Hello everyone. Thank you for clicking my story. I understand that there were many stories you could have chosen and I appreciate you choosing mine.

EDIT: This is the edited version of the chapter that was originally supposed to be uploaded.

Summary: Jace Wayland has only ever been a racer. On his feet, in a car, on a bike, anywhere he could think of. Motocross is his life. After winning the Open season, Jace gets into a disagreement with his agent, resulting in Jace searching for a new agent. He finds Clary Fray, a small woman with as much drive and power as any of his bikes. Clary and Jace quickly connect, and Jace begins to develop feelings for her. When tragedy arises, and Jace's career is put on the line, can Clary help him get back on his feet? Or will Jace's racing days be over for good. Rated T for now, may change to M later.

Note: I pronounce Stephen's name with an 'f' sound, instead of a 'v' sound, and Taki's is pronounced 'Tacky' with an 's'.

Disclaimer: All rights go to Cassandra Clare. I own nothing aside for any original ideas.

Suddenly people know my name,
Suddenly everything has changed,
Suddenly I feel so alive, in the blink of an eye.
Suddenly I am center stage, suddenly I am not afraid
Suddenly I believe again, it's happening now.

Suddenly – Ashley Tisdale

"—And coming around the bend is number seven, Jace Wayland! He's followed closely by number thirty-two, Jonathon Morgenstern."

"It'll definitely be a close call, Mark. As always."

"Yes, Joe. These two young racers have been challenging each other all season long. Morgenstern pulls ahead, only by a foot!"

"Wayland won't go down without a fight, Mark. What watch as he pulls up. They're going head-to-head again. The finish line is in view now." Jace tuned out the announcers' voice for a moment; his entire body leaned on the edge of his seat. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins; could feel see the glimpses of determination in his reflection. His eyes stayed glued in front of him, completely focused on the finish line. Two more hills, and three hundred meters until his victory.

"It'll be a photo finish, folks!"

Jace crossed the finish line, pulling on the brakes so the dirt bike swerved in the dirt. It really had been too close to call, and the fact that it had been Jonathon Morgenstern, of all people, did little to reassure him.

"You had him by a full six inches, Jace." The audio was fuzzy, and Stephen's voice was blurred by static, but Jace understood his agent clearly enough. He watched as Stephen appeared dressed in the Wayland team jacket. "You've got this in the bag."

As the other racers finished, a man in a suit walked out, holding a microphone and a folded piece of paper in his hands. He lifted the microphone to his mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, our officials have reviewed the photograph, and it brings me great pleasure to announce the podium placement for this afternoon."

"In third place, with a time of thirteen minutes forty-five seconds, welcome Sebastian Verlac to the stand!" The audience cheered as Sebastian went to collect his bronze trophy with a bright smile, before raising his arms up. "In second place, Jonathan Morgenstern!" The light haired boy looked almost shocked to be called, but was halfway to the podium, practically snatching the silver trophy, standing next to Sebastian. The audience's cheers erupted as the announcer returned. "Finally, with a record breaking time of nine minutes and forty-eight seconds, beating Jonathan's time by only thirty milliseconds, I give you the new American Motocross champion, Jace Wayland!"

The crowd cheered, louder than they had for both Sebastian and Jonathon. Jace walked to the announcer, shaking his hand and collecting the paper and gold trophy. He bowed his head, letting the assistant slide the medallion around his neck. He turned to wave to the crowd, and instantly, news reporters and photographers surrounded the podium.

"One at a—" The television shut off, leaving Jace staring at his reflection in the dark screen.

"Good job yesterday." Stephen nodded toward the golden trophy on the table. Jace reached for it, lifting it carefully and bringing it across the room to the glass trophy case by the window.

He stopped for a moment, clutching the trophy in his hands. There was a gold plate with his name on it, and Jace found himself running his thumb across it, feeling the cool metal and the ridges of the letters.

"How many is that now? Twenty-two?" Jace snapped his head up, putting the new trophy on the shelf. He was running out of space.

"Twenty-three, including the medal." He corrected, spinning around. Stephen had settled himself on the couch.

"Oh, well, we need to discuss something." Jace walked into the kitchen, lifting himself to sit on the counter, opening a bottle of pop. Stephen crossed the room to him, holding out a pile of papers. On top were photos, taken by a paparazzi, most likely.

