Bottomed Out

  Bottoming Out

  Copyright © 2020, Brooke May

  Printed in The United States of America.

  ISBN 9798640733433

  First Edition

  Edited by Editing4Indies

  Cover Art by Dark Water Covers

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All Right Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form of by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write the author.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1979, the scanning, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purpose), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at bmay3129@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction of distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement with monetary gain, in investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Books by Brooke

  To everyone who was held back only to push forward and prove the world wrong.

  Bottomed Out: Landing so hard from a jump that the suspension uses up all of its travel.

  Prologue

  One accident was all it took for all the pure packed muscle on my six-foot-tall body to go down the goddamn drain.

  A one-time deal turned into a life-altering experience.

  Life was going great; I was on top of the fucking world and nearly the best in the world of motocross racing. I was traveling all over the world, going to every race I could, and it all changed in the first major race I got to experience in Australia.

  Everything I wanted was mine—fame in the moto world and money to do what I wanted: partying, buying shit, and whatever else I could think of, and plenty of women. When I wanted one, I got one. I never lacked female companionship. All I had to do was look at one, grin, and she would be mine for the evening.

  All that has changed now.

  One muddy track was nothing to me. I could handle it with the best of them, and I was. Trailing two Australian racers, I was slowly gaining on them until I was on top of them.

  Literally.

  In the seconds it took the rookie driver to crash my friend and fellow racer, Axle Ryan, I was unable to prevent my bike from running into them and causing a pileup. And a pile up is exactly what ended up happening. I went from the top of the pile, as I did with being on top of the world, to bottoming out under a quickly growing mountain of bikes.

  The scent of exhaust and oil with a mixture of wet earth, metal, and blood flittered through my senses as I drifted in and out of consciousness. The sound of bikes abruptly coming to a smashing stop over me was like a thousand sticks of dynamite going off right next to my head. I would jerk to a semi-awake state only for me to slip back into the inky darkness as my eyes fluttered closed.

  Axle was able to walk away from the accident with a few bumps and bruises, but I was less fortunate. I went from being buried to lying on a gurney, rushed to the nearest hospital where they worked on me for hours. After I woke from the medically induced slumber, I learned I would never walk again.

  My life was completely fucked up because some dumbass attempted to be better than someone he knew he wasn’t.

  But it didn’t stop there.

  No, my friend changed his life to be by my side while I underwent more surgeries, physical therapy, and learned how to live life again while being bound to a wheelchair for the rest of my breathing days.

  Axle moved to the United States as my roommate when I needed to move to a ground-level apartment. As grateful as I was for everything he had done and continues to do for me to this day, it pisses me off that he gave up the life he loved when I never once wanted that for either of us.

  He sold his bike, gear, and everything he had that related to the sport we both loved so much while I worked hard to get better and got back to work, finding a job that brought me as close to bikes and racing as I could get.

  Axle went on to work at an accounting firm where he was miserable while I developed relationships between the company I worked for and the riders they sponsored and the events they held.

  To this day, it still pisses me off in a way with Axle when he ignores me every time I encourage him to find his way back and not give up. No, not when I was told I would never walk again, let alone ever ride a bike.

  It also doesn’t help that my mom has placed more than enough blame on Axle for my accident. The man already beats himself up for it when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. My mom refuses to see this truth as well. She won’t acknowledge who truly is at fault, and it has led to tension in my family.

  In the past several years, my mom has only spoken to me on a handful of occasions, and I miss her. I was close to both of my parents before the accident, and now afterward, I barely know either of them. I don’t blame my dad, though; he has to live with my mom, and I talk with him when I can, but it isn’t the same. I see how my sister has a bond with them, even though it too is strained because she understands what is going on with my parents isn’t fair to me.

  I have done my best to move on from my past, and now I do everything I can to prove to my friend that he can do the same.

  For the most part, life is pretty nice now. I push myself in the gym to make my upper body strong while my legs continue to stay small and lifeless. When I go out, I get a guaranteed parking spot everywhere, and people make sure to make room for me whenever they see me coming. My
boss cherishes me as an employee and doesn’t give me any special treatment just because my ass is always in a seat.

