Page 15 of Broken Breath (Rogue Riders Duet #1)

Kevin elbows her. “You will do all the shit we do too.”

From somewhere in the background, a woman’s voice calls, “Language!”

“Sorry, Mom!” they both chime in a practiced chorus.

“Tell Finn I say hi!”

“Hi, Ms. Clark,” I greet, a little louder so she can hear me. “Guys, I gotta go haul all the shit around.”

“Language, Finn!” she calls, laughing.

I chuckle softly. “Right. Sorry.”

I almost end the call there, but something inside me wants to stretch the moment a little longer.

Wasn’t this just the kind of noise I’d been hoping to have back in my life?

God, I think I need all of this more than they do.

“You two watch the videos of the race I sent you? ”

“Of course.” Kevin’s chest puffs with pride. “We watched it live too. You were so good!”

Rachel nods, leaning in. “Yeah! That section in the middle? The off-camber turn into the rock chute? You stayed high and fast, but everyone else lost time right there.”

“Good catch.” I grin. “Watch it again. I’m gonna quiz you about line choices next time we talk.”

“Okay!” they echo together.

“All right. Bye, guys.”

Rachel disappears, but Kevin lingers, twisting the knife a little deeper as he studies me. “You’ll call when they call you? Promise?”

“I… I will,” I lie.

The screen goes dark, and my phone drops to the dirt with a thud, my ass following behind it.

I’ve got one more season in the saddle, and after that? I want to be the guy who opens the door, not the one who slams it shut behind him.

Burying my face in my hands, I take as many steadying breaths as I need to push back the guilt-induced nausea, then I roll my shoulders and get up.

This is exactly the example I want to set for those kids, even though they’re not here to see it.

By the time I make it back toward the pits, the sun is higher and hotter. I’m about to cut across the back of our setup when I nearly walk straight into a shadow moving the other way—black hoodie, hood up, shoulders hunched.

Mason Payne.

He doesn’t look at me, just keeps walking as if he’s got ghosts in his periphery and somewhere better to be. He always walks like that, like everyone around him is in the way.

We’ve never been friends. He came up fast right after Dane stepped out. Raine took two back-to-back overall wins, barely, and then Payne, with his aggressive style, managed to take his own two overalls right after.

And yeah, maybe he earned them, but I never liked how he did it.

Which is why it felt like karma had a sense of humor when Luc Delacroix started downhill three years ago and wiped the floor with them both.

Stole every overall title since. Made Raine sweat.

Made Payne look mortal. And did it with a smile on his face and an absolute lack of fear that made his coaches lose sleep.

I don’t know Delacroix well, but I like him. Sure, he’s full of himself and a fucking maniac, but he’s fun and everything this sport should be about.

Two of the juniors from my team are heading back from the vendor tents, water bottles in hand.

When they spot Payne, instead of stepping aside like normal human beings, they shift right into his path.

One steps in front, the other angles in from the side, blocking him.

Both have shitty little grins on their faces.

So, not the kind of kids I’d ever want to sign to my team, if I ever have one.

“Where you off to, rapist ?” one sneers, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

Mason barely slows, clearly meaning to walk past without saying a word, but they don’t let him, mirroring his step.

“You need help finding the women’s tent?” the other one adds with a mocking smile.

Mason doesn’t react, just tries to keep walking. Then one steps right into his path and shoulder checks him, and yeah, maybe Mason Payne is a prick, but this isn’t the kind of shit we do in this sport. That kind of thing gets you kicked off a team. Penalized. DQ’d for unsporting behavior.

And I’ll be damned if it happens on my watch .

I step up behind Mason and cross my arms over my chest. Both of the juniors look up at me with wide eyes.

“Shit,” the taller one mutters. “Sorry, Greer. We didn’t mean to. We were just?—”

“You were just being assholes and risking your careers,” I finish for him, my face blank. “Actions speak louder than words. Get lost.”

They scatter like kicked gravel, and I watch them go, making sure they stay gone. Mason turns halfway, his hood falling back slightly. His brown eyes find mine, but he doesn’t do anything. No nod, no thank you, just scoffs like I’m the one who should be embarrassed and stalks off without a word.

“You’re welcome, asshole.” I sigh and turn to head back to my pit, which is probably already set up, but I don’t make it two steps before an arm slings around my shoulders.

“ Mon Dieu, Greer,” Luc Delacroix drawls beside me. “What the hell was that? You defending rapists now?”

“No.” I huff, shaking him off with a grunt. “I’m defending fucking juniors who don’t know better.”

Delacroix hums, indicating that’s an acceptable answer, but his eyes narrow as he watches Payne disappear into the crowd.

There used to be a rivalry between them that was the stuff of legends. They were the kind of competitors who fed off each other, who trash-talked with smirks and sharp elbows and always, always went faster because the other was on the hill.

Raine is a parasite. No one likes him. But Payne and Delacroix?

They made each other better.

It’s gone now. Snuffed out like Payne’s flagging career, which I call karma .

“You look like shit,” Delacroix adds casually, studying me. “Or rather, you look like you could use a drink.”

“I’m not getting drunk with you again,” I mutter, side-eyeing him. “That one time last season was enough.”

Delacroix just laughs, unbothered. “One drink won’t make you drunk. Come on, we’re in Poland. I hear they’ve got good vodka and pretty women.”

I should say no. I should crawl back under the canopy, fake being useful, distract myself with bikes and bolts, but instead, I think about the call I just took. The dream I just lost. The lie I just told.

And I think about all the shit around Alaina.

It would be nice not to think about all of it for a while.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Fuck it. Why not?”

Delacroix grins as if he just won something.

“ Bonne réponse .”