average human’s Reviews > Broken Breath > Status Update

By the time he unlocks his hotel room door and kicks it shut behind us, I’ve drifted firmly between asleep and awake. He lowers me gently onto my feet, hands careful at my waist, and I blink around, dazed.
As I’m trying to steady myself, he plops down on the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him. All I can do is stare, unable to process what is happening, how I allowed myself to end up here.
The bed is a mess, covers half off, pillows sideways, but it’s what is in the middle of his bed that makes me pause. There, curled up, fast asleep like he owns the damn room, is his rat, and I can barely hold back the shudder threatening to race through me as I wrinkle my nose.
Luc follows my gaze and scowls. “Why do you hate my son?”
“I don’t hate him.” I cross my arms. “It’s just… his naked tail is so gross.”
“Yeah, well, he thinks you’re gross too.” He frowns like I insulted his actual bloodline before he scoops up Toulouse and cradles him dramatically to his chest. “Don’t listen to the meany, mon amour,” he croons, pressing a kiss to the top of the rat’s head. “You are beautiful. Perfect. A king.”
I snort.
He sets Toulouse down gently in his little cage, then flops back onto the bed and pats the mattress again. “Voilà.”
I don’t move. “I really shouldn’t sit in your bed. I’m sweaty and gross.”
“I so don’t care,” Luc says with a shrug. “But if you do, take a shower.” He nods toward the en suite.
“I’m not showering in your room. With you in here.”
“Why?” He raises an eyebrow. “Oh… I bet you shower naked. You hoe.”
A laugh escapes me, and right now, it feels like a small miracle.
Luc abruptly stands and crosses the room in two easy steps, like he’s not making a decision so much as following gravity.
Stopping in front of me, he’s close enough that his warmth rolls off him in waves, hitting my chest first. Then it spreads, sinking into the space between my ribs before curling low in my stomach.
His hands find my waist again, fingers pressing just enough to make me shiver as he pulls me in. I know I should fight it, but I don’t. I’m too tired.
And I like him holding me too much.
As he leans in, I feel every inch of him, his thigh brushing mine, the heat of his breath skating down my throat. He lowers his face to where my collarbone dips into the slope of my shoulder, and his nose brushes the skin there, just above the hoodie’s neckline.
My knees grow weak, and I reach out, one hand curling lightly around his bicep, the dense muscle tense under my touch, the other drifting to his forearm, anchoring myself to him.
“You don’t stink,” he murmurs, lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “You smell like me.”
Goose bumps rise along my arms, spine, and the back of my neck.
Then he bites me. Not hard or painful, but a soft, sharp nip right at the edge of my jaw, just beneath my ear, where my pulse is stuttering like it skipped a beat.
I gasp, hips jerking forward a little, unbidden. His teeth drag slightly before he pulls back, and then he does it again.
Another soft nip, followed by a kiss, and this time, the gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
“Why are you biting me all the time?” The question comes out too breathy and not nearly annoyed enough.
His mouth curls into the smuggest goddamn grin I’ve ever seen. “My love language is gentle acts of violence.”
I stare at him in disbelief, arguing, “That’s not a love language.”
“It is now.” He starts walking backward toward the bed, and I have to release him as he goes. “Come on.” He pulls back the rumpled covers. “Get in. Let’s talk it out. You look damn tired, and I am too,” he adds, flopping onto the bed dramatically. “Let’s be exhausted together.”
“Luc…” I hesitate, shifting my weight awkwardly.
“I know.” He is suddenly more serious, leaning up on his elbows. “I know you’re not as into me as I’m into you, okay? That’s fine. That’s cool. I’m not a monster.” He lifts a brow. “I’m a multi-purpose friend. I’m down for partying, brunch, six a.m. practice, petty revenge, illegal road trips, deep emotional spirals, and…” he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him and wiggles his eyebrows, “… non-horny cuddling.”
He pats the mattress again. “You get under the covers, and I stay on top. No funny business. Just two dudes, hanging out, talking feelings, and maybe taking a nap.”
