average human’s Reviews > Broken Breath > Status Update

It punches a hole clean through my chest, but before I can blink, before I can even so much as breathe, his mouth crashes into mine.
My whole body locks up, every nerve screaming, What the fuck, but my heart doesn’t get the message. No, my heart remembers too well how this was before, how it felt before he ruined it with his warm lips, the press of him, and the rough scrape of his stubble against my skin, so familiar, so Finn.
I fall into it, let myself feel it, and forget about everything else, before I hear a soft curse at the door through the pounding of my heart.
“Merde.”
I whip my head around just in time to catch Luc turning away, slipping back out into the throb of music and light.
Fuck. Luc just saw me kissing Finn.
My brain catches up, and I shove Finn back, hard, barely feeling the resistance as he stumbles. “What the fuck was that?”
His brows pull together. “I was just trying to keep your secret.”
Of course, he wouldn’t kiss me because he wanted to, because I meant anything, or because he felt something for me.
“And you think there was no other way to do that than kissing me?”
Finn’s mouth opens like he’s going to argue, but he stops himself.
“Yeah.” I shake my head, biting back the sting behind my eyes, swallowing it down hard. Blood roars in my ears as I spin to leave, needing to get out, to find Luc, to fix this. “You don’t have to say it. I know this was just another mistake.”
Finn grabs my arm, fingers wrapping tightly around my bicep. “Wait.”
My heart flips with the tiniest bit of hope.
Goddammit.
“Baby girl. You can’t go out there like this.”
I look down at the beer clinging to my chest, at the way the wet fabric molds to every inch of me, and I know he’s right. He releases me, then peels off his hoodie, holding it to me without meeting my eyes. Reluctantly, I take it, then yank my ruined T-shirt up and off, standing there bare-chested, not giving a single fuck. As if he cares about my tits.
I hear the rough inhale as he turns fast, giving me his back. “Fuck, Alaina.”
Pulling his hoodie over my head, I sigh internally. It’s warm, soft, smells like him, and that makes my throat burn in bitter disappointment as I yank open the door and step back into the chaos of the club.
I scan the crowd for Luc but spot Otis first, standing off to the side, leaning against the wall, and looking more than a little dazed, cheeks flushed, but when I step in front of him, he blinks down at me.
“You good?” I ask, eyeing him critically.
“Sure.”
“Where’s Luc?”
Otis tips his head toward the exit. “Said he needed some air.”
I hurry outside and barely register the rain until I’m out in it. Fat drops hit my shoulders and soak straight through Finn’s hoodie, but the cold is nothing compared to the ache twisting my chest.
Squinting through the dark and the sheets of rain, I see him, just at the edge of the club’s glow. His forehead is pressed hard against a wall, one arm braced above him, boot slamming into the bricks, kicking out his frustration.
Fuck. I did that, didn’t I?
“Luc,” I call, but the rain swallows my voice. I push forward, my sneakers splashing through puddles, and when I reach him, I catch his arm, tugging. “Stop. Please.”
He turns to look at me, and it guts me, because I can’t tell whether the wetness in his eyes is rain or something worse.
My eyes sting to match.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, barely holding it together. “Please… stop.”
His blue gaze burns through me, before it flicks down to the hoodie I’m wearing. “You and Greer… are you a thing?”
“No.” I shake my head. “We’re not. It’s not like that.”
I’m just a mistake for him.
Luc’s eyes narrow, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Did he force himself on you?”
The way he says force is like he’s already halfway to throwing fists and burn the world down if I said yes. And that’s what makes it worse.
That he cares.
That I hurt him anyway.
“No.” I shake my head again, flinging the raindrops from my face. “It’s… complicated.”
Complicated in the same way that everything I touch turns to shit. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I’m supposed to be focused, unstoppable, untouchable. Gold or nothing. Not out here getting hurt by one guy only to hurt another.
Luc’s breath shudders out of him as he looks down at his boots with a glare that somehow feels hopeless.
I reach up and cradle his chin, tilting his face back up to mine. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He catches my wrist and pulls me to his chest without hesitation. Then he spins us, pressing my back against the cold, wet wall. His body shields me from the worst of the rain, and his heat seeps through the soaked hoodie, while my heart beats out of rhythm as the world narrows to the space between us. He brushes a raindrop from my cheek, knuckles grazing my skin, his gaze locking on mine.
“It would never be complicated with me,” he says gruffly as he traces the curve of my jaw, the line of my throat, the edge of Finn’s hoodie where it gapes loose. “And I would never make you cry.”
He’s so intense, serious, and earnest that each word hammers into my bones.
“I wouldn’t sneak around with you in the shadows,” he continues. “I’d tell the whole fucking world you were mine.”
Mine.
“I’d kiss you in front of everyone because I wouldn’t give a damn who saw.” His hand trails down my side, stopping at my waist, where his fingers splay over my hip, holding me close to him. “I’d hold you in the middle of the pits, just like this, whenever I wanted. Whenever you wanted.” He leans in, and I gasp, then shiver when he breathes against my ear. “I’d do anything just to hear you laugh or see you smile. Fuck anything else, anyone who would care. I’d go right now and tell the media people that we belong together, consequences be damned.”
The air between us crackles as he skims his lips across my jaw. Not a kiss, but a promise I can practically taste.
“And when you hurt…” he breathes out, “… I’ll take on the whole damn world to make it better.”
My chest constricts with something like panic because God, I believe him, and that is terrifying.
My soaked hair drips rain onto my face, and I can’t stop my tears from joining them, the warmth of them an intense contrast to the cold droplets.
“Tu devrais me laisser être celui-là.” Luc’s hand slides from my hip to my cheek again, his thumb brushing away tears that aren’t slowing anytime soon. “You should let me be the one.”
I inhale sharply, my voice cracking with the first thing I think to say. “I can’t.”
His jaw tightens. “Because you want him?”
I swallow hard. “I do want him,” I admit. “But that’s not the reason. I am the reason.”
“Putain.” Luc breathes out through his nose. “I’m so done with this.” He presses his forehead to mine like he’s trying to soothe us both. “So done with you pretending you’re not into me the way I’m into you.”
I close my eyes because it’s too much.
He’s right, I am into him. So fucking into him, I can barely breathe around him.
The way he teases or looks at me like he sees me, and not just a walking mess of scars and lies. The way he makes me feel alive again, wanted, reckless, safe, and how he holds me as if I’m worth holding on to. But he doesn’t know what he’s asking for, not really. He doesn’t know what I am or who I am, and if he did, if he knew, would he still feel like this? Would he want Alaina?
