Ridley Holland has just lost the love of her life. She has no desire to return to the world of motocross, but she knows Teuvo would want her to continue. So she plays the part: an upcoming professional athlete with inevitable determination to domina...
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Jacks
I'm on edge. Sitting around with older white men is never comfortable, and nor is discussing the Indigenous program with them. At any moment, I'm positive they'll say something racist, which will then prompt me to react. I shouldn't be worried about standing up for my people. Yet, here I am, ready to bite my tongue if need be. Plus, I've agreed to help Ridley investigate the accident. For all I know, one of these men could be the culprit. I have to handle everything appropriately, otherwise I'll blow our cover.
Ever since the conversation with Ridley, my mind has been spinning. I've done an extensive level of research into the accident. After reading article after article that Joe sent me, I've concluded there are too many holes in the story. Combine that with Ridley's perception... nothing makes sense. The reports say heavy impact caused the handlebars to lurch, and then led to Teuvo losing control. That's all the information that's been shared, aside from his death and Ridley's injuries. Heavy impact...
I run my pen along the lines of my notebook, a crease between my brows. The amount of impact it would've taken for a man like Teuvo... Ridley's theory about bolts being loose makes more sense. But now it's a matter of how we prove this to be true. And who could've had underlying motives. As of right now, everyone on the team I'm coaching is a suspect. Martin, Caden, any siblings.
Someone snaps their fingers in front of my face.
I look up, meeting Martin's slimy gaze. "Jacks."
"What?" I ask. There's a rough edge to my voice. With the way he treats Ridley, Martin being behind the accident wouldn't surprise me. Anything this man does wouldn't surprise me.
His eyes narrow. "Watch your tone."
My lips set into a firm line as I nod. It's a half-assed attempt at an apology.
"We were discussing funding cutbacks. Our franchise is struggling with the recent streak of poor media. In order to turn this around, we need to reframe ourselves."
"Cutting back funding for the Indigenous program won't solve that," I say through gritted teeth. "And as much as you want to honour Teuvo, I don't think it's the best option for this team. Ridley, Blakely, and Dyami are struggling more than your funding safety net. Their well-being is more important than anything. However, if you want to approach this, I suggest talking to them about what they would want done to honour him. But for the love of fucking god, Martin, do it sensibly. Money doesn't need to be involved to honour someone." I pause, running a hand through my hair. "But it helps marginalized children who want to pursue a career in motocross."
Martin's cold, calculating glare cuts like glass, but I don't react. "Last time we had this fucking meeting, I told you to bite your tongue, Jacks."
"Biting my tongue doesn't solve issues," I growl.
An intense staring contest starts between Martin and I. With each passing second, his face turns redder and redder. I hold my ground, refusing to give up. Some entitled, rich asshole shouldn't have enough power to suppress the interests of kids. There is plenty of money we can allocate to the Indigenous program to improve it, and still have enough for other aspects of the franchise.