  The only downside to this wheeled life I am forced to live is the women. Where once they would pant for me, come to me when I gave the look that would beckon them to be at my side and in my bed, they now look at me with a great deal of pity and often overlook me for my two friends.

  And why?

  Because their legs still fuckin’ work.

  I can’t stand the look of pity they cast in my direction whenever they get closer and notice I’m in a wheelchair. Most only see the parts of me that are broken and likely think that all of me from the waist down is dead when that is far from the truth. Sure, some have taken an interest in me, but I knew, even as I had them ride me because days of being on top of a woman are long gone, every fuck I was given was nothing but pity filled.

  My legs may not work, but my dick, tongue, and fingers are still perfectly functional, and I have a lot to give a woman if one would just give me a chance.

  It’s been a bitch, but I plan on changing it all to be on top once more.

  Watch out world, here comes Jax Hunt.

  Chapter One

  “It’s a party in the USA.”

  Sleep recedes at the strangest rate; it is both slow as well as quick. While I’m being pulled from the peaceful slumber I was dreamlessly drifting in, I’m pulled to my conscious thoughts and attempt to piece together what in the hell is going on.

  I’ve never been classified as a hard sleeper, but when moments like this happen, it makes me believe I sleep like the dead. Considering I have such a difficult time falling asleep each night, waking up is usually simple, but not at this moment.

  “Yeah, it’s a party in the USA.”

  What in the ever-loving hell is that?

  Sleep dust cracks and falls from the corners of my eyes as I rub and slowly open them one at a time. Taking in the soft light of the early morning is far easier to deal with than the blinding sun that comes just a few hours from now.

  The song starts up again, and I frantically look for the source of the cheery music. Axle is one enormous hemorrhoid. No, he couldn’t just be the typical asshole. That title is granted to my other friend Levi Crowe, who fortunately doesn’t live with us. But Axle Ryan is something entirely different. He isn’t an asshole; he is what irritates your ass.

  And I have enough issues with my back end. Try dealing with sores on your ass when you are permanently stuck in a chair.

  Yawning, I stretch one arm over my head while the other blindly seeks the source of the noise. Finding my phone, my arm drops as I drag my vibrating and ringing phone over the top of my crumpled sheets.

  “Goddamn you, Axle.” As I grind my teeth, my numb fingers try to come back to life as I stab at the screen. I’m failing at shutting the damn thing off. This morning is going to be hell.

  How many alarms did Axle set this time?

  Finally getting it silenced, I rub the side of my face as I open the app to delete and fix all my fucking alarms. This is just one in a series of many mornings I have woken up with different songs. Today just happened to be Miley Cyrus. That’s not the worst Axle has come up with, but it sure beats some of the other shit he’s put on my phone.

  I really need to start locking this fucker.

  At least I didn’t fall out of bed this time.

  Returning my phone back to my side table, I begin my daily ritual of getting myself out of the bed. Grabbing the corner of my sheets, I toss them off my legs and then scoot myself over to the edge of the bed before dropping each numb limb to hang off the side of the bed. I hear my feet slap against the hardwood flooring even though I can’t feel it.

  I lift my body off the bed and onto my locked chair next to it. It’s a lot easier than it was when I first had to do it on my own. Building my upper body strength back to the point it was before my accident was key in helping me get back to who I was.

  It’s become a near obsession now that helps me focus and prove to others that, no matter what disability you may have, your will-power and mind can help you overcome anything.

  Putting one foot at a time on each of the foot plates, I finally take the wheel locks off and head to the bathroom. Hopefully, Axle will be out of the way.

  As much as I dislike the fucking ringtones Axle is always putting on my phone, I’m grateful because it helps get me up a little earlier. Since it takes me forever to get ready each morning, I’ll have a little extra time today.

  Pulling myself up into my shower seat, I miss the days of just stepping in and letting the hot water wash over me. It was easier, but I’ve managed. Once I finish in the shower, I run a brush through my hair that hangs just below my ears and head back to my room to get dressed for work.

  When I’m presentable enough for a Monday morning, I grab my phone once more, collect my wallet and keys from my dresser, and head out to the kitchen.

  Pots and pans were clanging around when I got out of the shower, indicating Axle is up and as moody as ever.