I tell myself to pull back because we’ve reached the line.
Don’t let him cross it.
Don’t let yourself cross it.
But I don’t move. My body is locked up tight, strung between the fear of falling apart and the ache of wanting more. Luc doesn’t move either, staying with me, our foreheads pressed together while the rain slides down our faces, and all I feel is this pull toward him, my heart beating out of my chest in hopes of getting closer to his.
“I’m out of hesitation, bébé.” He releases my face and runs his fingertips down the arm of my soaked hoodie, finding my hand at the bottom. Instead of threading our fingers together as I expect him to, he guides my hand to his chest. Then, with his hand on top of mine, he pushes himself. I don’t understand it at first, but then it clicks. He’s telling me you can stop this.
I don’t.
I should. But I don’t.
When he lets go of my hand, I grab it in a panic, not wanting to lose his touch. He trembles as he leans down closer, his breath ghosts over my lips, and I start to wonder if he would wait here like this forever.
Then, just before he closes that last inch, he whispers, “Laisse-moi te montrer.”
When his lips finally meet mine, they’re soft, gentle, like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, I’ll shatter into a million pieces, and he might not be able to grab them all in time.
He’s right.
I breathe him in—rain, warmth, and Luc—and for one perfect moment, I forget to be strong. I let my mouth find his, soft at first, tentative. Just enough to taste him. His lips are warm and slick with rain, and the way his hand cups my jaw makes something inside me tilt. I lean into the way his hand curves at my jaw, thumb stroking slowly, coaxing me closer.
That’s all I allow myself, that one kiss, but then he groans softly, low in his throat, and kisses me again.
The flutter in my chest is instant and wild, wings catching wind, and I’ve already lost control.
His movements are just as soft this time, just as slow, like he’s tasting something he’s wanted for a long time but doesn’t dare rush. His nose brushes mine as he pulls back a fraction, then he surges forward and captures my mouth again, deeper this time, surer.

I sigh against his lips in undeniable pleasure, and he swallows the sound like it’s something sacred. His other hand slips to my waist, steadying me as my knees shake, threatening to give out.
“Mon Dieu.” He breathes against my lips between kisses, his voice thick with something that makes my heart stumble. “T’es parfaite.”
I don’t need a translation for that.
You’re perfect.
Perfect.
I have never applied this word to myself, especially not now.
But the way he says it, like it’s an absolute truth, finds its way to places I’ve kept closed off, places that have never dared to believe something like that could be true.
“You’re perfect,” I manage to whisper back against his lips.
His whole body stills before his mouth is on mine again, claiming me, harder and desperate this time, all the softness burning away.
His hands are everywhere, framing my jaw, trailing down my sides, in my hair, and holding me like he doesn’t care if we both drown in this rainstorm.
Then he starts to consume me. His tongue slides against mine, demanding, and I meet him there, kissing back with everything I’ve got.
There’s still enough sense in me to keep my hands between us, to have a barrier between his chest and mine, but I end up grabbing his soaked shirt instead, fists curling tight into the fabric, dragging him closer.
That’s when he finally lets loose the groans he’s been trying to hold back. The ragged noise escapes him completely as if I’ve just undone him.
One of his hands snakes down and around my back, gripping my ass tight, squeezing in a way that makes me gasp against his lips. Then his mouth leaves mine to trail kisses along my jaw until he finds my throat’s sensitive skin.
Sucking.
Biting.
Marking.
A moan slips out of me then, and my head tips back against the wall, giving him better access. He groans again before pressing the hard length of his cock into the side of my hip, grinding against me like he can’t help himself.
I want to lose myself right here, pinned between him and the wall, letting him take whatever I have to offer.
Someone clears their throat.
I jolt as panic flares sharply through me, snapping me back just enough to release a hiccup.
It doesn’t stop Luc, though. He doesn’t even falter as his lips keep moving, trailing fire along the curve of my neck and dragging shivers across my skin with every soft scrape of teeth and caress of his lips and tongue.
“Delacroix.” Piper’s voice is edged with amusement.
Luc stamps a kiss against my rioting pulse before grinding out, “Go. Away.” Then he nips at me, and I laugh.
Piper chuckles. “We need to get Otis home. He’s had too much.”
Luc groans, finally peeling himself off me. His hand lingers at my waist like he’s fighting every instinct to stay, fingers flexing once before he lets go. Ripping himself away, he drags both hands through his rain-soaked hair, frustration written into every part of his body.
Piper is standing just a few feet off, trying but failing to bite back a grin, one arm looped around Otis, who looks about two seconds from puking all over her boots. Dane is there, too, arms crossed, smirking like he just caught his little sister sneaking out past curfew.
Which, yeah, pretty much.
But it’s Finn I notice last and only because he’s leaving.
His back is already turned, shoulders rigid, his shirt soaked through, sticking to the curve of his spine as he walks toward the waiting car without a word.
I hate that I want him to turn around.
Hate that I want to see his face. To know whether it’s full of anger or hurt, or indifference.
Because no matter how many times he’s pushed me away or how many times he’s made me feel like a mistake, I still care if I’ve hurt him.
And I hate that too.

93%

Mason’s gaze is fixed on the board, his expression unreadable. Around us, the other riders linger, probably calculating tomorrow’s starting order. Only Luc and Raine are left on top.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension. The real test comes tomorrow, and if today is any indication, it will be a hell of a ride.
Mason’s helmet is dangling from his handlebars as he bumps my shoulder lightly with his.
“Well done, Bambi,” he says, the faintest curve of a smile playing at his mouth.
My heart does a little flip. I love it when he calls me that.
I smirk, pushing sweaty hair out of my face. “It’s only qualifying.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mason shrugs. “But you’re in the flow lately.”
I lift a brow, fighting a grin. “I know.”
He laughs a real laugh, and the sound blooms warmth through my chest. Mason doesn’t laugh often, but when he does, it’s kind of stupid how much I want to hear it again.
“So humble too,” he teases, shaking his head.
I nudge him back with my shoulder. “Hey, I’m just confident, that’s different.”
He’s still smiling when a ripple of noise runs through the people gathered around, and we both turn toward the track as Raine barrels into view, crossing the line. I glance up at the board.
Yep, I’m still first.
Fuck you, Raine.
“Who would’ve thought after your little late-night adventure yesterday?” Mason side eyes me.
Did he see us leave?
I grimace as guilt swarms my stomach, thinking about the disaster that was last night.
