A Chance Worth Taking

Chapter One Ulimate Adrenaline Rush

~ "Driving a motorcycle is like flying. All your senses are alive. You're free of the gravity of what people think." ~ Hugh Laurie

Chapter One

Ultimate Adrenaline Rush

Brooke's POV

I haven't always been like this, quiet and over protective that is. A year ago I was a totally different person. I was social, carefree and happy. I was the girl who had it all. I did volunteer work, got good grades, and never stopped smiling. I had a pretty good life. I should have known that it was too good to be true.

My grandmother always said that it wasn't right for one person to have so much good luck. She believes that the universe always balances itself out. When there's too much of a good thing, there have to be bad things to even it out, so the bad will never out weigh the good. She also said that my dad's love of motorcycles were his fatal flaw. She was right, on both accounts.

Looking back on it, I shouldn't have been surprised when things stated to go downhill.

It all started with one reckless ride.

I'm not sure how to explain how it all happened, but I'll tell you a bit about myself so you can picture it. I was kind of wild, but I wasn't out of control and I wasn't stupid. I didn't do drugs or drink, but I loved adrenaline rushes. So did my dad. He was my best friend. We did lots of crazy things together. We went sky diving, bunging jumping, cliff diving...you get the picture.

He's dead now.

Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, it was mid September and just starting to get cold out. I came home to my dad standing in the driveway, holding up my leather jacket. My grin matched his as he and handed it to me. He didn't have to say anything, I knew it was time. We had been talking about it for months, getting me my own motorcycle that is. My dad used to have a gorgeous Harley. When he fell in love with my mom he got rid of it, but he never got over it. He'd taught me everything there was to know about cars, engines, and trick riding. I started competing in trick riding at age fourteen. I know, I know, not a very typical hobby for a fourteen year old girl, but I'm not a typical girl.

We took the Chevy and headed to Harvey's Garage just a few blocks from our house.

"Ready pumpkin?" It wasn't really a question.

"Dad, I was born ready." I said with a small smile.

"I love you." He said, placing his hand over mine.

"Love you too." I replied, squeezing his hand with my own.

We had that same conversation so many times. Before track meets, dance recitals, anything I might have been nervous about. It was his way of making sure I was ok. I miss those conversations so much it hurts.

I had butterflies in my stomach as we pulled in to the driveway. It was finally here, the bike of my dreams. Deep blue, slim, fast and virtually indestructible. My dad disappeared inside to sign a few papers for the bike and talk to the owner of the garage.

Sighing, I ran my hand over the handel bars and sat on it experimentally. It was perfect.

"It's officially, you are now the proud owner of this classic motorcycle." Announced my dad as he walked towards me.

"Well it's not Steve, but its a close second." I teased. He laughed. Steve was what he named his first motorcycle.

He held out my light blue helmet which I took from him gladly. He slipped his own on and sat down behind me on the bike.

"You ok with driving?" He joked.

I was seventeen and I knew everything there was to know about bikes and cars alike. This wouldn't be my first time driving. Sure it was a little dangerous, but that was part of the fun.

For the first three miles, everything was fine. I stayed just above the speed limit and only made a few sharp turns.

I eased off the clutch. The bike responded immediately. We shot forward...faster...faster. I knew I was going too fast, but I didn't care.

The feeling was indescribable, I'd never felt so free. It was like flying. My hair whipped around my face. My dad's arms were wrapped securely around my waist. I felt safe.

I saw headlights out of the corner of my eye and by then it was too late. It's hard to remember what happened next. It's a blur. I know there was a horrible crunching sound, blinding light, and a lot of pain. I found out later that the car clipped my leg and threw me from the bike. Most the bones in my right leg were broken along with a few ribs. My dad wasn't so lucky.

It was only a few minutes before the ambulance arrived, but I knew they would be too late.

No one had even asked who had been driving. Not the doctors or the police. They all assumed it was my dad, the adult, and I never told them otherwise.

The crash wasn't my fault, but it felt like it was. We were hit by a minivan that ran a red light. The driver had been texting.

I walked out of the hospital a week later with some serious injuries, a big secret, and a broken heart. Two months later, as soon as my leg was fully healed, we moved across the country. My mom, my baby brother, and I packed up the house and went from Georgia to North Dakota. A fresh start, my mom called it, just what we needed.

She tries, but there are some scars you can't hide.

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Thanks for reading -wishingfornialler