to his side as he fished his cell phone from his pocket and tried to dial Vic.

Fingers slick, he dropped it twice before completing the call. Vic’s voice on the other end a welcoming sound.

Yeah?

Nicky could hear the sound of paper crumbling, and the clatter of a pen as it was set down. Umm, Vic, I’m too drunk to drive, Nicky slurred.

Okay. Where are you?

The track. I was drinking. I’ve got a bonfire going.

Thought you were going to stay out there for the night?

I was, but I, umm, I cut my hand and it’s kinda bad. Nicky felt the blood beginning to drip through his shirt. From the other end of the line, he could hear the sound of a chair scrapping wood, and a thump, like Vic was tripping on things.

How bad?

I wrapped my T-shirt around it, but it’s bleeding through.

Shit, Nicky! You need to keep that hand up and put pressure on it. Sit by the fire; I’ll be there as fast as I can.

Mmmkay, Vic.

Nicky!

Mmm yeah?

Do not pass out! Vic’s tone startled Nicky. He’d never heard his friend sound so serious or so stern.

Okay, Vic.

Hang up, put pressure on it, now!

Okay, Vic, Nicky said, hanging up and sitting back by the fire, holding the shirt tight against his hand. So stupid, he cursed himself as he swayed a little. At least it didn’t hurt; or maybe it was all he’d drunk. Pathetic. That was why Terry had dumped him: he was utterly fucking