Hans grinned, but shook his head, then looked toward the pilot and nodded. “You ready?”
I was born ready.
He checked my oxygen and gave me another thumbs up. I gripped the overhead cord, walked toward the opening of the plane, and felt the cold air pulling at me with an angry force. Adrenaline rushed through my veins like heroin. This was the highest I’d pushed my accelerated freefalls, and even though it wasn’t as high as I wanted, it was enough to create tiny pricks all over my skin and send blood rushing to my cock.
Another thumbs up near the door, a quick reach up to unclip myself from the plane, and I was sucked into the cool blue sky.
My brain calculated the time I needed before releasing the chute as I steadied myself into a superman position. I flew through the heavens, falling over a hundred and seventy miles per hour toward the earth. I spiraled, spun, glided, just like a bird, better yet, like a superhero. No wingsuit to slow me down, no instructors to hold my hand. I was on my own, class A baby.
My lungs tightened in my chest from the sheer speed and altitude of the fall, but I refused to reach for the oxygen bottle strapped to my hip. I wanted to feel everything, pain included. The view was spectacular. The earth looked like tiny grids as I busted through the clouds.
I checked my altimeter, and with great reluctance, pulled the rip cord. My body halted abruptly from the fast-paced fall and lifted high into the sky as I slowed, drifting for the last two thousand feet.
Peace.
The feeling of total oneness with nature, the silence so intense it almost had its own sound, were nearly as addicting as the adrenaline rush of the fall. I loved this part too. Floating, watching the earth grow larger beneath me until I extended my legs and returned to the hard ground.
“Whoowee!” the ground instructor called out as he ran toward me. “You okay?”
“I’m great,” I said as I began unclipping my chute.
The older man, Garett, was the owner of the company. He’d offered me over fifty jumps in the last year, all of which he kept under wraps. He always found a remote location where I’d be out of the media, and even though he knew he’d stand to make a fortune to sell the story of my rebellion against the Mets and MLB rules, I trusted he never would.
“How high did ya climb? It looked like you had a seventy-nine-second freefall at least.” He grinned, already knowing I’d pushed the limits he’d tried to set for me.
“Twenty thousand was sweet.”
He nodded, smiled, but didn’t reprimand me for going against his judgment and advice.
“I’ll get to twenty-five next time.” I smirked as he helped me push the last of my personal chute back into the bag.
“A lot of jumpers lose consciousness that high. That’s a sure-fire way to get yourself killed on a solo jump.”
“I can handle it. Didn’t use my oxygen this time.”
The old man shook his head, grinned, and patted me on the back as I pulled off my jumpsuit and changed shoes. “You got too much to live for to be so bound and determined to risk it all.”
Risk? What was life without risk?
The plane circled overhead before landing just a few hundred feet away from where we stood. Garret handed me the keys to the Harley Fat Boy I’d rented for the day and walked toward the plane. “‘Til next time.”
My legs straddled the powerful machine, chrome glistening in the sunlight, my fingers tightly surrounding the handgrips. My backpack securely tied to the back, adrenaline continued to race through my system as I kicked down, sending that familiar rumble between my legs as I yearned for the open road. I wanted one so bad, not this one, but a custom with a stretched out front end, high grip handlebars, and, of course, more power. That dreaded agreement made with the MLB to steer clear of dangerous — or what they considered dangerous — activities kept me from having one of my own. It was also the reason for the hour drive I had to get back to the city. If it were up to them, I’d be surrounded by bubble wrap sitting at home waiting for the season to start. No thanks. They’ll never know what doesn’t kill me.
Vibrations shot through my thighs as the bike raced down the highway. My mind drifted to the jump. I was disappointed I didn’t push to go higher. Next time.
Shit!
Red lights shone in my face as vehicles in front of me scattered across the highway, trying to avoid something I couldn’t see. I hit the brake and jerked hard on the handles, barely missing a truck skidding across the lane. Its back bumper hit my rear wheel, tossing me like a ragdoll to the side. Then I was down, sliding out of control. My bike glided across the pavement on its side, my leg barely escaping being trapped beneath it and ripped to shreds. A slam into a white pickup truck brought the bike and me to an abrupt stop.
“Are you okay?” I looked up to find a tall, skinny man with a long beard over me. He extended his hand. I refused, getting up on my own. The bike was a mess. My leg skinned, some blood coming from my elbow, but I was okay. My head hurt like hell, making me grateful I hadn’t been stupid enough to ride without a helmet this time.
“Yeah, I’m good. What happened?”
“It’s a wreck up ahead, at least three or four cars involved.”
Twisted metal was everywhere with columns of smoke growing larger by the moment. People were screaming and tires screeching as more traffic halted to avoid the pileup. Running to the worst of the wreckage, I spotted a bleeding woman lying on the asphalt trying to crawl to a little red car turned up on its side, smoke pouring from the engine. She was crying and screaming, “My baby!”
Panic set in as I realized what she was telling me. I ran toward the car and looked inside the window. A little girl, maybe a year-old, was crying in the backseat. She was still attached to her car seat, which was now holding her inside, even though gravity wanted to drop her into the back door.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” I pushed myself inside, stretching as far as I could reach and got a grip on the buckle that held her in place.
“Please help her,” the mother screamed.
“I’m trying,” I promised, feeling the pressure of the situation, and especially feeling the heat coming from the front of the car.
My fingers gripped the buckle. My other hand reached forward, ready to catch the girl as I unhooked her from the seat. She fell into my hand with a force I hadn’t expected, almost ripping my shoulder from its socket.
“I got you,” I whispered, pulling the screaming child toward the window and backing out with her in my arms.
The mother wrapped her arms around me, squeezing both me and her daughter with an overly appreciative hug. “Thank you,” she sobbed, taking her daughter from my arms, inspecting her from top to bottom. I steered them both away from the burning car, urging those around us to get far away.