A disaster wrapped around the best damn kiss I’ve ever had.
Not that there were others to compare it to, besides Finn’s mistake kisses. But Luc wanted to kiss me, really wanted to. That made a difference, even though he didn’t really know who he was kissing.
God.
“Sorry.” I cringe, turning toward him. “I should’ve asked if you wanted to come.”
“Fuck no.” Mason laughs again. “Nobody would’ve wanted that. Me the least.”
“You’re not into clubbing?”
“Not even a little.” His mouth quirks. “But next time we’re in England or Scotland, I’ll take you to a proper pub.”
I grin, feeling lighter from the easy conversation. “Deal?”
He tips his chin at me. “Deal.”
Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn, finding Finn standing behind me, his red jersey splattered with mud just like Mason’s and mine are.
So much for feeling lighter.
“Can we…” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight, “… talk for a second?”
I frown, taking him in. He looks tired, defeated, and so young, like the Finn who used to sit next to me at the bottom of the pits after bad runs, kicking dirt over my shoes until I smiled, but this is not the same Finn anymore. That Finn would not have called me a mistake, no matter what I did, and maybe it’s petty, maybe it’s selfish, but I’m done being the first one to bend.
I lift my chin. “I’m having a conversation right now.”
Mason glances between the two of us, eyebrows lifting. “Well, I could⁠—”
“No.” I cut him off before he could even finish his offer.
Mason’s eyes search mine for a moment, then he nods, shifting his weight back onto his bike.
“Yeah,” he says to Finn. “We’re talking.”
Finn’s mouth hardens into a line. “I can wait.”
People stir again, and our attention automatically turns toward the screen as Luc comes down the final section. We all watch as he barrels into the finish, a pink blur of speed and mud, but even he doesn’t touch my time.
What the fuck?
Mason lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit, you’re in a flow for real. Beating Delacroix on his home turf?”
I can’t help the way my smile spreads, lighting up my whole damn face.
Confidence. The real kind. The kind that doesn’t have anything to do with spite, vengeance, or proving somebody wrong.
Luc rolls over to us, dirt streaked and grinning widely as he yanks off his helmet, sweat darkening his curls.
Like the rain did last night when he kissed me silly.
Heat blooms beneath my cheeks.
Fuck.
“Look who’s challenging me on my own track.” He laughs brokenly, still panting. “But it’s fine. I was just warming up for tomorrow.”
I laugh, too, shaking my head. “You talk a lot for someone who finishes behind me.”
“To finish first, you have to finish first.” Luc smirks like he just dropped wisdom.
“That’s so not the phrase.” I chuckle at how he’s butchered it.
“It is now.” Luc’s gaze flicks sideways, clocking Finn, then Mason standing on my other side. His smile dims when his eyes lock onto Finn. “Like I said, I can’t leave you alone for a minute or you get harassed.”
He says it lightly, but the implication lands, and Finn’s jaw ticks.
Luc tilts his head, a shitty little smile painted across his face. “What’s wrong, Greer. Didn’t like the view yesterday?”
Ah, shit.
Finn’s eyes flash. “I’ve fucking had it with you, Delacroix.”
Luc chuckles, but there’s a dangerous edge to it. He rolls his shoulders and then leans across the handlebars. “I’ve had it with you, too, Papi.”
Finn steps into his space, his chest brushing Luc’s, but he doesn’t budge an inch.
“Why don’t you crawl back to your fucking retirement home?” Luc snaps.
Finn huffs. “You’re all flash, no substance. Fake as fuck, and everyone sees it. Nobody even likes you.”
Luc’s lips curl into something feral. “Funny. Petit Crews seems to like me just fine.”
They’re not even trying to keep their voices down, and every racer still in the finish area is staring as well as some officials.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Stop,” I bite out. “We’re at fucking qualifying. Are you two crazy?”
Neither moves nor even blinks at my words. It’s like I’m not even here.
They’re almost nose to nose, their gazes locked in matching death glares, muscles tensed like they are ready to drop gloves right here in the finish area.
Because of me.
If they fight, it’s on me. If they get disqualified, suspended, and if they hate each other from now on, it’s my fault. I’m the reason they’re close to ruining everything.
My chest clamps tight, the noise around me fades to static, the edges of my vision blur, and my hands start to shake.
Shit.
I try to drag in a breath, pressing my palm to my sternum. Just one would help, but it won’t come. It won’t fit. I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
A hand taps gently on my shoulder, making me flinch, but when I look up, Mason’s face is calm. He tips his head toward the tree line at the edge of the finish area in a silent offer.
I nod shakily and follow him as he pushes off. We cycle slowly toward the trees, weaving away from the other racers, each pedal matching my choppy, labored breaths.
As soon as we’re swallowed by green, Mason pulls to the side, getting off his bike and motioning for me to do the same. I ditch the bike clumsily, nearly tripping over my own feet, and stagger toward a tree, hands clawing at my chest.
I gasp, trying and fighting to get air in, but it’s useless. My lungs won’t expand, and my ribs feel locked, welded tight. Panic scrapes up my throat.
This isn’t what I came here for. This is all wrong.
I came here to destroy Raine, to finish what I started, to make him pay, for me, for Dane, for everything.
I’d just been riding the high of my run but lost it just as quickly.
I’m not here to fall for them. For guys who’ll turn their backs on me once the truth comes out, and not to see people I once admired, respected, and thought I loved, look at me like I’m their greatest fuckup. I was supposed to keep my distance, keep my heart locked up.
I’m not here to lose focus.
Not here to blur the lines until I don’t even recognize the girl who walked into this season with her fists clenched and her jaw set.
I was supposed to stay cold.
Stick to the plan.
And now I’m spiraling, failing, drowning in secrets and stolen kisses and the weight of every lie I’ve told.
Taking the overall World Cup from Raine was the only thing that was ever supposed to matter, the last thing to matter, and I’ve failed Dane and myself.
Mason’s footsteps crunch softly behind me, and then his hand is there, cupping the back of my neck. “Breathe.”
“I’m trying,” I rasp out. “I’m fucking trying! I can’t…”
I choke on my words as I clutch at the hem of my jersey, seconds away from tearing it and the binder off to give myself room for air again.
“Okay. Okay,” he soothes, still in that calm, gruff voice. “Then don’t try. Just listen to me and do as I say.”
I manage to nod before squeezing my eyes shut so hard it hurts.
“Up,” he says softly, pulling my shoulder back.