"One girl is claiming you slept with her, after the win yesterday, explaining why you weren't at the celebration. Another says she has pictures and texts of you and her, doing and saying inappropriate things."

"So? What's your point, Steph?" Jace's face was indifferent as he flipped through the photos. It was him, that was for sure, with a girl whose face he was too hung over to remember.

"My point is that you can't just be screwing around with anything in a skirt. Not you. Not now."

"I'm not even twenty-one yet, Steph; are you saying I can't have fun?"

"I'm saying," Stephen went on, "that everyone knows you're in love with that model girl, Casey –"

"Kaelie," Jace corrected. "And I wouldn't stretch that it's love—"

"Whatever. I'm just saying that you can't be acting like that now. We can't afford to mess up, not this close to the World Series."

Jace nearly choked on his drink.

"Wait, what? World Series? Steph, I still have to get through to the next round before I can even consider thinking about the World Series."

Stephen sighed, realizing that discussing anything with Jace while he was in a mood like this was pointless. Discussing anything with Jace, ever, was pointless. "Fine. No World Series talk. For now. But I am going to talk to Hodge. You're getting soft on your turns. That's where you let Morgenstern get ahead. Maybe a little more training before the season starts up again—"

"No." Jace said, setting his drink onto the counter beside him.

Stephen had been scrolling through his phone, a plan already formulating in the back of his mind. "You've got press all next week, and then Fell's party, and then a month off for break. Maybe we could cut that a bit short and –"

"No." Jace spoke louder this time.

"Yeah, that could work." Stephen went on, completely ignoring him now. There was a calendar hanging on a nearby wall, and Stephen went to it, using highlighters to mark down different days of importance.

"We'll resume training the second week back. No, the third, and then we'll be away for Spain on the twenty-first. Perfect!" This time, Jace had had enough.

"Stephen!" He yelled. The man finally turned looked up, his blue eyes searching Jace's face. "I said no."

"To what?"

Jace opened his mouth to reply, but a loud beep-beep-beep cut him off. Stephen looked down at his phone. "Oh, damn. Kid, come on." He looked back up at Jace. "I told Fell that you'd answer some questions for him today. You know how he is. We should get going. Put on a shirt, the car is waiting."

Somehow , that was the last straw for Jace. He jumped off the counter, turning to face his agent.

"No." He said again. "I'm not going/" He shouldered his way passed Stephen, biting back a wince of pain as he hit the bruise on his shoulder. He headed up the stairs toward his room, hoping for a quick shower and a nap.

But Stephen had other plans.

"What the hell do you mean 'no'?" He yelled angrily, following him up the stairs. This isn't an option, Jace! Stop being a child and get ready!"

Jace undid the button on his jeans, trying to ignore the pounding at the back of his head. "I'm not going, Stephen. I have one rule: Nothing after a race. My head is killing me. I'm tired." Jace pulled down his zipper. Stephen stood by the door, leaning against the doorframe. "Now, I'm about to get naked,"

"Jace," Stephen warned, narrowing his eyes.

"And unless you're staying for the show," Jace continued. "I think you should leave me alone now."

Stephen shook his head. "Again, I'm not your babysitter. Put on some clothes, try to look presentable, and get in the damn car."

Jace let out a frustrated sigh. "What part of 'I am not going' do you not understand? I don't want to talk to some old man about bullshit questions I've answered a million times. I want to rest." Jace crossed the room, reaching into the nightstand to find a large manila envelope. Sighing, he handed it to Stephen.

The man to it carefully. "What's this?" Taking the pointed nod from Jace, Stephen went ahead and opened the envelope. A small stack of sheets fell out as he tipped the envelope into his palm. Jace sucked in a breath as he watched the man read the first of the papers. "I can't believe this." Stephen finally met Jace's eyes. "You're firing me?"

"I can't take all of your crap anymore Steph!" Jace met the man's glare evenly. "I'm tired of it."

"Tired of what?" Stephen yelled. "Of getting paid to do nothing? Of having your whole life laid out for you." Stephen laughed humourlessly. "Or are you tired of letting everyone else cover for you when you mess up? Hodge is still trying to pay off your fine from the drug bust last month. So enlighten me, Jace, what the hell are you tired of? Because from where I'm standing, you have it easy!"

Jace clenched his teeth, letting his anger subside while he bit the inside of his cheek. Don't hit him, his thoughts warned. At least one side of him was thinking rationally at the moment. Don't swing.

