Page 55 of Bend

Andre goes still in that quiet, assessing way people do when they realize they’ve just walked into something bigger than they thought.

His gaze shifts between me and Sayshen, then toward Talon for the briefest second, like the reaction back there told him everything else he needed to know.

Then Sayshen adds, lower now, “And before you ask, no, our dad doesn’t know yet.”

Andre’s eyes come back to him. “He doesn’t?”

Sayshen shakes his head. “Not yet. We’re still figuring out how the hell to even deal with this ourselves.” He glances at me, then back at Andre. “So if you could keep it to yourself for now, I’d appreciate it.”

Andre studies him for a long second, then he nods once. “Not my story to tell.”

Something in my chest loosens at that.

Only a little.

Because the truth is, I don’t know how to feel about our dad not knowing. Part of me understands it. Of course I do. Everything about this is a mess already. Talon is one bad sentence away from blowing a hole through the nearest wall, Sayshen is trying to keep all the pieces from flying off in different directions, and I’m just here, trying to find my place in a world that was taken from me before I even knew it existed.

Tossing our father into the middle of it now would probably turn this from emotionally unstable to full-on catastrophic.

Still… it stings a little that they haven’t told him.

Andre seems to clock enough of the tension to decide he’s not touching it with a ten-foot wrench. Smart man. He jerks his chin toward Bay Three instead.

“Well. Family drama aside, I’m not in the business of handing out jobs because somebody suddenly got a sister. You’ll have to put in the work just like everyone else if you want a spot on this team.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” I mutter.

Andre points at the bike sitting half-open on the stand nearest us. “That one’s been fighting us for the last two practice days. Rider says it’s unstable on corner entry and chattery through the front under braking once the session gets hot. Not every lap and not when cold. Only after it’s been pushed.” He folds his arms. “If you can tell me what’s wrong with it and fix it, the job’s yours.”

No pressure.

I look at the bike, then back at him.

“That’s it?”

Andre lifts a brow.

I smile despite myself. “I mean, right. Great. No problem.”

I step toward the bike and circle it once slowly, taking it all in before I touch anything. It’s a race-prepped machine, fairings partly off, front stand locked, bodywork clean but not pampered. This isn’t some sponsored beauty queen that only gets polished for photos. This thing gets ridden fucking hard.

I crouch near the front end first, eyes running over the forks, axle, calipers, tire wear. Then I straighten and walk around to the side, checking stance, geometry, chain tension, how it’s sitting on the stand.

Andre doesn’t interrupt, and neither does Sayshen, but behind us, I can feel Talon pretending like he’s not listening, but I ignore him and I keep moving.

“Okay,” I say finally. “If it’s only showing up once the bike’s hot and being pushed, that rules out a bunch of obvious shit straight away.”

Andre says nothing, but I can feel him paying attention now.

I point at the front. “The chatter under braking could make somebody jump straight to fork settings, but if it was just compression damping being off, you’d feel it more consistently. Same with preload. Not just after heat cycles.”

Sayshen’s arms cross. He’s trying not to look smug already.

I shoot him a look without stopping.

“The instability on corner entry plus front-end chatter once it gets worked tells me I’d probably want to start with front geometry and mounting points first, not just suspension clickers. Something’s transferring load wrong once everything warms up and starts moving under pressure.”

Andre’s brow lifts a fraction.