My knees almost buckle as I straighten, but then I feel his other hand on my stomach, and he draws me gently back into him.
“I know you said you don’t like people touching your chest,” Mason murmurs, breath warm against my ear. “But I think it might help. Can I?”
My hands shake as I curl my fingers around his wrist, then guide him to my chest, settling his palm flat against my sternum, right above the binder, where it’s safe.
“Good, feel my hand, and breathe with it. That’s all you have to do.” Mason inhales slowly, his chest lifts behind my back, and the hand on my sternum rises with it.
I mimic him, drawing in a breath to match his, the motion pulling his palm higher. My ribs ache with the stretch, but I manage it.
“Now exhale,” he murmurs as his hand presses gently inward, just enough to guide me. “Let it go. All of it.”
I breathe out, shakily but steadier than before. My body stutters, still trembling, but it listens to him more than it ever listens to me.
Like it trusts him more than I trust myself anymore.
Mason breathes in, and his palm lifts, my breathing following. He exhales, and his hand presses in again, a subtle cue, and I let go.
We keep going like that, his body leading mine, his hand teaching me how to feel air again.
“In and out.” His other hand is still on my stomach, holding me together. “Inhale and exhale.” His breath is at my neck, and slowly, slowly, the vice around my ribs loosens. “Breathe for me, Bambi. You’re doing such a good job.”
The breath I just found catches in my throat, but it’s not panic this time.
“Better?” Mason asks quietly.
I turn without answering and throw my arms around his neck. He stiffens, caught off guard, but only for a second, then he exhales and folds around me, his arms locking tight around my back, and pulling me into him.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words barely scraping past my throat.
And then I crack.
The tears start slow, just heat behind my eyes, a stinging pressure, but then they surge, breaking loose in a rush I can’t control. My breath hiccups out, and suddenly I’m sobbing into his shoulder like all the tension, all the guilt, fear, and shame, has been waiting for this exact moment to bleed out.
Mason just holds me tighter.
“Bambi,” he murmurs, one hand stroking over the back of my head with the gentlest touch. “What’s going on?”
“I fucked up,” I choke, the words ripping out of me. “I fucked up so badly.”
Mason doesn’t flinch. He just keeps stroking my hair like he’s done this a hundred times before.
“Why?” he asks softly.
I try to answer, but it comes out messy and broken. “I don’t know… they’re both… and I…”
Mason doesn’t rush me, he just keeps tracing slow, grounding circles on my back. After a beat, he says gently, “They’re both into you, yeah?”
I snort, but it feels bitter. “Finn’s not into me. He’s just… an idiot.”
Mason’s voice is dry, unimpressed. “Well, it certainly didn’t look like that.”
“He’s Dane’s best friend, so that makes him think that he’s like my second big brother or something. He’s just… overprotective.”
“Brother?” Mason echoes.
I freeze.
Shit.
“I mean… cousin,” I mumble, stiff in his arms.
He hums, but lets it slide, still holding me like I might bolt. “And you? Are you into one of them?”

There’s a pause, a beat too long, before I drop my forehead against his chest, close my eyes, and whisper the truth like it might tear me open.
“Yes.” I breathe. “Both.”
And into you.
The full truth blazes through my mind, but thankfully remains unsaid, and it will stay that way because once the words are out, I can’t take them back.
Mason is my nobody. My first real friend, even when I didn’t want any. The only one who’s never asked for more than I could give. He’s steady when I’m chaos. Solid when I’m breaking, and I’ll lose him at the end of the season.
But if I say too much now, I’ll lose him even sooner.
And that might be enough to break me for good.
Mason leans back to look down at me with those unreadable brown eyes. “Weird,” he says, dry as ever.
Ouch.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t care if you’re gay or bi, or whatever. I’m bi too.”
I straighten. “You are?”
“I am.” His smirk curves slowly, but there’s something warm behind it. A glint in his eyes as he reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face. His thumb lingers just a beat too long, and then he licks his lips. “And I don’t care if you’re into two guys, but those guys?” He snorts. “Come on. I know you could do so much better.”
Fuck. Is he talking about himself?
I swipe at my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t know what to do.”
Please, tell me what to do.
“You don’t have to do anything.” His hand rises again, and this time he carefully wipes a tear away with the side of his thumb.
“But…” I start, already unraveling again.
“They’re acting like fucking idiots. They don’t deserve you. Not right now at least. If they get their shit together? Maybe. But today? Fuck them both.”
I shoot him a look through the tears. “You’re not exactly unbiased.”
“True.” He shrugs, unapologetic. “But I didn’t almost get us all disqualified. That was them.”
“Oh really?” I scoff. “You didn’t throw punches a few weeks back?”
“That was defending myself. Delacroix’s a hothead, and now apparently Greer’s joined the club.”
“He’s not usually.” I sag against him. “This is my fault.”
“Nope,” Mason says firmly. “They’re adults. They’re the ones making choices.”
It’s only then that I realize we’re still clinging to each other, his arms snug around my back, my hands curled at his shoulders like I forgot how to let go. I shift slightly, ready to pull back, but he just hugs me tighter.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I needed a hug too.”
That undoes me more than anything else.
I close my eyes and let my head rest against his collarbone, breathing in the quiet between us and his pine needles and fresh air scent. The weight of the day, the tension of the night before, it’s all still there, pressing on me heavily, but somehow, Mason’s grip keeps it from crushing me.
He holds the storm back without trying to fix it. Just holds me.
“Thank you,” I mutter. “And I’m sorry. This is all so… embarrassing.”
“It’s not.” Mason squeezes me once before leaning back to look at me, his dark eyes searching. “Not for your nobody.”

96%

A single blue cornflower, growing where nothing else had the nerve. It was surrounded by trampled footprints, sitting there in the middle of the mud like it didn’t give a damn about the storm.
It reminded me of her—resilient, unexpected, and beautiful in the most unforgiving places. I twirl it slowly, the petals damp and trembling in the wind.
Just get down safe, baby girl.
Please.
God, I fucked this up.
Kissing her was a fucking reflex, but I panicked. I didn’t think. I just reacted. She was standing there, soaked through, shirt plastered to her skin, and Jesus, I’ve never seen anything so fucking perfect in my life.
When Delacroix stepped in, almost getting a glimpse of those beautiful tits, my brain short-circuited like it seems to do now around her. Fight, flight, or fuck it.
The second I got close enough to feel her breath, I remembered the first kiss. That ache, that pull. She’s addictive, and when she’s near, all logic evaporates. My thoughts turn to static, and the only thing I can think about is her and how she smells like rain and danger, fits in my arms like gravity, and how kissing her once already ruined me for anything else.