  It’s typical, though, and I’ve learned to ignore it.

  As grateful as I am for my friend being by my side through everything, dealing with the moody Australian who can’t stand his job and leading him to being a little more miserable isn’t a walk … roll in the park.

  “Morning, cupcake.” Gliding into the kitchen, I make my way around the grumbling gorilla and get some food for myself while also putting my lunch together. I’m one of the rare people who still makes my meals to take to work. I prefer it that way.

  “I see you fancy yourself a little Miley in the morning.” I grin up at him. “Good to know.” He grunts into his coffee. “Yeah, well she didn’t have me falling out of bed to reach for her like Kesha did. But I figured you went with Miley since she’s with one of your fellow Aussies.”

  This causes him to pause. A grin slowly morphs the ever-present pissed-off expression on his face, and he barks a quick laugh. “Good one, but they broke up.”

  “And how would you know that? Keeping up with the gossip magazines now?”

  He ignores me. “Do you need help getting your gummy vitamins, or can you handle it today like a big boy?”

  “I’ll take the gummies over swallowing those massive things you like. But hey, it gives you great practice for swallowing, doesn’t it?”

  “Fucker.”

  My grin widens as I set up my breakfast and start to eat. Axle does the same, taking his seat across from me. We have always been comfortable making snide comments and throwing insults at one another. We did it when we first got to know each other, and I’m glad it hasn’t changed between the two of us when everything else did.

  “You’re going to the new gym today?”

  “Yes, Momma Ax.” The gym I’ve been going to since I was well enough to come back home and then able to begin working out again is closing down. When they told me two months ago that they were closing the doors, I was a little panicked about finding another place that could accommodate me.

  After looking up every gym I could find in Salt Lake City and going on many tours, I was able to find the right fit. They specialize in people with similar circumstances as myself, and today is my first official tour of the place, but I already know it’ll be a perfect fit.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  I love that I’ve touched a nerve with him. He still gets on mine when he tries to help me do something I am perfectly capable of handling on my own.

  “I’ll be good. I’m going to head over after work.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Finishing my breakfast, I make sure I rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher before Axle loses his shit and has to redo all of it. Axle has a little issues of wanting to keep everything in order and perfect in his mind. It used to drive me crazy when we first moved in together, but I soon grew numb to it and just rolled with the punches. As long as the apartment is in order, my bedroom can be in a compl
ete disarray.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “What, want an excuse to get out of your hellhole sooner?”

  “No, I just thought …” he trails off.

  “Axle, I’m glad you want to be there for me, but I have this. I’ll see you tonight.” Putting all my stuff on my lap, I head out to my van Levi and Axle have named the Bangin’ Wagon and head off to work.

  Chapter Two

  “Land of fame excess.”

  Fucking Axle. The fucker just had to pick one of the catchiest songs out there to play on my phone. Even blasting something loud with words that are just a fraction above understandable wasn’t enough to get the lyrics I barely paid attention to out of my head.

  Fuck it, I’m going to pull one of Axle’s words out and call him a cunt. The first thing I’m doing when I park my van in the company garage is putting a lock on my goddamn phone and adding my fingerprint to make sure the bastard stays locked out.

  The trip to Double X Industries couldn’t go fast enough. My ears are aching from how loud I have the music pumping through the speakers that can’t handle the pressure coming through them. I’ve been given some of the ugliest looks from people who came to a stop next to me at each intersection.

  After taking my ticket at the gate, I continue down below the ground level where the company has reserved spots for their employees. My spot is closest to the elevator, next to the president and higher-ups.

  Turning the radio off, I cut the engine and begin the tedious task of unlocking my chair and pushing myself backward onto the ramp so I can get out. When I first bought this van, it took a lot to think about changing the gears with my hands rather than using the brain power in the useless attempt to get my legs to work.

  A lot of vans out there require the wheelchair door to remain open when the driver or passenger get out, but I didn’t feel safe with that. Salt Lake may not be as bad as some cities out there, but nothing would stop someone from either hijacking a vehicle worth a pretty penny like mine or hiding somewhere inside to do something to me once I’m in it. I sprung for the expensive one where I could do everything myself, including locking it up once I’m out.