Chapter 9
The day after they fell asleep on the couch, the sunlight poured in through the cabin windows, waking Alex up. His body felt warm, relaxed, and unusually at peace. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust his blurry vision. He was still on the couch, A glance at the clock told him it was already late morning.
John was up, though, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, making coffee, his back to Alex. The sound of the coffee machine was oddly soothing, but Alex felt a twinge of unease in his stomach.
John turned around as he heard Alex stir. "Sleep well?" he asked casually, but there was something soft in his voice—like he genuinely cared.
"Yeah," Alex said, running a hand through his hair, his mind still a bit foggy from sleep. "Just... weird, but good." He sat up, stretching his arms above his head.
John studied him for a moment, then asked, "You seem a little more at ease lately. You feeling okay?"
Alex nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine." He paused for a moment, then added, "It's just... I don't know. Everything’s kinda been a mess. Still figuring it out."
John tilted his head slightly, stepping closer with the coffee cup in his hand. "You know, you've been kind of all over the place since I've met you. The racing, the focus... It's like you can’t sit still sometimes. It’s gotta be exhausting. You got ADHD or something?"
The question hit Alex a little harder than he expected, and for a brief second, he froze, his hand gripping the edge of the couch. His mind raced, his thoughts spinning, but he kept his face neutral. He couldn't let John know.
"I... I don’t know," Alex said, his voice quieter than usual. "I’ve never been diagnosed with anything."
John raised an eyebrow. "That’s... a little odd. I mean, you seem like you’ve got a lot of energy and focus. You’re always thinking, moving, like you’ve got a million things on your mind at once. Doesn't that sound a bit like ADHD?"
Alex felt his chest tighten, the words settling in the pit of his stomach like stones. He quickly looked away, pretending to find something interesting on the table. "I don’t need a label," he muttered. "It doesn’t really matter."
John frowned but didn’t press further. He set his coffee down on the table, then sat down next to Alex. "Look, I’m not trying to diagnose you or anything," John said carefully, "But you’ve got a lot of things going on. If you ever need to talk about it, or if you do want to figure it out, I’m here."
Alex felt a lump form in his throat, his instinct to shut down kicking in. "I’m good," he said quickly, trying to brush it off with a forced smile. "I don’t really need anyone else’s help right now."
John gave him a knowing look. "It’s okay to need help, you know," he said quietly. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."
Alex quickly stood up, his mind buzzing with unease. "I’m fine. I’ve always been fine."
John didn’t say anything, just watched him. It was clear he didn’t quite believe Alex, but Alex didn’t care. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—admit to it. Not to anyone. He felt his walls go up again, thicker than ever.
"Whatever, man," John said after a moment, trying to make light of it. "You ready to hit the track today?"
Alex nodded, eager for the distraction. "Yeah. Let’s just go."
But deep down, something gnawed at him, the weight of the conversation lingering. He knew John saw through him, but Alex wasn’t ready to confront that yet. Not now.
The drive to the track was a silent one, with the only sounds being the hum of the engine and the occasional rustling of the wind outside the windows. Alex couldn’t help but feel the tight knot of tension in his chest from earlier. John hadn’t pushed him further about the ADHD, but Alex knew that the question lingered between them like an unspoken truth. It was hard to ignore, especially with the way John seemed to look at him like he saw right through his carefully constructed walls.
When they arrived at the track, the familiar sight of the dirt and the ramps greeted them. The day was clear, the sun shining just enough to keep things warm without feeling suffocating. Alex quickly grabbed his helmet, pulling it on and adjusting it with a practiced hand. He felt a rush of adrenaline course through him as he walked toward his bike.
John, on the other hand, was already revving his engine, preparing for his usual warm-up. His bike rumbled under him, powerful and confident, the sound almost a challenge. Alex couldn’t help but feel a sense of competition rise within him. He was itching to get out there, to prove himself. Not to John, not to anyone else—just to himself.