And now she thinks I kissed her just to cover for her, and it didn’t mean anything, that she doesn’t mean anything.
She couldn’t be more wrong.
All I want is her. God, I want her, but I can’t have her. Not with Dane in the picture and everything I’ve already messed up. Not when every choice I make just pulls us deeper into the wreckage.
I don’t know how the hell to fix that without breaking her trust even more.
Or breaking what’s left of myself.
The rain intensifies, sending the remaining spectators scurrying for cover. Only a few die-hard fans remain, clad in rain ponchos, their cheers muffled by the storm. Raine doesn’t even bother to come sit with us in the hot seat, and when the rider next to me sees that, he mutters a curse and heads for shelter.
Yeah. Fuck this.
I stand, too, stretching my stiff legs, and glance toward where some fans are huddled by the gondola station in search of Dane, but instead, I spot Alaina rolling her bike toward the lift.
What the hell? I glance at the track and see that Payne just dropped in. With Luc going before her, she’s still got a buffer, but the gondola ride takes at least fifteen minutes, and that window is closing fast. It’s going to be tight.
Impulsively, I make my way to the station, pushing my umbrella at the next best person. Alaina hangs her bike on the side of the cabin and steps in, and I slip in behind her just as the doors close with a soft thud.
The gondola is small, designed for maybe six people, but it’s just the two of us. She turns, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Finn, what…”
“We need to talk.”
Shit. That came out way too harsh.
Her brows shoot up, arms crossing over her chest in that signature Crews stance, the one that used to mean she was about to mouth off to their team manager or flip off Dane. “Oh, now you want to talk?”
I wanted to talk with her yesterday, but before I could persuade her, Delacroix almost made me punch someone for the first time in my life, and by the time the asshole finally backed off, she was gone.
“You’re late for the race.”
“No kidding.”
I glance at the trail winding below us, disappearing into mist and cloud as we climb. “Why aren’t you up there warming up?”
She gives me a slow once-over, eyes flat. “Maybe I didn’t want to see you.”
Yep, I deserve that, but it doesn’t make it hurt less.
I rub the back of my neck. “Alaina, I want to apologize.”
“No.” She groans. “Stop fucking apologizing.”
“I’m sorry,” I say anyway, because I mean it. “I want to make it better, but it seems I’m only capable of making it worse.”
She exhales hard, her shoulders loosening just slightly. “Okay, how about we be adults about this? I am one now, too, if you haven’t noticed.”
A breath of a laugh escapes me, unbidden. Still the same sassy little thing.
“The facts are, I kissed you,” she states simply, and it sounds rehearsed. “And that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry. How about we just act like it didn’t happen? And then you can drop the guilt-filled looks? I can’t handle them anymore.”
“Alaina…”
The gondola groans as it climbs, rain battering it on nearly all sides as it rises into the gray. The trees are gone now, and the track, the mountain, everything has disappeared. All that’s left is mist, clouds, and the thrum of the storm pressing in on all sides. And her.
She’s only a few feet away, but it might as well be miles. I lost her somewhere between that first kiss and now, and I don’t know how to get her back.
“We’ll just be normal,” she says decisively, turning to face the window. “For Dane’s sake.”
I take in her profile, her delicate features edged with anger and hurt.
Impossible.
As much as I want her back in my life, however that looks, there’s no way I can simply forget the way we fit together. The way it felt to kiss her, and for her to kiss me back.
“It’s only a few more weeks,” she adds.
My stomach bottoms out.
That’s the real problem, isn’t it?
Dane said she’s not okay, and I believe him. Hell, I see it when I look at her, which is always.
Breathing is automatic for most people, but not for her. She fights for every single inhale, and I’ve managed to make the fight that much harder by being thoughtless with her. Careless. This space between us is karma.
My gaze roams down the slope of her neck, and my gut twists again.
The hickey blooming on the right side of her throat glares at me like a fucking neon sign, another little piece of karma.
She let him close.
Delacroix. That arrogant, reckless asshole who treats the circuit like his personal playground. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen him making out with fans or half-drunk in some club, grinding on anything that moves.
And now Alaina is one of his trophies?
My unbearable concern for her pours out of me as unadulterated rage.
“What the fuck were you thinking, making out with Delacroix? He’s going to blow your cover. How can you be so irresponsible?”
She whips around, facing me off with a fierce glare. “That isn’t your fucking problem.”
“It is!” I fire back, my anger rising. “You can’t seem to keep your head straight!”
“I’m sorry I kissed you and ruined everything, okay? I’m sorry! But the thing with Luc has nothing to do with you.”
“It does!” I step toward her, and she immediately steps back, bumping into the side of the gondola with a soft thud. “Because you matter to me, Alaina! And I’m not going to just stand here and watch you crash and burn while I do nothing.”
She flinches at my words, or my intensity, I don’t know which, but neither option is good.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face, trying to steady the fire clawing up my throat. “I just mean, no one should be kissing you right now. Not when you’re like this.”
Not when you’re barely holding it together, and the hurt sits so close to the surface I can see it in every breath you take.
Her eyes narrow, but her voice is soft with hurt now. “Then why did you kiss me?”
“Why do you think, Alaina?” I bite out.
She blinks, looking confused, like she’s trying to figure out whether I just said what she thinks I said, and for a second, I wonder too.
What the fuck am I even doing here?
I look down at the bruised flower in my hand. Breathing hard, I close my eyes and remember when the world was safe. When Alaina sat cross-legged in the grass, threading stems together.
When I finally gather the courage to open my eyes to this other world again, the one where I only hurt the people I care most about, her eyes are dulled.
Empty.
“I found this.” I hold the flower out to her. “And it reminded me of you.” Her eyes flick to the flower warily, but she takes it, the tips of her fingers brushing mine.
She doesn’t speak, just stares at the battered bloom in her hand, raindrops still beading along the petals.
“For the last seven years, every flower has reminded me of you.” I laugh brokenly, resting my hands on top of my head, tugging my hair until it hurts, then letting it go. “And as you know, in our line of work, flowers are fucking everywhere. Growing right off the edge of cliffs like they don’t know what fear is. Just like you.”
I step closer to her. “I wondered how you’d be now, what you’d be like, and honestly, Alaina, I could have never imagined.”
“You thought I’d left this behind,” she says tonelessly. “That I was just somewhere living a normal life. Whole. Not broken into pieces.”
