Page 29 of Broken Breath (Rogue Riders Duet #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Alaina

“No, I’m sorry, Mister. We don’t have that here.”

“You sure you don’t have any cold medicine?” I plead with the woman behind the counter of the hotel’s reception desk. “Something basic. Cough syrup. Decongestant. Anything .”

Dane is sick as shit. Coughing like he swallowed gravel. Once I realized what was happening, I shoved him into the back of the bus like a plague rat because I can’t get sick too. Not now, and not with my lungs.

Pain, I can handle. But colds?

No.

They sink into my chest and tear me down from the inside out. Breathing, let alone riding, becomes impossible, and I’m already hanging on by a thread thanks to my hip pain.

Yes, I finished in second place yesterday, but Luc coming in fourth screwed with the overall points, and now Raine is leading the standings.

And I fucking hate it .

She shakes her head, offering a sympathetic smile. “No, I’m sorry. We don’t carry that here.”

Of course you fucking don’t.

“Is there a pharmacy nearby?” I ask through gritted teeth, trying not to snap at her as she opens her mouth to give me the answer I’m braced for.

“The closest is in the next town over. Maybe twenty kilometers. It’s a small area here,” she says, like I haven’t noticed we’re surrounded by trees, goats, and fucking nothing.

“Right. Thanks.”

I stomp away from her, already planning the most efficient way to drive our monster of a bus through a bunch of tiny, winding Polish village roads without killing myself or someone else when a hand lands on my shoulder, drawing me to a halt. I freeze, heart leaping into my throat.

“Hey, you okay? What was that about medicine?”

I relax at Finn’s voice, but step back so his hand falls away.

His backpack is on, and he looks as ready to hit the road as the rest of the circuit, all buzzing around in the lobby of the hotel.

Concern is etched into the furrow of his brow, though, and those stupidly perceptive blue eyes are scanning me from head to toe.

“I’m fine,” I snap, turning my frazzled nerves on him. “Dane has a cold.”

His frown deepens. “Want me to?—”

“No.” I cut him off. “It’s fine. I’ll grab some stuff on the way over. See you in Austria.”

I turn away from his concern before I do something dumb, like lean into that steady presence of his and let myself need someone. That can’t end well for any of us.

Ducking into the bus, I take one last deep, germ-free breath before I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and head straight for the back .

Dane is already passed out, snoring with his mouth open and one hand curled under his cheek like a kid. It makes my chest ache that I’ve come back with nothing for him.

We always took care of each other when we were sick, with soup, movies, and matching flu meds. No big deal. But we’re not home in Snowshoe anymore, and I can’t afford to show any cracks, not even little ones.

I leave the water bottle by his bunk and don’t let myself breathe again until I’m back at the front of the bus. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I jam the key in and twist, and the engine rumbles to life beneath me, the vibration climbing straight through my bones.

Eight hours to Leogang, Austria. Just me, my bad mood, and a thriving colony of bus germs.

Let’s fucking go.

I punch the gas and make it roughly one hundred yards before Finn steps right into my path.

“Jesus!” I slam on the brakes, my heart ricocheting off my ribs.

He grins, entirely unbothered by his near death by bus, and lifts a hand to point at the side door.

I stare at him through the windshield for a full beat before groaning and hitting the switch. I’m already halfway to snapping, What do you want? when Finn climbs on with that same grin still on his face.

“I know I’m beyond my prime, but you didn’t need to try and euthanize me.”

My laugh slips out before I can stop it. Sharp, startled, and way too feminine.

Shit.

I grip the steering wheel and glance at Finn, but the only change in him is that his grin is impossibly bigger.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I mutter in my deep voice, trying to recover. “There are germs everywhere. Contagion central.”

“Good thing I have more antibodies than you in my advanced age.”

I huff, but he’s already unslinging his backpack and unzipping it.

“You brought your entire pharmacy?” I ask, eyebrows raised as he pulls out a gallon-sized ziplock bag crammed with meds.

“Travel essentials,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Painkillers, electrolytes, anti-nausea, anti-inflammatories…” He digs deeper. “Ah… decongestants and cold meds because I’m a gentleman.”

I blink at him. “You serious?”

“You said Dane has a cold, didn’t you?”

I nod, still staring.

Finn just shrugs. “Then let’s fix it.” And before I can say another word, he’s walking down the narrow aisle toward the back of the bus like he belongs there.