John glanced over at him as Alex approached his bike. "You good?" he asked casually, his voice carrying over the noise of their bikes. His tone was softer than usual, like he was asking without really asking, but Alex didn’t let himself overthink it.
"Yeah," Alex replied, his voice firm as he kicked up the stand on his bike. "Ready to race."
The two of them took off, the sound of their engines filling the air as they zoomed across the track, tires kicking up dirt behind them. The track was smooth today, the conditions perfect for pushing their limits. Alex felt the familiar rush of wind against his face as he leaned into the turns, focusing on the feeling of the bike beneath him, the way it responded to each shift of his weight.
John was ahead of him, as expected, always leading the way with ease. But Alex wasn’t bothered by it. Not today. He pushed himself harder, turning tighter, gaining on John little by little. The track blurred around him as he focused solely on the moment, the sound of his bike blending with the hum of adrenaline in his veins.
For a moment, it felt like it was just him, the track, and the bike. Nothing else. No questions, no past, no fear. Just pure, unfiltered freedom.
But as they came up on the final turn, Alex’s focus wavered for just a second. That one second was enough for John to pull ahead, crossing the finish line just moments before Alex.
The rush of accomplishment filled Alex’s chest, but it was quickly followed by a twinge of frustration. He had come so close. Maybe too close.
John coasted to a stop, turning his head to glance back at Alex with a grin. "You’re getting faster," he said, his voice light and teasing.
Alex rolled up to him, pulling off his helmet with a tired but satisfied grin. "You’re not as fast as you think," he shot back, his breath heavy from the effort.
John laughed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "You’re getting there," he said, clearly impressed, but there was something in his eyes, something soft, that made Alex’s heart beat just a little faster.
"Yeah, well," Alex said, his voice quieter now, "I’m not done yet."
John raised an eyebrow. "You never are."
Alex’s lips twitched into a small smile, but it quickly faded. There was still something inside him that felt unsettled, something gnawing at him that he couldn’t shake. He hadn’t won today. He hadn’t won yet. But it didn’t matter. Not really.
What mattered was the bike, the track, the feeling of control. For once, he didn’t care who came in first or second. It was just about the ride.
Alex was still catching his breath as he walked off the track, his mind buzzing with adrenaline from the ride. He was feeling better, the rush of racing still lingering in his veins. His body was sore but satisfied. He walked to the small kiosk near the entrance of the track, grabbing a bottle of water and a granola bar, savoring the few moments of peace as he leaned against the counter, nibbling slowly.
The sound of John’s bike roaring back onto the track echoed in the distance. Alex took a sip of water, letting the cool liquid ease his dry throat as he glanced around, appreciating the calm of the empty track. It was rare to get time to himself like this, especially with all the chaos that usually surrounded the races and the team.
After finishing the snack, he tossed the wrapper into the trash and walked back toward his bike, stretching his arms. But as soon as he reached the area near the bike racks, his stomach sank.
His bike. It wasn’t where he had left it.
Instead, it was a mess. The handlebars were bent, the seat had been slashed, and the front tire was completely flattened. His heart dropped into his stomach as he rushed forward, his breath quickening. His first reaction was disbelief—this couldn’t be happening. His bike had been his pride and joy, his only escape from everything. But now... it was ruined.
“Who the hell—” Alex muttered under his breath, his hands trembling slightly as he inspected the damage. It was deliberate, not an accident. Someone had intentionally destroyed it. His mind raced through possible suspects, but no one had been around when he’d gone for the snack.
His thoughts began to spiral. Was it someone from the other team? Did someone from MCD or LNC do this as some kind of joke? The idea of being targeted, of someone going out of their way to destroy his bike, hit him harder than he expected. He’d worked so hard for this, poured everything he had into getting it right. Now it was all gone.
“Alex?” a familiar voice called from behind him, and Alex froze. He turned, his stomach twisting, and found John standing at the edge of the track, his bike now idling beside him.
John’s gaze flickered from Alex to the bike, and Alex could already see the confusion on his face, followed by concern. “What happened?” he asked, walking over.