I shake my head. “That’s not it. You’re so damn beautiful and one of a kind. In every field of daisies and clover with all those wildflowers you used to name for me, half of which I’ve already forgotten, you’re a blue cornflower. Impossible to ignore.” I take a shaky breath. “You’re special.”
There’s no stopping this now that I’ve started, so I barrel on.
“The fact that you’re ten years younger and Dane’s little sister terrifies me, but that’s not what keeps me up at night, waking up in a cold sweat. It’s not what makes me feel like I need to put a wall between us.”
I take a shuddering breath, then say what I need to.
“You’re not okay, baby girl, and whatever I could give you… I’m afraid it wouldn’t be enough.” I scoff, kicking my foot on the floor of the gondola. “No. I know it wouldn’t be because I’m not worth shit. I don’t have anything after this, and no clue what I’m going to do with myself. No money, no backup plan. Biking is all I’ve ever had, and even that’s slipping through my fingers.”
Her lips part as she looks me dead on, but I can’t seem to stop.
“You know I went straight into racing after high school and never went to college. I never learned anything else, and I’m not born for greatness like you. I was born to just be good enough for now, and then I’ll be forgotten.” I look her dead in the eyes. “I’m not good enough for you, Alaina.”
“That’s not true,” she protests, stubborn as always.
I shake my head, huffing a bitter laugh. “I know you never saw the truth. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some kind of hero, but like you said, you’re an adult now, and you need to take the damn rose-colored glasses off. All I ever can be is mediocre.”
She frowns, looking angry.
I’m angry at myself too.
What the fuck am I even doing here?
The gondola clunks over a support beam, and my legs give out with the motion, so I sink onto the narrow bench, my head falling into my hands.
“I fucked up again,” I admit roughly. “Just forget it. My mess isn’t yours. You should be thinking about your run, not me.”
Her small, determined hands pry my fingers apart, and before I can form another thought, Alaina climbs into my lap, settling her weight against me like she belongs nowhere else.
“You were never mediocre, Finn Greer,” she whispers fiercely, eyes blazing through the damp strands of her hair. “Not a single day of your life. And you never will be.”
Her arms wrap around my neck, drawing me into her, chest pressed tight against chest. We’re both soaked from the rain, but all I can register is the searing warmth radiating from her body, thawing every frozen part of me.
Just a few soft words and a hug I didn’t know I was desperate for is all it takes. The armor cracks wide open, and the walls I’ve carefully built collapse into rubble. I’m left raw, vulnerable, and utterly hers.

She makes a gentle shushing sound, fingers moving slowly, soothingly at the back of my neck. Each soft stroke dismantles me further, and I let it happen.
I lean back slightly, needing to see her face. She wears her emotions openly, fiercely, even when she fights to hide them. She feels so deeply, and every bit of it is written across her expressive face.
My chest tightens painfully. I grip her wrist gently and guide it over my heart, willing her to understand. To see clearly that every beat echoes her name, and that each breath I’ve taken since she stormed back into my life has been filled with a hunger I shouldn’t feel but can’t ignore.
My hand trembles slightly as I tuck the wet strands of her hair away from her face, the soft curls clinging stubbornly to her temple. She hiccups softly, her vulnerability and strength entwined so perfectly I can’t help but smile, really smile, for the first time in weeks.
My baby girl.
“You’ve always had the most beautiful eyes,” I breathe out, my thumb grazing her cheekbone. It’s reckless, dangerous, but I’m too far gone to stop.
I’m already fucked, and right now, the risk feels worth every painful consequence barreling toward me.
Our lips are hovering just a breath apart when she murmurs softly, “Luc.”
My heart drops violently, eyes locking onto hers with confusion and a bitter twist in my gut. “My name’s Finn, Al.”
She gives a shaky, embarrassed laugh. “I know. But… I kissed Luc.”
“Yeah,” I rasp, jealousy roaring up inside me again. “I saw. Thanks for reminding me.”
She shifts, her cheeks flushed. “I just… I like him.”
The sting is sharp and self-inflicted because I’m the one who pushed her away and handed her to him.
I lean in again, close enough to share each shaky breath. My voice is ragged with want. “Tell me whether you’re still thinking about him when I’m done kissing you.”
I hesitate there, barely holding back, waiting for her rejection, her retreat. Waiting for her to end this madness, but instead, she closes the distance, claiming my lips like she’s been starved for this as much as I have.
She steals my breath, my senses, and whatever shaky bit of control I had left.
And I’m gone.
Every line I’ve ever drawn or promise I made myself dissolves completely as her mouth crashes against mine. It’s not gentle or cautious, but desperate. It tastes like a last chance and a first breath all wrapped in one.
She sinks into me, her fingers threading urgently into my hair, pulling just enough to rip a harsh breath from my lungs. My kiss deepens, becoming thorough and possessive as a groan rumbles from my chest. Raindrops and adrenaline mingle on our tongues. Defiance. Fire. And beneath it all, a sweetness that’s uniquely hers.
My hands grip her hips, anchoring her against me, and she moves with me like we’ve done this a thousand times. Our bodies already know the script our minds have been too scared to read.
I groan into her mouth, and she answers with a soft whimper. God, that sound makes me want to ruin her for every other kiss for the rest of her life.
I tilt my head, deepen the kiss, and she gasps when I bite her bottom lip. I chase the sound, swallowing it down like it belongs to me.
She grinds against me again, her ragged exhale spilling across my lips. Fuck. This woman.
My gaze flicks up to the roof. I’ve ridden this line enough times to know that Les Gets doesn’t have cameras in their cabins, but still, I check.
I won’t be the reason her disguise slips.
Only when I’m sure we’re good, I drag her over the bulge in my pants, locking one arm around her waist like I’m anchoring both of us.
“Fuck, Alaina…” I murmur against her throat, “… tell me to stop.”
But she doesn’t. She just holds me tighter and kisses me again.
The gondola continues to float through nothing but fog and rain. The world is gray. Weightless. Silent, except for the sound of our breathing, the soft creak of the cabin, and the way she keeps moving on my lap.
Her lips break from mine to skim along the edge of my jaw, her breath against my neck. I feel every exhale like electricity running down my spine.
“What do you need, baby girl?”
“You,” she whimpers. “I always needed you.”
Fuck.
I grip her hips and roll mine up to meet her, guiding her down against me. I need her to feel how hard I am for her. To feel how much I need her too. She gasps, and it nearly undoes me, but it’s not enough, not with the layers between us. The padded bike shorts and the damn gear softens the friction, dulling what we’re both chasing.