He tilts his head, his grin softening just enough to make my chest ache.
“Come on, Petit. Let me be your emotional support himbo.”
Fuck.
I want that. Not just the bed or the soft promise of rest.
Him.
This unhinged, chaotic, ridiculous man who seems to genuinely care about me, despite having no reason to. Despite my giving him every excuse not to.
And the idea of curling up somewhere that isn’t the bus, a gym floor, or inside my own screaming head is too tempting to resist.
If he stays on top of the covers, he won’t accidentally grope a breast, right?
With fake nonchalance, I pull my hoodie around my head, kick off my shoes, and crawl into the bed, sinking into sheets that smell unmistakably like Luc. He drapes the blanket over me with a weird kind of gentleness, like he thinks I might bolt, and then he scoots close behind me, the heat of his body soaking through even with the fabric between us. One arm wraps around my waist, and the other reaches over to tug the hood off my head.
I huff, but he just smirks. Then, he does exactly as he promised, he holds me, and it doesn’t take long for the tears to start again, much quieter this time, more of a release than a lament.
But that doesn’t mean they’re harmless because each tear still carries weight, and the longer I lie there, still and trembling in the space between his arms, the more the voices in my head get loud again.
You fucked it all up.
You let him see too much.
You kissed him.
My chest aches, not from crying but from the fallout. From the crash that wasn’t on a bike but inside me. From Finn. From what it meant. What it didn’t.
The physical pain flares up again, too, letting me know that my last dose of pain meds was far too long ago, but just when I think I’m going to break apart, Luc pulls me closer. He’s here, holding me like I’m worth the trouble, even though all I did was be mean and lie to him. Still, I don’t pull away. Despite the chaos in my head and the bruises on my heart, it feels good to be held. Safe.
Like maybe, just for tonight, I don’t have to be the one holding myself together.
So I let the tears fall, let them soak into his sleeve, and let myself grieve about what happened with Finn, and everything, really. The crash. The years I lost. The girl I used to be. I cry like I haven’t cried in years, and when I finally settle completely, when my body quiets and the tremors fade, Luc shifts.
He turns me over gently, and his blue eyes find mine. All soft and steady, like he’s trying to check for cracks in the surface, not realizing I’m already splintered through.
“What happened?” he murmurs, brushing a bit of hair from my forehead with the back of his fingers.
“I had a fight with Dane.”
“Dane?” he asks, confusion cut into his forehead. “Not Greer?”
My heart stutters. Not enough to give me away, but enough to feel it, right in the ribs, right where it already aches. I swallow it, pack it tight, and lock it away.
“No.”
“Okay.” He nods, not looking convinced in the slightest. “What about?”
“I had some big feelings,” I mutter. “He had some big feelings too.”
Luc hums thoughtfully. “Oh, I know having big feelings. My maman always says you’re entitled to your big feelings whenever you want, but you’re still responsible for the way you make others feel while you’re feeling those feelings.”
“That’s… weirdly wise.”
He grins. “She’s terrifying and powerful. I love her.”
“Yeah?” I ask, not even sure which part I’m asking about.
“Yeah,” he answers anyway. “She’s my best friend. Next to Toulouse.”
“Must be nice. I don’t have a mom.”
His expression softens even more. “I don’t have a dad anymore.”
“I don’t like my dad.”
He exhales slowly. “Mmm.”
His hand finds mine under the covers, stroking the back of it with his thumb.
We’re quiet for a long time after that.
“What were those big feelings about?” he asks eventually.
I hesitate. “I don’t know if I should tell you that.”
“You can tell me anything. Nobody would believe me anyway.”
I huff something close to a laugh. “Life.”
“What about it?” When I don’t answer quickly enough, he asks, “Does it have something to do with the scars that are all over you?”
Fuck, I’d hoped he had forgotten about them. “I know they’re not pretty.”
“Tout chez toi est joli. Absolument tout,” he murmurs, then demands softly, “Tell me.”
I shift closer and rest my forehead against his chest. “I’m not well. I haven’t been for a long time. And Dane just doesn’t understand.”
