Page 205 of Rogue Riders Duet

She brushes a hand over my shoulder and murmurs, “Take your time, ma chérie. You’ve already done the hard part.”

And somehow, that’s exactly what I needed to hear.

SIX

I’ve been staring at the same text for the past hour.

Not the one where Luc threatens me, or where he swears he’ll kick my ass, or something else, if I tell anyone about Alaina, and not even the one where he manages to apologize and insult me in the same sentence.

Nope, the one that’s really fucking with me?

Luc

Are you okay?

That’s it. Just those three words, but somehow, that one hits harder than all the rest.

“Anything you need to read out loud?” my dad asks from the driver’s seat, glancing over as he speaks with that annoyingly perceptive dad voice.

I grunt and thumb my screen off just as another text comes in, the vibration loud in the silent cabin. “It’s nothing, just Delacroix being an asshole.”

“Sure it is.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Guy texting you this often either wants to fight you or fuck you. Possibly both.”

“Jesus, Dad,” I mutter, bringing the screen back up to read Luc’s newest message.

Luc

Don’t leave me on read, Pretty Boy.

I do anyway and scroll back up to Luc’s rapid-fire explosion from last night.

Just in case you didn’t hear me earlier, I’m gonna kick your ass if you tell anybody.

Or maybe I’ll have to kick your dick because your head is already in your ass.

And no, I’m not overreacting, you’re overreacting.

Be mad, be whatever, but don’t tell anyone. Please. I know I fucked up with you, and I’m honestly sorry. But don’t be the asshole you told me you’re not now.

Ghosting me? Bold move, Payne.

Luc Delacroix. The human version of a sugar crash.

Scrolling up farther, I get to the texts from last season before my life went to shit. Stupid race-day trash talk, Luc’s shirtless selfie with the caption “You spend so much time behind me, figured I’d throw you a mercy shot of the front” and nonstop jabs about my suspension setup. He called me a sore loser at least a dozen times, and we had a running bet on who’d crash first, and he sent me memes every time I lost. Dumb, relentless, infuriating stuff.

Nothing like this.

I swipe back to that message again. The soft one. The one with no sarcasm.

Luc

Are you okay?

Christ on a bike, why does that one text feel like a gut punch?

Maybe because it’s the first time he’s asked, and the part that kills me is I don’t even know the answer. I’m not sure if I’m pissed at Alaina or just wrecked because she let me in and didn’t trust me with the truth. I’m not sure if I want to fight Luc for everything he did yesterday or kiss him.

I lean my head against the cool glass of the van window, staring out at the blur of Italian countryside, not that I can actually appreciate the scenery. My brain is too busy rewinding that moment outside the hospital. The rain. The heat between us. His hand on my arm.