Whisky Throttle (Throttle Series, #1)

six

Maddox

On the day we're set to start helping Calla out with the camp, I manage to sneak out of the house without my dad knowing where I'm actually going. As far as he knows, I'm attending a program at the college to help further my career in business. Of course, he's still not very happy about that invalid decision, but he saw some advantages. Ones that mainly had to do with me properly contributing to helping run the business portion of the drug cartel. What he doesn't know is that my dirt bike is already up at the Lower Pits, chained to Calla's trailer, and I'm heading over to pick up Vance from his house before we head up.

When I arrive at Vance's place, I call him. The last thing I want to deal with is Aunty Stella's fidgety hands and constant blabber about how much she loves me but still doesn't want me to stay with her and her family.

"Hey, champ," Vance answers. "How's it going?"

I roll my eyes, stumped as to why he continues to call me champ even though I haven't been part of a basketball team for a couple of years now. 'Champ' is something that originated when my team and I won provincials during my senior year of high school. Vance and Allison came to every game in Kamloops and supported me until the end. "Hey, Vance," I reply. "I'm here if you're ready to go."

"I'll be out in a second. You ready to deal with a bunch of whiny kids for the rest of the summer?"

"I'll let you know when you get your ass out here," I chirp back, hanging up the phone before he can respond. Because Vance's dad's car is in the shop, he's been using Vance's truck. Which is why after today is over, Vance is going to use my truck until his dad can get his car back. It's all worked out perfectly for us because I'm the only one, aside from Calla, who is staying overnight at the campsite. Despite his somewhat ignorant attitude towards his family, I know Vance is a family man; he can never be too far away from his sister or his parents without missing them. And, if the option is available, he prefers to go home every night. Which is exactly what he's doing. Eventually, my truck will join me at the campsite. Until then, Vance is going to use it, bringing me whatever I might need, such as snacks or drinks or some more clothes.

Five minutes later, Vance steps out of the front door, a large duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Because of the striking cobalt-blue fabric sticking out, I know it's filled with his motocross gear. He throws the bag in the back seat and then climbs into the front seat. Just like me, he's wearing Fox's baseframe pro gear – both the top and the pants. His cobalt-blue Fox socks are knee-high and paired with his Nike sandals. I'm dressed almost exactly the same, except my socks are neon orange to match my KTM bike.

"Looking good, bro," Vance jokes, pushing at my shoulder. I shrug him off, staring the engine again and trying to fight a smile. Although his power is limited in this situation, as is mine, I'll always be thankful that I have Vance in my life.

"For the record," I drawl, pulling out of his driveway. "I had this outfit first. You copied me."

Smugly, Vance leans back in his seat and pulls out his phone, hooking it up to the auxiliary cord and scrolling through his music. "You can't say I've copied you if my socks are different." After a brief pause, he decides on some rap music. Personally, I'm not a fan of rap music – I don't like the terminology that's used nor do I like endless, thumping beats. I'm more of an indie-alternative guy, but I don't say anything about Vance's choice of music. We have a series of unwritten rules when we're in each other's vehicles. Whoever isn't driving handles the music. Whoever is driving...well, they focus on the road.