Page 45 of Rogue Riders Duet

He made everything feel safer. Not smaller, not easier, just possible.

No wonder I had a crush on him that hit like a runaway train.

There’s a sudden shout of panic as someone rides past me and loses control, their tire catching wrong. They go down hard, a little higher on the slope than where Finn and the juniors are standing. It’s not one of his teammates, but Finn is moving before the kid even finishes sliding, running to his side to check he’s okay.

The junior rider waves him off, shaking his head, and Finn laughs and claps a hand on his helmet.

God, why does he still have to be so perfect?

The butterflies in my stomach don’t flutter, they riot. It seems that the crush I thought had finally ebbed away is still here and thriving. It’s a goddamn fungus.

But just like seven years ago, it can’t be anything. I’ve gotten used to that, at least. Unrequited feelings are just extra cardio at this point. Keeps the heart rate up.

The group gets back on their bikes, the juniors peeling down the trail one by one. Finn waits until they’re all moving before swinging a leg over his bike, taking the rear so he can watch their backs.

I hang back a few more minutes before getting back to practice, and when I clear a particularly nasty rock section, I have to pull off to the side, my breath coming hard.

I idled too long, and now I’m hurting. Bad. The fire in my ribs creeps up to my shoulder, and I shift my weight, trying to stretch it out, but it only makes it worse.

A quick glance tells me I’m alone on this part of the track. So I stop pretending and let it show. I sink into the rare moment to let the pain speak louder than the plan, louder than the mask I’ve been wearing since this whole goddamn thing started.

My knees buckle a little as I press a shaking palm to my ribs, the world tilting sideways.

Stay upright. Don’t fold.

I don’t want to be like this.

I can’t keep being like this.

It’s fine, Alaina.

This won’t be your future.

You finish what you started, and then, you’re allowed to close your eyes forever.

No more pain. No more pretending. No more this.

I hold that thought like a handhold on the cliff edge.

I need it.

It’s the only thing that keeps me from breaking apart right here on the trail.

Once I’m sure I won’t unravel, I suck in a breath and force my eyes open, just as someone else comes flying down the track in a blur of pink.

Luc Delacroix blasts past like gravity is just a suggestion, tires snarling, bike practically howling, as he cuts through the silence like a goddamn war cry.

Jesus.

Wind slaps me as he rips by, and when he makes it farther down the track, another rider actually stumbles, and someone swears.

It’s the third time he’s done that today with no warning, no chill. Just full send as if he’s alone on the track and racing ghosts no one else can see. By the time I blink again, he’s already vanished into the trees.

I don’t care that he’s acting like a fucking ass again, not really, but I should probably keep an eye out so I don’t end up as roadkill. I have a feeling he’d happily run me over, especially after yesterday.

Which, yeah. That got a little heated.

Dane gave me an earful afterward. Pulled me aside like a disappointed dad and asked if I had some kind of death wish that had me mouthing off to Luc-fucking-Delacroix.