Read Online Coast (Kick Push Book 2) (The Road 3) by Jay McLean - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jay McLean
Tags: Fiction
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rank me fourth in the world. I had one final trick up my sleeve and 11.3 seconds on the clock.
When I poured my heart out to Becca, begging her to forgive me, asking her to give me a sign that she still felt everything I felt, I had the same feeling. One last trick. One last chance.
I started my run up, board in my hand and my mind already three seconds ahead. Then I dropped the board, and I kicked and I pushed, focused on the grind rail in front of me. Focused on the prize.
World Ranking.
Becca.
There are two parts to completing a trick. The landing and the balance to continue. I found myself in the air, the clock ticking down, and my board flipping somewhere beneath me. The second my toes touched the grip tape, I knew I had the landing down.
When Becca’s lips met mine, cold and wet and perfect, I knew I’d landed my last trick. Landed her.
A second later, the board tipped forward, throwing me completely off balance. My foot came down an inch too close to the front of the deck, and I fell nose first on the ground. Blood poured everywhere, taking my pride with it.
Just like Becca when she walked away from me.
But there’s a reason why skaters skate. Why we bust a trick fifty times just to nail it once. Why we suffer broken bones and bruises and scrapes over and over. It’s all in our heads. We deceive our minds into believing that there is no pain. That’s when the adrenaline kicks in. And the adrenaline is what we live for. We fall. We get back up. We kick. We push. Again and again. Because the joy of success is greater than the depression of failure.
It took me three weeks to get over the loss at that comp.
It took me three seconds to trick my mind into believing that the pain of Becca walking away didn’t exist.
So I get into bed, my mind clear and my dad’s final words replaying in my head.
“Time to coast, son.”
10
—Becca—
I t shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The moment we pulled out of Grams’s driveway to head to the airport, I knew something was wrong. Aaron barely spoke to me on the flight and he stayed that way on the drive home. As soon as we were out of Dad’s car, Aaron asked if we could talk. That was the first time he actually looked at me. He was upset. It was obvious. And I was upset for him. We broke down, sitting in his car, outside my house and we released the truths to the lies we’d been living. But there was no yelling, no arguing. Just… understanding. And sadness. So much sadness. He confessed that he used the trip as a way to determine our true feelings for each other. The fact that I basically ignored him the entire time was proof that I didn’t feel the way he’d hoped. I tried to argue with him in my own silent way, but he kept shaking his head and telling me that it was okay. It was okay because he realized that it didn’t hurt him the way it should have. It was painful—to have him sit there and tell me that he thought we’d been using each other in the hopes that it would somehow help us forget our losses. There was a reason he was drawn to a girl who couldn’t speak, a girl who he’d hoped would rely on him the way Brandi had, a girl who found comfort in his need to understand her. But like he said, I wasn’t Brandi, and he didn’t love me. Just like he wasn’t Josh, and I didn’t love him. Again, I tried to argue with him. Or maybe it wasn’t him so much as it was myself. I didn’t love Josh. I couldn’t love Josh. But even through my silent cries and untrue declarations, he felt the weight of the truth as much as I did. He held me while I cried, and I did the same for him, and we promised each other that we’d remain friends. That we wouldn’t let it change our relationship. As much as I wish that was going to happen, I knew it wouldn’t. And as much as I didn’t realize it while it was happening, he was wrong. Maybe I didn’t rely on him the way he wanted, but I still did. In my own way. A way I’d feared.
I became sad, and then
When I poured my heart out to Becca, begging her to forgive me, asking her to give me a sign that she still felt everything I felt, I had the same feeling. One last trick. One last chance.
I started my run up, board in my hand and my mind already three seconds ahead. Then I dropped the board, and I kicked and I pushed, focused on the grind rail in front of me. Focused on the prize.
World Ranking.
Becca.
There are two parts to completing a trick. The landing and the balance to continue. I found myself in the air, the clock ticking down, and my board flipping somewhere beneath me. The second my toes touched the grip tape, I knew I had the landing down.
When Becca’s lips met mine, cold and wet and perfect, I knew I’d landed my last trick. Landed her.
A second later, the board tipped forward, throwing me completely off balance. My foot came down an inch too close to the front of the deck, and I fell nose first on the ground. Blood poured everywhere, taking my pride with it.
Just like Becca when she walked away from me.
But there’s a reason why skaters skate. Why we bust a trick fifty times just to nail it once. Why we suffer broken bones and bruises and scrapes over and over. It’s all in our heads. We deceive our minds into believing that there is no pain. That’s when the adrenaline kicks in. And the adrenaline is what we live for. We fall. We get back up. We kick. We push. Again and again. Because the joy of success is greater than the depression of failure.
It took me three weeks to get over the loss at that comp.
It took me three seconds to trick my mind into believing that the pain of Becca walking away didn’t exist.
So I get into bed, my mind clear and my dad’s final words replaying in my head.
“Time to coast, son.”
10
—Becca—
I t shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The moment we pulled out of Grams’s driveway to head to the airport, I knew something was wrong. Aaron barely spoke to me on the flight and he stayed that way on the drive home. As soon as we were out of Dad’s car, Aaron asked if we could talk. That was the first time he actually looked at me. He was upset. It was obvious. And I was upset for him. We broke down, sitting in his car, outside my house and we released the truths to the lies we’d been living. But there was no yelling, no arguing. Just… understanding. And sadness. So much sadness. He confessed that he used the trip as a way to determine our true feelings for each other. The fact that I basically ignored him the entire time was proof that I didn’t feel the way he’d hoped. I tried to argue with him in my own silent way, but he kept shaking his head and telling me that it was okay. It was okay because he realized that it didn’t hurt him the way it should have. It was painful—to have him sit there and tell me that he thought we’d been using each other in the hopes that it would somehow help us forget our losses. There was a reason he was drawn to a girl who couldn’t speak, a girl who he’d hoped would rely on him the way Brandi had, a girl who found comfort in his need to understand her. But like he said, I wasn’t Brandi, and he didn’t love me. Just like he wasn’t Josh, and I didn’t love him. Again, I tried to argue with him. Or maybe it wasn’t him so much as it was myself. I didn’t love Josh. I couldn’t love Josh. But even through my silent cries and untrue declarations, he felt the weight of the truth as much as I did. He held me while I cried, and I did the same for him, and we promised each other that we’d remain friends. That we wouldn’t let it change our relationship. As much as I wish that was going to happen, I knew it wouldn’t. And as much as I didn’t realize it while it was happening, he was wrong. Maybe I didn’t rely on him the way he wanted, but I still did. In my own way. A way I’d feared.
I became sad, and then
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