Alex opened his mouth, but no words came out. He clenched his fists, biting back the frustration that rose in his chest. He couldn’t let it show—he couldn’t let John see how much it hurt.
“I don’t know,” Alex muttered, his voice low. “It wasn’t like this when I left it.”
John’s brow furrowed, and he stepped closer to inspect the damage. “This wasn’t an accident,” he said, his voice sharp. “Someone did this on purpose.”
Alex swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Yeah. I guess someone thought it’d be funny.”
John’s eyes darkened with anger, but he said nothing for a moment. Then, he placed a hand gently on Alex’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, alright?”
Alex jerked away from the touch, his chest tight. He didn’t want comfort right now, not like this. He just wanted to fix his bike, to make it like it was before.
“I don’t need help,” Alex snapped, his voice shaking slightly. “I’ll figure it out myself.”
John took a step back, clearly taken aback by the sudden outburst. He opened his mouth to say something but then seemed to think better of it. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
Alex didn’t answer. Instead, he knelt down to assess the damage more closely, his mind already working out how he could fix it, even though deep down, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
John stood there for a moment longer, before turning away to head back to his bike. He paused before he mounted it, glancing back over his shoulder. “You let me know if you need anything, alright?” he called, his voice sincere but distant.
Alex didn’t look up as he heard John’s engine roar to life again and fade into the distance, leaving him alone with the wreckage of his bike. Alone with his thoughts. And for a moment, the weight of it all pressed down so hard that he felt like he might collapse right there on the track.
Alex sat down on the ground beside his bike, feeling the cold metal against his hands as he stared at the wreckage. The anger from earlier was fading, replaced by a sickening sense of helplessness. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened his banking app.
He quickly navigated to his account balance, scrolling through the numbers. Rent. Groceries. Team fees. He had just enough to cover the essentials for the month, but that was it. There was no way he could afford to fix the damage to his bike. Not unless he dipped into the small savings he had—savings that were meant to get him through harder times. He bit his lip, the knot in his stomach tightening as he realized what that meant.
His fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating. He couldn't even afford to buy a new tire or fix the frame. He needed everything—tools, parts, labor. The repair would be costly. He'd have to find a way to make up the difference. But how? He couldn't ask John for help. He couldn’t even consider that. It was his problem, his responsibility.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, taking a deep breath. "This isn't fair," he muttered under his breath. "It’s just not fair."
The weight of it all pressed down on him again. The work he’d put in, the effort, the sacrifice. It felt like it was all slipping through his fingers. He tried to brush it off, tried to convince himself it was just a setback, but the reality was sinking in—he didn’t have the money to fix it, and he couldn’t keep running on empty like this. He was running out of options.
Sighing, Alex pushed his phone back into his pocket and stood up, looking at the bike one last time. His hands gripped the handlebars, fingers curling tightly around them. He couldn’t give up. Not like this. He’d worked too hard. But the question was—how would he fix it? And what would happen if he couldn’t?
His heart pounded, and for a brief second, he thought about calling someone—maybe Hector, maybe John—but the thought made his chest tighten. He wasn’t the kind of person who asked for help. He’d never been able to. It was just him. Always just him.
"Maybe I’ll just... find a way," Alex said to himself, his voice barely audible. He glanced at the track, the distant hum of engines echoing in the background. "I have to."
But the doubt lingered, heavy and suffocating. It always did.
Alex pulled his bike into the small garage, the sound of the tires scraping against the floor echoing in the quiet night. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights, just slumped down next to the bike, staring at the mangled mess of metal, plastic, and dirt. His fingers lightly traced over the dents and scratches on the frame, feeling the weight of the damage like it was his own fault. He closed his eyes, but the sting of reality wouldn’t fade.
He had no idea how to fix it. He had no idea how to move forward. And in that moment, as the silence of the garage enveloped him, the walls seemed to close in, tightening with each breath.
