Page 2 of Forgiving Utah

The ramp barrels toward us, gravel spraying beneath the tires. My pulse syncs with the engine, every vibration familiar and comforting. I know Taylor's rhythm by heart—when he’s going to move, exactly how the bike will lift off, the number of breaths he takes.

As our bike hits the ramp, chilly October wind whips past me, adrenaline sharpening the world down to speed, distance, and timing.

Taylor rises first, shifting his weight back so that I can move forward. I plant a hand on his shoulder and vault, my body twisting mid-air once I clear him cleanly. For a brief moment, I’m floating above him, above the bike, above the entire dirt field behind my mother's house.

Until my ass hits the seat hard between Taylor's legs when I land in front of him.

He locks in behind me without hesitation, wrapping his arms around my waist tightly as I grab the handlebars. The ground rushes up fast, and I brace myself for impact, trusting the laws of physics to do their job.

One heartbeat, then two⁠—

“Motherfucking shit!”

I land hard, suspension screaming. The bike skids but stays upright as our boots scrape mud. Somehow, I manage to wrestle the two-stroke into control before it throws us off completely.

“Good save, man,” Tay laughs, but it's not fucking good enough. I kill the engine and rip my helmet off.

January’s Monster Truck rally is coming up quick, and we’ve been practicing this stunt for months. Usually, we're more in sync than this. At least… we used to be.

“You hesitated on that flip,” he says, not even out of breath. “What's going on?”

Scoffing, I wipe the sweat off my forehead. “I nailed that shit.”

“You corrected it,” he counters. “Big difference.”

Fuck, he knows me too well.

Heat crawls up my neck. “I’m fine,” I lie, glancing toward his ugly yellow truck parked at the edge of the field. The cab's still filled with boxes that we didn't unload earlier when I'd helped him move. He and his boyfriend, Huckslee, are taking over Matty and Xed’s old townhouse.

Taylor follows my gaze, and his expression softens. “Christian,” he starts, but I shake my head quickly.

“Why you gotta leave me like this, fool? We’re a team. Hermanos para siempre, remember?”

He exhales slowly, like I’m being dramatic, before digging out a pack of smokes from his motocross jacket. “It’s not like I’m moving to the other side of the country, man. Chill. I’ll literally be ten minutes away from the apartment.”

Ten minutes too far.

“Yeah, but…” My throat tightens. “Who’s gonna make me coffee in the morning? Or eat all my cereal?”

Who’s gonna be there when I come home at night?

“Logan?”

“He doesn't even like coffee, motherfucker.” I grimace at the thought of our roommate’s unhealthy obsession with energy drinks.

“Get a girlfriend, maybe?” Taylor shakes out a cigarette, looking amused.

“Already told you, I’m done with the dating scene. One-time hookups only.”

The corner of my best friend’s mouth quirks up. “Have them make your coffee, then.”

He nudges me aside so that he can roll his bike toward his truck, and I follow, because what else am I supposed to do? Chain him to my mother's back porch?

“I don’t want them making my coffee. I want you.” Jesus, that sounds gay as shit. “You can’t break up with me, cariño.”

Tay flicks his lighter after leaning his bike against the truck bed. “Christian, buddy. My guy. We’re not breaking up. We’re just… growing up.”

Yeah, and I fucking hate it.