His hand slides up, threading into my hair. “I’m not well either,” he says quietly. “I understand. You can tell me.”
I sink further into his chest, relieved beyond words by something in his response. Something I’m too tired to pinpoint right now. “Life’s too heavy.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t be who I want to be. Can’t do what I want to do. And because everything hurts all the damn time.”
He rakes his nails lightly down my scalp, creating a shiver all the way to my toes. “I get that, it’s shitty, but you’re here, you’re racing. We’re living the dream.”
“And what happens when the dream ends?” I whisper.
Luc doesn’t answer right away, but he continues his soft touches, then shifts slightly, snuggling closer. His nose brushes my forehead as he whispers, “Anything can be a dream if it’s small enough.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
He chuckles, his breath fanning across the bridge of my nose, and I swear I feel his smile against my skin.
“It means…” he murmurs, “… you don’t have to chase the whole sky, Petit. You can just lie here with someone warm, under a cheap blanket, in a borrowed bed, and decide this is enough. That this little dream is real, safe, and entirely yours.”
“That’s…”
Ridiculous.
Beautiful.
Before I can settle on one, he reaches over and turns off the light. He comes right back, curling around me and gently situating me until my back is against his chest. His arms band tightly around me like he means to keep everything bad out, like his body could hold back the world, and I can’t help but let out a contented sigh.
“See?” he murmurs, smug as ever. “Therapeutic and hot. You’re welcome.”
I huff a laugh. It’s barely a sound, but it’s real.
Then the world goes quiet, and it’s exactly as he said. It’s enough for now.
My hip still throbs, and my thoughts still vaguely linger around Dane, Finn, and the wreck I’ve made of everything, but here, snuggled in Luc’s arms, they don’t linger.
“Are you asleep?” I whisper after a long while.
“No.” His voice is low and a little rough. “Just listening to you breathe like a total creep.”
I laugh again. More miracles.
“Say something in French for me, Luc,” I whisper, and there’s a beat of hesitation before I add, “Please.”
His body shivers, but stops abruptly, so close I can feel it in my spine. He clears his throat and takes a long, deep breath. And then, softer than I’ve ever heard him speak, he says, “Je pourrais passer l’éternité à te tenir comme ça.”
His shiver transfers to me, but I let it play out, feeling every moment of it.
I angle my head toward him, seeking him in the dark. “What does that mean?”
Luc exhales a laugh into my hair. “It means… ‘No guillotine could take away the head I’m giving you as soon as you let me.’ ”
I elbow him. “Luc!”
He snickers, making me smile, and my chest hurts in that warm, confusing way.
Luc kisses the back of my head. “Sleep now.” A second later, he adds, in barely a whisper, “Dors maintenant, mon Petit.”

63%

Past Alaina loved riding here.
By the time I reach the top, I spot the crowd of riders already on the hill, but they’ve only made it a few hundred feet down the course.
Feet flying over loose gravel, my brain shifts into race mode, flipping through terrain memory and junior race flashbacks. I know this mountain, know its teeth, and I immediately start picking lines, making mental notes, locking into the rhythm of the trail like I never left it.
By the time I hit the second segment, I’m in step with the pack. It feels weird doing this alone. Dane has always done track walks with me, his voice in my ear, his stride beside mine, cracking jokes and pointing out lines.
Everyone else is with their teams, clumped together in branded jackets, half-bent over trail features with someone squatting next to them drawing in the dirt, strategizing.
I step around a berm. This particular banked curve is cut tight but low in the slope. My eyes flick across the trail, and that’s when I see him. Finn is standing a little higher up, talking to his teammates, one arm crossed, the other gesturing toward a rock section like he’s mid-analysis.
His eyes meet mine, and everything stills. We stare at each other for a second too long, but then he blinks and looks away.
That’s it. No nod. No smile. No hey.
Nothing.
He turns back to his team and keeps talking like I don’t exist, and his hands weren’t on my skin, his mouth on mine. Like he didn’t whisper fuck, baby girl into my neck.
