Read Online Rush by Jonathan Friesen - Free Book Online Page B

to Kyle, to Drew? A few weeks on Mox’s crew, and they were gone.” Salome yanks me toward her house. “This has nothing to do with you.”
    She’s wrong. She doesn’t know what falling down a line into a blaze would do. Surrounded by flames. It’d be like Hades. Then to be pulled out? That’s flippin’ biblical-like intensity. A resurrection.
    But Mox doesn’t want me. And Dad is the one who dangled this carrot, which means I can’t take it.
    I kick at the ground, salivate, and let my body fall away with Salome.
    We reach her front door.
    â€œWhat are you thinking, Jake?”
    I turn back toward my place and watch Mox’s wagon speed off.
    â€œThat I came that close to getting a jacket.”

CHAPTER 11
    I TOOK THE LIBERTY of making a few calls.
    Dad’s words carry me to Hanking’s and push me into a truck. They press my foot against the accelerator and speed me toward my dump. They push me through the woods, into the salvage yard, and onto my dirt bike.
    Like I’ll ever have a chance at Mox’s team or a jacket now.
    I rev the engine.
    Selling me to Mox like I was a piece of meat.
    I crank the accelerator, kick up a plume of dust.
    Here’s a strong one for ya, Mox.
    More dust surrounds me.
    Fearless. Absolutely fearless.
    The engine fires.
    â€œYah!” I squeal forward, pull a tight circle around the cars, and line up in front of my takeoff ramp. Someday I might have signed on if Dad’d kept his fat hands out of it.
    I rev and chirp forward. Faster and faster over the dirt. Wheels hit wood, my body lifts, and I’m weightless. I squeeze the grips, lift the front end, and the bottom falls out of the jump.
    I’m going down.
    Crash . My rear tire catches on the water heater, and I fly over the handlebars. I ball up and land hard on wood; my body flops and rolls over and skids to a stop in the dirt.
    My ears ring and I fight for air, but I can think. Clear as clear. I’m alive.
    In time, the ringing lessens, and somewhere a bird chirps. Then another. Slowly, the sounds of the forest return. I lie motionless and stare at my toes. They move, they feel. The legs and hips as well. I reach my head. Unbelievable. Everything hurts, but nothing’s broken.
    It takes minutes to stand. More still to hobble toward what was my bike. I look at it twisted in the dirt.
    I shake my head and lug it toward the road. The bike will need serious surgery in my garage. I fight it onto the truck bed, and ease into the cab.
    It’s a slow drive down to Brockton. I park the Ford beside the fleet in Hanking’s lot. I push out of the cab, grimace, and work my way toward the truck bed.
    â€œHeard from your weasel brother?”
    I squint toward the street.
    Dale and Will, fresh up from Albuquerque, talk over a parked car in the street. “Well?” Dale calls.
    â€œUh—”
    Dad leans out of the office door and motions me up. “I need you up here, Jake.”
    I peek back toward the street, and Will starts a rhythmic kick of his tire.
    â€œI’m comin’ right up! I just have something down here to finish.”
    I turn toward Dale. “Why did you call him a weasel?”
    â€œI’ll tell you why.” He starts across the street. Will grabs his forearm from behind.
    â€œJake’s clueless. Let it go.”
    Dale stops, stretches his neck from side to side. He exhales hard. “You wouldn’t understand anyway.”
    â€œJake. Now!”
    Dad is hot, and I’m sick of being caught in between. I backpedal toward the stairs and grab the rail. Climbing is miserable on my legs, but I reach the top and follow him inside. He looks me up and down but says nothing.
    He leads me out his office door, and we stand shoulder to shoulder, looking down over his pack rats. It’s Dad’s term, but it seems to fit. They scurry around the mill, pause to peek at me and purse their lips, before lowering hard hats and