Page 277 of Rogue Riders Duet

“Don’t touch it,” I snap, grabbing his forearm before he can lift it.

He goes still. Hands up, backing off without argument. “Sorry.”

Pulling the bike out myself, I don’t bother hiding the grunt it costs me. I grab my helmet, too, swing my leg over, and pedal off toward the tree line without another glance at Finn. Just getting there is a chore. I’m stiff, sore, and I already know this is a terrible idea. Still, I go, because I have to figure out how fucked I really am, preferably before practice.

There are trails everywhere, and because I’m at the far end of the park and it’s still early, I’m alone between the trees.

Ugh. Trees.

I get off the bike and push it up the hill, legs already burning from the stiffness in my hip, biting through just long enough to gain a little elevation, before I turn the bike downhill and get on again. I keep my speed low, cautious, with only my forefinger on the brake and my middle finger curled awkwardly around the handlebar, trying to compensate for the two taped ones that can’t hold anything, let alone the weight of my body shifting on a descent.

I try to grip tighter, try to hold on, but it’s useless.

The brake lever shudders under my touch, and the lack of tension makes everything worse. My balance wobbles as the trail levels slightly, and the moment I feel gravity start to pull me forward, I realize I’m not in control. I can’t stop. I can’t even slow down properly.

So I let it roll, and when I hit a shallow rut, I can’t even react fast enough. The bike pitches wrong beneath me, and my fingers slip, my body twists, and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground.

It’s not a brutal fall, and there’s no sharp shock of pain, but I land wrong, my leg tangled with the frame, my elbow scraping dirt as I skid sideways. And even though nothing is seriously hurt, I scream anyway, not from pain, but from fury.

I scream again as I push myself up, every part of me shaking from the effort, the shame, and the humiliation of falling like a rookie when I’ve spent the last seven years turning myself into someone who doesn’t fall.

Seven fucking years.

For fucking nothing?

Tears blur my vision, but then a branch cracks, and I spin around.

Finn steps out of the trees, hands out like I’m a cornered animal. “Alaina.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I bite out.

“I heard you scream. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He looks at me like he might call bullshit. “You know ‘I’m fine’ isn’t a personality trait, right?” He takes a step closer, carefully, like I might break down on him. Joke’s on him—I already did. “You can tell people when you’re not okay. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

“Fine,” I snap, turning on him so fast he actually flinches. “I’m not fucking okay.”

The words come out louder than I meant, but I don’t take them back. I let the heat rise, let the fire come up through my chest and spill out of my mouth like it’s his problem now, because fuck it, he’s the one who followed me out here.

“You want honesty?” I laugh, but it’s not funny. “Great. Here’s some. This is all because of you.”

His face shifts. I see it hit him like he didn’t expect that one to land so hard. Maybe he thought I’d play nice just because he showed up with his sad eyes and his goddamn hammer and tried to fix something for once.

Well, congratulations, Finn. You fixed the paint on the bus. Too bad you wrecked me.

“Are you scared?” he asks, making me even angrier.

“What did you just say?”

“You crashed again. It would be natural to be a little scared to get back to racing now.”

“I’m not scared. I can’t ride! You’re the reason I broke my fingers. You’re the reason I can’t hold on to my bike anymore. You’re the reason I won’t be able to do what I came here to do.”

“You’re right. I am.”

I blink, thrown off by him so easily giving in. “Do you think admitting it helps?”