"I'm tired of you showboating all the time. All dam day it's 'trophy-this' and 'win-that' and 'where's-the-limo?'. I'm sick of it."

"You're acting like you don't love the attention, Wayland." Stephen pointed at finger at him. "You love knowing that no matter what, you always come first." Jace closed the distance between him and Stephen. The two were pretty evenly matched in height, Stephen weighing about twenty-five pounds more than himself, but Jace being younger, and in better shape.

"I didn't ask for this! None of this was handed to me on a silver platter! I never wanted anyone to put me first. You did. Hodge took that fine because of you. Because you didn't want Idris to find out that you'd let me go out that night. you were saving your ass."

"Oh yeah," Stephen shoved Jace back. "And what if I didn't? If I didn't tell Hodge to take that goddamn fine, you'd have been suspended for the season. You would have lost, Jace! It probably hadn't occurred to you that other people have families to take care of! They have to work hard! They don't have people to wipe their ass with gold toilet paper every time they shit the goddamn bed!"

"I work hard!" Jace shouted. " All freaking season. I work, I train, I win. I put up with the cameras and the press. I don't sleep. I don't rest! I'm twenty years old, Herondale. I didn't even get to celebrate my birthday, because I was too damn busy training. I train all day – all damn week long until every inch of my body hurts, and I still get up and race the next day!" He stabbed his finger into Stephen's chest. "It's not you doing this. It's not Hodge. It's me!"

Stephen scoffed. "You're a child, Jace. You have no idea how to do any of this by yourself. "

Jace sighed, sitting down on his bed. "Stephen, you're getting paid. I don't want to make this any bigger than it already is. So please, just get out."

Stephen stalked out of the room. After a moment, Jace followed.

Stephen was back in the living room, standing near the trophy case. "You didn't do this by yourself," he said, sliding back the door. Jace stood in the archway, watching as Stephen lifted a medal. It was one of Jace's earliest wins, from before Idris signed him. "You had a team. We helped you do this." Stephen was deathly calm, which unnerved Jace more than he would like to admit. Only Stephen knew the real reason why that specific trophy meant so much to him, and Jace did not like the way he was holding it. "We made this happen, as a team." Jace flinched as Stephen lifted the trophy, chuckling again. "You don't know the meaning of the word, do you, Jace?"

"Put it down, Stephen." Jace stepped forward. Stephen looked at him; his eyes bright with rage.

"Fine."

Before Jace could respond, Stephen slammed the trophy back down on the shelf, effectively shattering the case. There was a loud crash, but Jace could barely hear it over the pounding in his ears. Blood was pounding behind his eyes.

"Get the hell out of my house, Stephen." He said lowly. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. It was taking everything inside of him to not punch Stephen. "Get out."

Stephen was looking at the trophy case, or what was left of it. Only five of his trophies were still standing now. Stephen uncurled his hand, letting the trophy fall to the floor, before shoving passed Jace towards the door. Bits of broken glass crunched under shoes. He stopped at the door.

"I want you to remember something, Jace." Stephen glanced around at their surroundings, then to the shattered trophy case in the corner. "Remember that you're still young. You might not give a damn about what people think," Stephen's light blue eyes finally meeting Jace's own gold one's. "But you'll mess up. and you'll realize that this," he made a sweeping gesture. "This can all be taken away. You can lose everything so fast, Jace. Remember that."

The sound of the door slamming notified Jace of Stephen's departure. Jace didn't tend to the fallen trophies, or even the glass on the floor. Instead, he headed across the living room, reaching into a cabinet and finding a bottle of alcohol. He unscrewed to the lid, tilting the bottle to his lips. The dark liquid burned down his throat, but did nothing to clear his head. His took a few more swigs, heading into his bedroom and lying down.

Half an hour later, Jace had finished the liter-and-a-half bottle. His head was foggy – none of his thoughts made any sense to him. He closed his eyes, already unconscious before his head hit the pillow.

.o.O.o.

The streets of New York never slept. As the sun set, parents called their children in from a day of playing others were just making their way home. The homeless gathered in alleyways around small fires, and drunken men and women were thrown from bars, left to wander the streets in a stupor.

Clary Fray was none of those people. She sat at home, curling up on her couch after a long day of work.

"Simon, hurry up!" She called. "If you miss the beginning you won't understand anything!"

Her roommate emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in his hands. He set it down on the small table next to the couch.