My next breath is ragged as another kind of pain slices through me. I know it was a mistake, but I didn’t imagine it. I didn’t hallucinate the way his chest felt against mine, the way he looked at me like I was something he wanted.
But now he can’t even say hi?
God, I’m so stupid. So fucking stupid.
Of course, he regrets it. He said it to my face. He doesn’t want to be part of this mess. I mean, look at me. What the hell did I expect? He’s ten years older with a successful career, and I’m a walking disaster with an expiration date.
I stomp down the trail, not even really looking at the lines anymore. The markers blur as the rock gaps, and roots and angles become static in my brain.
Everything is fucked. Everything. I kissed one guy who won’t speak to me, spent the night with another who thinks I have a dick, and my brother is mad at me because of a promise I fully intend to keep.
A hand clamps around my upper arm, yanking me back with enough force to make my breath hitch. I spin around.
Mason Payne.
His fingers are firm but not rough, his brows pulled into that deep, judgmental frown he’s practically trademarked. “I thought we already tried falling into the rock garden once,” he says dryly. “Didn’t look that fun the first time.”
I pull my gaze from his and glance over my shoulder.
Motherfucker.
I nearly walked right over the edge.
It takes an effort to shrug it off, but I do, turning back to him. “Oh, now you talk to me?”
The words come out sharper than I mean them, but I don’t take them back. If Finn and Mason have both decided I’m not worth talking to anymore, fine. Let them. I’m done chasing people.
“Didn’t realize saving your arse came with prerequisites.”
“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t let go of my arm. “Doesn’t mean I want to scrape you out of a rock garden… again.”
“I was fine.”
“You were distracted.”
“No shit.”
He releases me and opens his mouth, then shuts it again. His gaze flicks away, like he’s rethinking something, but I don’t care. I’m already half-turned away, ready to storm off and be pissed about something else, when an arm slings around my shoulders.
“Salut, mes amis,” Luc greets, way too cheerfully for the tension crackling in the air. “What are we talking about? Rocks? Regret? Or maybe we skip to the part where I tell you to keep your fucking hand off my guy?”
He squeezes my shoulder possessively, then tucks me into his side. Mason’s gaze flicks between Luc and me, clouding over with something like betrayal. I don’t like it, so I shrug off Luc’s arm.
“I’m not your fucking guy.”
Luc’s brow furrows, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. I don’t like that either.
“Oh, so in private you’re on my side, but out here, you’re on his?”
“I’m on nobody’s side,” I snap. “I’m on my own fucking side.”
Luc smirks, turning to Mason. “He has attachment issues.”
“What the fuck are you even…” I start, but my words falter as Finn and his teammates walk past.
My heart sinks as something inside me crumples, and I let it show before I can stop it. When I look back at Luc, his eyes are sharp on mine before they follow Finn’s retreating figure.
He reaches into his hoodie, pulls out Toulouse, and thrusts the rat toward me. “Here. Hold.”
“No, Luc,” I protest, holding the rat at arm’s length as Luc strides after Finn.
“Yo, Papi!” Luc calls after him, but Finn doesn’t respond. Luc catches up and gets in his space, nearly tripping him before grabbing his shoulder. “Easy there, Papi.”
“I’m not your fucking grandpa.” Finn scowls, annoyed. “What do you want, Delacroix?”
They continue walking, their voices fading into the wind and muffled by crunching gravel. Luc punches Finn’s shoulder, way too hard for it to be casual. Finn winces and rubs it, shooting him a look that says he’s one second away from putting Luc through a wall.
But I can’t watch what happens next because Toulouse starts climbing up my outstretched arm like it’s a jungle gym. I freeze, the panic crawling up my spine just slightly faster than the rat itself.
He makes it to my elbow, and I lose it. “Shit, shit, shit!”
The sound I make next isn’t human. It’s somewhere between a squeak and a strangled scream, way too high and way too not masculine. My cover has held through crash landings, oversized hoodies, and sobbing in the dark, but it might just be ended by this rat.
“Jesus.” Mason steps back into my line of sight and plucks Toulouse off my arm. “What are you even doing?”
