Burnout (The Holland Brothers Book 1)

“That wasn’t bad,” Colter says as I stop the bike next to him.

Brooklyn snorts a laugh, the sound barely audible as she revs the engine of her green Kawasaki KX250F. It’s the same kind of bike her dad rode. “I could do a better heel clicker than that when I was still in diapers.”

She’s probably not joking. My gaze slides to Oak.

The tall, lanky guy shrugs and his face is impassive. “At least you didn’t crash.”

The three of them have been watching me attempt tricks for the past hour to see where I’m at—a starting point to work from. So far, I’ve landed everything I’ve done (albeit not gracefully) but not well enough to call it good and move on to something harder. I never gave much thought to how something looked for the audience. In racing, it only matters who gets across that finish line first.

Colter hands me his phone so I can watch the jump I just did. A heel clicker is probably the simplest trick there is and even that one doesn’t look very smooth as I watch it back.

On the jump, you kick your feet out and bring them around and over your arms and touch. Simple. I have thrown that trick a million times at practice or when crossing the finish line, but I never had to care what it looked like. Freestyle is all about style and finesse—something I apparently am lacking.

My timing is off. I click too early or too late when I go off the big ram, and my legs are super bent and look awkward. Have I always been so inflexible?

“Fuck,” I mutter as I hand his phone back.

“Maybe you should try lifting one leg at a time,” Colter says. “Get the feel of that down, switch legs, and then you can give the full trick a go again. Build on a little each time.”

“I’m gonna go,” Brooklyn says with a small laugh and a flick of her red hair. “It sounds like you guys are going to be here awhile and I have plans.”

Oak takes off too with a salute, leaving me alone with Colter.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.” I’ve had that thought a thousand times over since Hendrick talked me into this crazy notion.

Colter shakes his head. For some reason he’s convinced I can do this. I hope he’s right. “You just need more practice. Let’s do it again.”

With a sigh, I nod and take off toward the ramp.

I do exactly what Colter suggested, alternating bringing one leg up at a time until I feel confident, then doing the full trick again.

This time when I play back the video, it’s better. Still not pretty, but I don’t look like I’m about to catapult over the handlebars.

It’s getting dark when we finally call it. I’m loading up my bike while Colter leans against his truck, still replaying footage from earlier.

“You made a lot of progress today,” he says as he brings his gaze up from his phone. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll be here.” I roll my shoulders back and stretch my neck to one side. My muscles ache in a new way. I’m going to need to kick up my workout routine to add in more upper body and core.

“Cool.” He pockets his phone and opens the door of his truck. “You’ll get it. It takes time to get the feel of everything.”

I nod, hoping like hell he is right.

At the end of day three, I’ve added two more tricks to my list of ones I’ve successfully landed, but Brooklyn has started to refer to me as Flounderella because half the time I’m struggling to get myself back in the seat after the trick. I’m slow because I want to nail the execution of the trick. All the videos, even when I manage to get the timing right, still look clumsy. I hate not being good at something. But especially something related to dirt bikes.

It’s just me and Colter again, the third night in a row we’ve stayed until dark. The first two days he still looked optimistic, but tonight I can tell he’s starting to doubt that I’ll get it.

“I can do it,” I say, infusing some of that confidence back into my words. I’m too stubborn to give up now. Even if I never perform with the tour, I am going to perfect the tricks I’ve learned.

He shoves both hands into his pants pockets. “I have an idea, but you’re probably not going to like it.”

One brow lifts in question. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Last spring, I worked out with Avery for a few months, and it improved my strength a lot and helped with controlling my body while in the air.”

“You’re just mentioning this now?” My spine straightens. I’ll do anything if it’ll help. All last year, I had to do daily sessions with a trainer to stay in top riding shape. I’m not afraid to put in the work.

“Seriously?” The surprise on Colter’s face is clear. “I thought you’d resist, or I’d have brought it up earlier.”

“The team had us working out with trainers all the time. Who is she and which gym is she at?” I have my phone out, ready to put in her information.

He pauses, myriad expressions crossing his face before he says, “Avery. You met her last weekend. Quinn’s friend. Her roommate too.”

An image of the pretty blonde fills my head and the hope I was feeling vanishes. “She’s a trainer?”

“No. She’s a gymnast at Valley U.”

“That prissy-looking chick is a gymnast?”

He nods his head adamantly, smirking like he’s taking joy in my surprise. I run that through my mind, trying to imagine her doing cartwheels and backflips. Interesting.

“And you worked out with her? Doing what?” I’m still curious even if I don’t think there’s any hope of her helping me.

“Lots of stuff. Gymnastics is fucking hard. She taught me how to hold handstands, get out of them gracefully, Japanese handstands, cartwheels, somersaults, combination tumbles, and I even did a little ring work. It was tough.”

A smile breaks out on my face. “What I’d give to have seen that.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but it helped a lot. I made huge improvements in a shorter time than other guys.”

If I know Colter, he was putting in a lot of hours riding and practicing too, which is probably what truly made the difference.

“I’m going to see her tonight. I can ask if she’d have time to help.” He looks at me like he’s hoping I’ll take him up on it. I hate to disappoint him, but doing somersaults isn’t my idea of working out.

“That’s okay.” I hold up a hand. “I can work out on my own and put in more time here.”

“You’re already here from the time you drop off Flynn in the morning until you gotta run to pick him up after practices.”

“It’s only the third day. Besides, my heel clicker is almost as good as yours now.”

He scoffs. “Yeah-fucking-right. You wish, Holland.”

I walk around to the driver’s side door of my truck, open it, and pull myself up, calling out, “Just you wait, I’m going to be doing it upside down in a backflip before you know it.”