The tears came, quietly at first. They rolled down his cheeks, not in great sobs, but in silent streams of frustration and helplessness. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, but they just kept coming. Everything he’d worked for—everything he’d sacrificed—felt like it was slipping through his fingers. All the late nights, the moments of doubt, the constant feeling that he wasn’t good enough. It felt so pointless now.
He pulled his knees to his chest, pressing his forehead against them. His heart raced, pounding painfully in his chest, as his thoughts spiraled. Was he ever going to be good enough? Was he ever going to fix this mess?
His breathing came in shallow gasps, and for a brief moment, he felt like he couldn’t breathe at all. The panic that he thought he’d buried so deep in his chest resurfaced, flooding his senses. The weight of everything—the pressure of keeping up, of making sure no one saw how much he was struggling—it was suffocating.
Alex didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to feel weak, or broken, or like he was failing. But it all felt too much. The bike, the race, the pressure to be something he wasn’t sure he could be.
The tears kept coming, and no matter how much he tried to hold them back, they felt like they were drowning him.
It was stupid. He knew it. It was just a bike, just a race, just a mistake. But it wasn’t about the bike. It wasn’t even about the race. It was about the fear that he wasn’t good enough. That he’d never be enough.
And for the first time in a long time, Alex let himself break. He couldn’t hold it in anymore.
"Why does it feel like I can’t do anything right?" he whispered to no one, the words barely audible through his quiet sobs.
He didn’t have an answer. And for once, he didn’t know if he wanted one.
Alex’s phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. His hands were still trembling as he pulled it out, eyes still blurry from the tears. The screen lit up with a notification: a bank transfer alert.
He wiped his eyes, trying to focus, but the name that popped up made his heart skip a beat.
Johnathan S. — $1,500.00
For a moment, he just stared at the screen, the words blurring together. The weight of it hit him all at once—John had transferred money to his account. Enough to fix the bike, or hell, even replace it completely if he really wanted to. Alex could hardly believe it. The bike wasn’t just some old piece of junk to John, not if he was willing to give up that much to fix it.
His chest tightened. A part of him felt angry—no, ashamed—that John had done this for him. He didn’t want to be treated like this, like someone who needed charity. Alex hated the feeling of owing someone, especially someone who could afford to do something like this so easily.
But it wasn’t just the money. It was everything else behind it. The fact that John had noticed his pain, even when Alex hadn’t said a word. The fact that John cared enough to fix things without being asked. It was overwhelming.
Alex let out a shaky breath, his fingers hovering over the screen. He felt torn—he didn’t know whether to be grateful or embarrassed.
His phone buzzed again, this time with a message from John.
Johnathan S.
“You don’t have to worry about the bike. You need to focus on the race. If you don’t want it, that’s fine. Just don’t stress over the small stuff. You’ve got bigger things to worry about. Just know I’ve got your back, alright?”
Alex’s chest tightened even more, and the tears threatened to spill again. He didn’t want to cry, but it felt impossible to stop. John’s kindness was suffocating him in the best way possible, and he didn’t know what to do with it.
He closed his eyes, clenching the phone tightly in his hand.
It was stupid. It was just money. But it wasn’t just the money. It was everything. The way John saw him. The way John was always there, even when Alex didn’t deserve it.
Why do you keep doing this to me?
He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know how to process all of this, how to deal with the weight of John’s generosity. Or the feelings that kept growing inside of him every time they spent a moment together.
But he couldn’t push it away. Not now. Not when it felt like John was the only person who truly cared.
With a shaky breath, Alex typed out a response.
Alex M.
“Thanks. But I didn’t ask for this.”
It felt like the right thing to say. The moment he hit send, he regretted it, of course. He didn’t know how to accept help, especially from someone like John.
The reply came almost instantly.
Johnathan S.
“I know. But you don’t always have to ask, Alex. Sometimes people just help.”
Alex stared at the message, feeling his heart sink deeper into his chest. He didn’t know how to handle this. He didn’t know how to handle John.
But deep down, he knew one thing.
John was right. He didn’t have to ask for help. And that scared him more than anything. Because it made him realize that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to carry everything alone anymore.