“Thanks.” I sigh in genuine relief, my heart still jackhammering in my chest.
Mason cups the rat in one hand and starts stroking its tiny head with his thumb. “You’re such a cute little fucker.”
“No, he’s not. Look at the tail.”
“The tail?” Mason scoffs. “Look at the face. The dumb little paws. He’s cute as shit.”
I stare wide-eyed at him, stunned. “You’re into Luc’s rat?”
“The rat can’t do fuck all about being Luc’s,” he says with a shrug. “That’s not on him.”
Toulouse, clearly thrilled with his new best friend, scrambles up Mason’s arm, runs across his shoulder, and sits there like he belongs.
I stare, absolutely floored. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Mason just smirks. “Some people have charm. I have rat appeal.”
I nearly roll my eyes at that lame line, but huff a laugh instead, just as Luc strides back toward us with smugness dialed to eleven, until he sees Toulouse perched on Mason’s shoulder like a damn parrot and stops dead. “What the fuck?”
Mason just reaches up to scratch behind Toulouse’s ear, the smallest, shittiest smirk on his face.
“Is he…” Luc’s eyes dart between Mason and me. “He’s not… Toulouse, are you serious right now?”
I cross my arms, snapping out of my stunned silence. “What the fuck was that with Finn?”
“Nothing.” Luc glances at me, all innocent eyebrows and faux-casual tone. “I just had the urge to punch him.”
I narrow my eyes. “I saw that. Why, though?”
He levels a look at me.
Yeah, right.
“Probably because normally Greer’s glued to your side, but today he’s ignoring the bloody hell out of you… just a guess,” Mason adds unhelpfully.
Luc steps closer, clearly intending to reclaim his rat-child, but before he can, Toulouse disappears into the safety of Mason’s hood.
“Traitor.” Luc’s shoulders slump with exaggerated defeat. “So, are we doing that track walk shit or what?”
I glance at him sideways. “Can you behave yourself?”
Luc snorts. “Well, I fucking have to now that my son’s defected to the enemy. Can you, Payne?”
Mason doesn’t bother to respond, just turns and strides away.
Luc and I follow him without a word, and soon we’re walking down the track next to each other.
Not ten minutes in, my boot slips on a patch of loose dirt, and Mason’s hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my elbow to steady me. His eyes flick to mine, checking in without a word. I nod, a quick yeah, I’m fine.
He doesn’t release me immediately, which is apparently a problem, because Luc veers closer and bumps Mason’s shoulder. “Must be wild, watching everyone pass you by. First the teams, now the rookies.”
Mason doesn’t even blink, and I’m surprised he even bothers with an answer when he quips, “Says the guy who got beat by said rookie last weekend.”
Luc stops walking and turns, already stepping into Mason’s space with fists clenched and jaw tight. “You’re lucky my child is on you right now.”
I throw an arm out between them. “Officials. Are. Everywhere,” I hiss out. “Can we not get disqualified before we’ve even made it to race day?”
“Haven’t I told you to stop fucking fighting my battles for me?” Mason doesn’t take his eyes off Luc when he’s answering me.
“Right.” Luc grins his shitty little grin. “Let the Pretty Boy fight me. We’ve got years of practice.”
“Guys!” I shove between them harder this time. “If you two want to lose again, go for it. But I’m not. I’m not going to fucking lose to Raine.”
That lands.
Because just ahead, a little farther down the trail, Isaac Raine is squatting near a set of roots, one hand pointing, his line spotter nodding beside him. He’s smiling smugly like he already owns the podium. As if he feels my eyes burning holes in him, he looks our way and smirks.
God, I want to punch him.
And now that Mason has shown me how to actually throw one, I’m one smug smirk away from testing my form on Isaac’s face.
Luc goes silent, and Mason’s mouth sets into a grim line. I can practically feel the shift that just happened. We fall into step again, quieter this time, focused, because for all the shit between us, none of us is willing to hand Raine another win.
We’ve got a mountain to conquer.
And a fucking score to settle.