Because elite athletes, especially the men, have one thing in common—none of them believe they need an invitation.

They move through the world like everything will make space for them, expecting that doors will open, walls will bend, and people will say yes just because they showed up.

And the worst part? They’re usually right, especially the charming ones, and the ones who mean well and don’t even realize how much space they take up.

First Luc. Then Mason. And now Finn, who’s just waltzing down the middle of my life, dispensing meds and comfort like it’s his job to fix everything.

I should be furious, but instead, I sit there in the driver’s seat and let him.

There are low murmurs, some coughing from Dane, and then the crinkle of packaging .

Sounds like Dane put up as much of a fight as I did.

Finn reappears a minute later and sinks into the passenger seat, which is, thankfully, a row behind mine. One row, one breath of space between us. If he were any closer, I don’t think I could keep my cool.

My eyes are on the wide rearview mirror above the dash, watching as he pulls a small bottle of disinfectant from his backpack and methodically cleans his hands.

Then he stretches out with a satisfied smile on his face, arms folded behind his head, his long legs propped slightly to the side so they don’t crowd the aisle.

I tear my eyes away from the mirror, wondering why he looks like he’s settling in for a damn road trip.

Feeling the weight of his presence, I glance over my shoulder and find him watching me.

He’s not smiling anymore.

He’s just watching.

Waiting.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, having no idea what to do with the heat blooming behind my aching ribs.

“Planning on hitching a ride to Austria?” I ask, trying to keep my tone level.

“Only if you’re going that way,” he jokes.

“You should flee while you still can. We’ve got a long road ahead.”

He just chuckles. “Eight hours. You should probably get started.”

“I will. As soon as you’re gone .”

Instead of moving, he nods toward the front window, and I follow his gaze. Right on cue, his red team bus pulls out of the lot, disappearing around the bend.

He leans in toward me and murmurs, “Looks like if you kick me out, I won’t get to Austria.”

My lungs hiccup.

Not literally, thank God. But close enough .

“I… Finn , Dane is sick. You’ll get sick staying in here.”

He grabs his backpack again, unzips a side pocket, and pulls out what looks like an oversized lozenge pack. He holds it up between two fingers. “These are the miracle cure. We just suck on them nonstop for the next eight hours and won’t catch anything. My mom swears by them.”

That makes me pause.

I remember Finn’s mom, with her soft voice and kind eyes.

When the circuit stopped in Canada, we used to stay with them, and I grew really fond of her.

Even when we were on the road, she’d send care packages filled with homemade granola bars and those awful vitamin gummies that tasted like dirt.

She’s a pharmacist. Finn’s dad is a pianist, some big deal in Quebec.

They never really understood Finn, never got why he’d throw his body down a mountain for fun, but they always supported the hell out of it.

I glance at the lozenges. “Dane’s probably gonna sleep the whole time,” I try again, a final weak protest.

“Even more reason not to let you drive all this alone,” he says casually, like it’s already decided.

“I could stop. Take breaks.”

“You could.” His voice dips, amused. “But you wouldn’t.”

I narrow my eyes at the road ahead. “How would you know?”

“I just know,” he says with another maddening shrug. Then I hear the crinkle of a wrapper, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch him unwrapping a lozenge.

“Open.” Before I can register what’s happening, he leans forward and gently pushes the lozenge against my lips.

My mouth opens on instinct because, apparently, I’ve lost all control over basic motor function, and his fingers brush the edge of my lower lip with a soft, fleeting pressure that might as well be a lightning strike. My breath stalls in my chest.

“There we go,” he murmurs, all smug satisfaction, and drops back into his seat, oblivious to the fact that he just rearranged my entire nervous system. He pops another one into his mouth, completely casual.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting here with my pulse galloping and my cheeks burning like I’ve got a fever too. His fingers were just on my lips. His fingers. My lips.

Stunned, I try not to choke on the lozenge or acknowledge the fact that my entire body is on fire now.

“Drive, Al.” Finn chuckles, and I grip the wheel like it might keep me grounded.

Fuck.

I do what I’m told, and a few miles slip past in tense silence.

Trees blur past the windows, and the engine hums. From the back, Dane coughs regularly, all wet, like his lungs are trying to turn themselves inside out, and the sound starts scraping along my nerves like sandpaper until I can’t take it anymore.