I kiss her again, urgently now, my hands roaming. One slips under her jersey, the other tugging at the waistband of her pants. She doesn’t stop me. If anything, she leans into it, her lips parting as my fingers slide lower. I pause when I brush against a soft ball of material hidden inside.
Is that a bundle of socks?
A laugh nearly escapes, muffled by her lips, but I push the distraction aside, sliding them down toward her thigh and into her pant leg, clearing the way, and when I find her pussy, hot and already wet for me, I nearly forget how to breathe.
Holy shit.
Her whole body shudders as I glide my finger over her slit. I kiss her harder, sucking her bottom lip into my mouth as I stroke her slowly. Wanting to see her, I lean back, watching the way her eyes flutter shut as I find her clit, the way her head tilts back, offering me her throat.
That damn hickey.
It flashes like a warning sign, but I don’t care. I press my lips firmly against the other side of her neck, just beneath her jaw, determined to leave my mark and make it clear that, right now, she’s mine.
Her hips roll, searching for relief, and I guide her through it with the pad of my thumb, circling her clit before I slide one finger lower, gently testing. She whimpers, leaning forward, and her breath stutters against my neck, catching each time I find that perfect spot. She’s so warm, so wet already, and when I finally push my finger inside her, a breath leaves my lungs like I’ve been punched in the gut.
She’s tight. God, she’s tight.
I go slow, giving her time to get used to me, but my cock throbs with every twitch of her hips. I’m so hard it actually hurts. My thoughts narrow to how good she feels around just one finger, how mind-shattering it would be to be buried inside her.
The smallest voice whispers a reminder that I don’t deserve this, that only moments ago, I told her nobody should be touching her, but rationality fades rapidly beneath the desperate rock of her hips, the silent plea in every movement, every breath she takes against my skin. I’m beyond reason, lost to her completely, starving for more of this.
Starving for her.
My finger slips deeper, working slowly, and when my thumb rubs over her clit again with a little more pressure, her entire body arches, mouth open in a silent cry like I just yanked the breath right out of her lungs, and fuck, my hips jerk up beneath her without meaning to.
Then I slide in a second finger, and she goes rigid.
Something’s changed.
“You’re okay.” I press a kiss to her throat, then a little higher. “You feel so good. So damn perfect.” She exhales a long, shaky breath against my shoulder, and I keep my fingers still as I trail kisses up her neck, whispering more truths against her skin. “You make me crazy, you know that?” She lets out a small whimper, lips hot on my jaw. “I didn’t sleep for days. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t breathe. You’re always on my mind, baby girl. Every second. Every breath.”
I kiss her hungrily again, and her lips part beneath mine like she’s starved, too, but when I pull back, something flickers across her face when she shifts her hips again, pained.
Shit. Her hip.
I slowly withdraw my fingers, gripping her waist carefully. “Hey,” I say softly, guiding her to stand, my hands braced on her hips. “You okay?”
She nods quickly, eyes wide and luminous, cheeks flushed with desire. She looks achingly and devastatingly beautiful.
I press my forehead to her collarbone, my heart pounding against my ribs like it wants out. “We can stop,” I say quietly. “We should stop.”
But even as I speak the words, my hands remain rooted on her hips, unwilling to let go. She’s still standing between my knees, breathing heavily.
And fuck, I’m still painfully hard.
When I look up to find her eyes, Alaina leans forward, brushing a soft, pleading kiss against my lips. “I’m good, Finn. Please don’t stop now.”
Fuck.
I gesture toward the fogged-up glass, my voice raw with need. “Hands on the window.”
She obeys without a word, placing her palms flat against the panes, looking at me over her shoulder. Rain drums on the outside, a chaotic rhythm that can’t quite match the frantic beating of my heart, as I see that one of her hands still holds the blue cornflower.
It’s crushed now.
Just like every remaining shred of my self-control.
I rise slowly, stepping close behind her. My fingers hook into her waistband, easing her pants down to her thighs with care, and her hips instinctively push back, spine arching gracefully, offering herself like she knows exactly how badly I need this.
How badly we both need this.
Fuck, she’s goddamn beautiful, pink, and glistening for me.
She isn’t just inviting me. She’s daring me, challenging me, and I’m done resisting. She’s my lifeline, the only salvation left for me, and I’m going to claim her as though I deserve every precious second.
“Please, Finn…”
My hands shake as I fumble with my gear, unbearable pressure building in every part of me. The second I’m free, I line myself up, guided more by instinct than thought. Then, with one hard thrust, I bury myself inside her.
Her gasp pierces the air as she stiffens beneath me, hands flattening harder against the rain-slicked glass like she’s bracing for impact.
And fuck is it a goddamn impact.
She grips me impossibly tight, as if her body resists but simultaneously begs me to stay. It’s overwhelming, dizzying, consuming.
My lips find her temple, breathing roughly into her hair. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight. You feel so… so good.”
A soft, broken sound escapes her. It’s part whimper, part exhale, and her forehead is pressed to the fogged glass. I slide my hand up slowly, fingers curling around her throat with gentle pressure, and I pull her back, flush to my chest.
Her breath stutters.
“You okay?” I ask again, my voice low against her ear, while I’m trying hard to keep still.
“Yes,” she says on a breath, her voice trembling but sure. “Keep going.”
“You sure?” I murmur, lips grazing her earlobe. I nibble at it, and Jesus, it’s all I can do not to lose my mind. She’s gripping me like a vice, and it’s the best fucking feeling I’ve ever had.
But if she told me to stop, I would. I’d stop everything. For her.
“Please,” she whispers.
That’s all I need.
I slide my hand down again, fingertips seeking out her clit with newfound certainty, stroking gently at first, then quickening the pace, matching perfectly with the rhythm of my thrusts. Her body jerks under my touch, a loud moan escaping her throat.

She moves with urgency, pressing herself back into each thrust, chasing the friction and intensity, and fuck, I’m ready to give her everything she asks for, everything she needs.
“It’s too good,” I grit out harshly, barely clinging to control, and fighting desperately not to lose myself too soon. “But the ride won’t last forever, baby girl. We need to finish this now.”
Another intentional, deep stroke of my fingers has her crying out, and that sound is absolute heaven.
“Does that feel good?” I ask, breath ghosting against her ear.
“Y-yes,” she chokes out, her body quivering beneath my touch.
“Attagirl,” I murmur, lips grazing the damp curve of her neck. “Then come for me.”