"You're acting like I haven't seen this movie about a hundred times. I could recite the entire film to you, if you'd like."

"No thanks." Clary laughed. "No offense, but I'd rather watch Orlando Bloom talk, instead."

"I'd like to argue that Orlando has nothing on me." Simon winked at her, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. "Now move over."

Clary sat up, waiting until Simon got himself comfortable behind her. Simon reached out and pressed play on the remote. "It began…" Simon said as the movie begun. "With the foraging of the Great Rings."

The Fellowship had just entered Moria when Clary heard her phone buzzing on the table. She reached for it, pressing the green button.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Clarissa." Clary instantly recognized her boss's voice. "I hope I'm not disturbing you." Clary maneuvered herself up into a sitting position.

"No, not at all." Simon took the hint, pausing the movie and changing the channel.

"I have a proposal for you. You did suck good work with Merlion these past few years. We believe that you would be the best choice to represent our client."

"Which client is it?" Clary was alert now, the movie completely forgotten. Simon was channel surfing and Clary motioned for him to stop on the entertainment channel.

"Jace Wayland," Imogen continued. "The motocross racer. He recently fired his agent, and it's important that he is under new management before the season begins."

Clary had heard a lot about Jace over the last few months. He had been in the news almost every week for something new. "It would be a wonderful opportunity for you, and for him, but if you would like a chance to think about it." Clary nodded to herself, thinking the offer over.

"Yes, if I could have a few days to consider it."

"Alright, please get back to us as soon as possible." Clary hung up the phone, placing it on the table.

"What was that about?" Simon asked, reaching for the popcorn bowl.

"Idris called." Clary explained. "They think that I should work with Jace Wayland."

Simon looked thoughtfully at the television. "That guy?"

Clary followed his gaze. On the screen, there was a blond haired boy on the screen. "Turn it up, will you?" Clary focused on what the reporter was saying.

"The racer was not spotted after the championship race, and he was nowhere to be found at the award ceremony."

Another reporter spoke up. "This isn't the first time that Jace has skipped and event like that. If you'll remember the half season ceremony, also absent for that. Sources say, this time, he was spotted at a popular nightclub downtown. He was later thrown out for causing a disruption."

Simon shook his head in disgust. "That kid is losing himself." He said slowly. "He'll be arrested if he's left alone for too long." Clary couldn't help but agree. The first reported spoke up again:

"He also had a few choice words for our cameras on Saturday afternoon, after we caught up with him and his long time model girlfriend.

A video appeared on the television screen, and clary recognized Jace's too-blond curls, even if his face was covered by dark sunglasses. Jace was shown walking out of a restaurant with a girl on his arm. Jace held his hand up to block the camera.

"Get the hell away from us!" It looked as if he'd shoved the photographer, repeating his words. Eventually the couple reached the car and Jace flipped the cameraman off before speeding away. Clary picked up the remote shutting of the television.

"I don't think you should do it, Clary." Simon said slowly. He made another grab at the popcorn bowl, but frowned, realizing it was empty. "He's bad news. He'll only stress you out."

Clary sighed, pressing her lips together. "Maybe he isn't. His career, and all his success, it came so suddenly." Clary pulled her legs up underneath her. "He didn't really have time to take everything in. maybe he's just trying to adjust."

All weekend long, the image of Jace was stuck in the back of her mind. She wasn't much older than him – she had turned twenty-six earlier that month. A part of her felt bad for him. Clary had promised Imogen that she would think over the offer, and that's exactly what she did. Over the weekend, Clary kept an eye out for news about Jace. In twenty-four hours, he'd gotten thrown out of three nightclubs, and had been charged for speeding down a freeway.

He was drowning. Clary knew how the industry worked. She knew the way it could affect people. It wouldn't be long until he was completely hooked on drugs, or arrested. Without much more thought, Clary returned the call to Imogen.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Clarissa. Have you considered the offer?"

"Yes," Clary said slowly. "I'll do it."

And there you have it, folks. The actual chapter. Again, only slightly different than the first one, but also a thousand words longer. I also decided to make this a regular chapter, instead of a prologue, because this is nine pages in twelve-font, so I figured it was a bit too much to be considered a prologue. I hope you enjoyed it, and I think I'll be able to give you the first chapter by either mid-week this week or mid-week next week.

Until then, see you later (:

HooliGLAM