I maintain a fast rhythm, my fingers circling her clit, my hips driving deep and hard. Her body arches beneath me, and she shakes uncontrollably, muscles tightening around me, gripping fiercely as though she wants to pull me in even deeper.
Then she comes, and I feel every second of it—her pulse, her cry, the way her body seizes and melts against me all at once. She’s soaking wet and gripping me so hard I swear she almost breaks my dick.
It’s more than I can handle. My spine arches, hips locking tight as heat coils and explodes low in my gut. My balls draw up hard, a rush of fire rips through my core, and I groan right into her ear as I spill myself inside her.
The sound she makes in response nearly undoes me again. My fingers dig into her hips, anchoring us both as wave after wave crashes through me, stealing the air from my lungs.
My world constricts to only her. Her breath, her sounds, the way she holds me perfectly inside her like I belong there, and I’m meant to be hers. My vision whites out for a beat, muscles trembling, jaw slack as the last shudders wrack through my body.
And when it passes, when the air finally comes back, all I can do is hold her tighter, whisper her name like a prayer, and hope she knows that this wasn’t just release.
This was surrender.
I gently press my lips against her temple, lingering, once, twice, then a third time, savoring the small hitch in her breathing each kiss elicits.
She lets out a tiny, breathless laugh, and I’m not sure whether it heals something fractured within me or deepens the wound.
I turn her face to mine and kiss her deeply, not ready to leave her body, needing to hold onto this for just one second longer, but then the gondola top station emerges through the mist, looming out of the fog, and it’s a slap to the face.
A bird’s-eye view of everything I just forgot about.
“Shit,” I mutter, the word barely audible over the blood still pounding in my ears. I pull out too fast, everything about it awkward, cold, and wrong.
Alaina hikes her pants back up just as fast, just as clumsily, fingers fumbling with the waistband.
She winces with every motion, but I’m distracted from it as I tuck myself back into my pants and feel the wetness on my hand.
I look down, and my body goes ice cold.
My hand is red.
Red with blood.
My eyes drift down, and fuck. It’s there, too, smeared across my dick. As if my body is moving in slow motion, I glance up at her.
She’s still flushed, lips parted from everything we just did, but her eyes are different now as they’re locked in on my hands, too wide, glassy. Afraid.
What the fuck?
My brain grasps for the easy explanation. “Are you still bleeding? Don’t worry, I don’t care if you’re on your period.”
She just stares at me, cheeks darkening, that damn flower peeking out between the fingers of her clenched fist, a couple of petals falling to the floor as she starts to tremble.
My stomach clenches, and a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
No.
“You’re…” My throat closes around the word. “You’re a virgin?”
Her silence says everything.
Fuck. What the fuck did I just do?
I didn’t ask. I didn’t check. For all those words I spewed, I didn’t ask the important thing, and now I’ve taken something from her, something she’ll never get back, while standing in a goddamn gondola with a clock hanging over us.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Alaina…” It’s all I can manage.
Because fuck, this wasn’t what she deserved, not what she would’ve ever dreamed about.
She trusted me with something that mattered, and I treated it like it didn’t. I just took what she gave me and ran with it like some starving idiot with no sense of what it meant.
No prep, no softness, and no idea what this moment was for her.
Another goddamn point for the scoreboard.
Finn Greer: Wrecking shit since 2009.
Jesus-fucking-Christ.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.”
The words come out flat, too small for what I mean.
I open my eyes to face what I’ve done, only to find her gaze already on me, and it bleeds with hurt. A hurt so visceral it hits me straight in the chest.
My gut twists so violently I almost stagger back, and that’s when the gondola jerks against the dock. The world hasn’t stopped, even if everything inside me has.
Alaina grabs her helmet with jerky, shaky movements, then pauses, eyes fixed on the crushed cornflower. She stares at it for a heartbeat longer, then looks up at me, eyes glassy and shining with unshed tears.
She throws it at me, and it hits me square in the chest, broken petals sticking to my jersey like an accusation I can’t outrun.
One I don’t deserve to outrun.
“Fuck… no!” I breathe, everything slamming into place at once.
What I said.
What she thinks I meant.
“I didn’t mean…”
But she’s already out of the gondola and hauling her bike from the rack.
“Alai…” I start, panic climbing up my throat, but I manage to cut myself off just in time, following after her. “Al!”
I jump out of the gondola station, and the rain slams into me, but I barely feel it.
An official runs up to Alaina ahead of me, waving frantically. “Come on! You have one minute!”
She nods, mounting her bike in one fluid motion, riding off toward the gate without a backward glance. Wheels slicing through the mud, she has barely made it to the starting gate when the timer begins to count down, giving her no time to prepare or get her head in it.
A screen is mounted under the race tent near me with a few officials crowded around it. I approach it quietly, and we all watch as the last beep rings out and Alaina barrels out of the start gate like a bullet.
Too fast, baby girl.
Way too fast for these conditions.
Mud flies from her tires in bursts as rain slices sideways across the camera’s lens. She’s attacking the course, not riding it, not dancing with it the way she usually does. She’s way out of rhythm, and it’s my fault.
The first split time flashes on screen.
Green.
She’s ahead.
Of course, she is, even in pain.
Then the camera feed switches, repositioned to catch her when she rounds the next corner. Any second, she’ll be leaning into the berm, carving time out of the clock like she always does. I hold my breath for it, but she doesn’t come. The seconds tick by, five, ten, fifteen…
The trail remains hauntingly empty.
The tension in the tent spikes until someone near me curses under their breath. The feed shifts to drone footage, scanning the narrow section of track carved out of the hillside before the corner. Mud is churned deep, the roots look like veins under the earth.
And then I see it. Her bike.
Alaina’s blue frame is just lying there in the mud, halfway toward the edge of a steep drop-off. The front wheel is still spinning slightly, like it hasn’t realized she’s no longer on it.
My blood goes cold.
“Shit,” someone says behind me, but the sound barely even reaches my ears.
No.
I’m moving before my mind can catch up, boots skidding in the sludge and branches slapping my arms and face as I run as fast as I can, veering off the trail and down the mountain. Course tape rips across my chest, and someone yells behind me, but I’m not listening. I can’t.
My fault, my fault, my brain chants as I replay her riding too fast.
I pushed her. I touched her. I…
“Al!” I shout into the storm, my voice raw as I tear down the course. My legs threaten to give, but I don’t allow it. I can’t.
I have to get to her.
Please, baby girl, be okay.
Give me the chance to make this right.