Page 39 of Broken Breath (Rogue Riders Duet #1)

He sets Toulouse down gently in his little cage, then flops back onto the bed and pats the mattress again. “ Voilà. ”

I don’t move. “I really shouldn’t sit in your bed. I’m sweaty and gross. ”

“I so don’t care,” Luc says with a shrug. “But if you do, take a shower.” He nods toward the en suite.

“I’m not showering in your room. With you in here.”

“Why?” He raises an eyebrow. “Oh… I bet you shower naked. You hoe. ”

A laugh escapes me, and right now, it feels like a small miracle.

Luc abruptly stands and crosses the room in two easy steps, like he’s not making a decision so much as following gravity.

Stopping in front of me, he’s close enough that his warmth rolls off him in waves, hitting my chest first. Then it spreads, sinking into the space between my ribs before curling low in my stomach.

His hands find my waist again, fingers pressing just enough to make me shiver as he pulls me in. I know I should fight it, but I don’t. I’m too tired.

And I like him holding me too much.

As he leans in, I feel every inch of him, his thigh brushing mine, the heat of his breath skating down my throat. He lowers his face to where my collarbone dips into the slope of my shoulder, and his nose brushes the skin there, just above the hoodie’s neckline.

My knees grow weak, and I reach out, one hand curling lightly around his bicep, the dense muscle tense under my touch, the other drifting to his forearm, anchoring myself to him.

“You don’t stink,” he murmurs, lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “You smell like me.”

Goose bumps rise along my arms, spine, and the back of my neck.

Then he bites me. Not hard or painful, but a soft, sharp nip right at the edge of my jaw, just beneath my ear, where my pulse is stuttering like it skipped a beat .

I gasp, hips jerking forward a little, unbidden. His teeth drag slightly before he pulls back, and then he does it again.

Another soft nip, followed by a kiss, and this time, the gasp escapes me before I can stop it.

“Why are you biting me all the time?” The question comes out too breathy and not nearly annoyed enough.

His mouth curls into the smuggest goddamn grin I’ve ever seen. “My love language is gentle acts of violence.”

I stare at him in disbelief, arguing, “That’s not a love language.”

“It is now. ” He starts walking backward toward the bed, and I have to release him as he goes. “Come on.” He pulls back the rumpled covers. “Get in. Let’s talk it out. You look damn tired, and I am too,” he adds, flopping onto the bed dramatically. “Let’s be exhausted together. ”

“Luc…” I hesitate, shifting my weight awkwardly.

“I know.” He is suddenly more serious, leaning up on his elbows.

“I know you’re not as into me as I’m into you, okay?

That’s fine. That’s cool. I’m not a monster.

” He lifts a brow. “I’m a multi-purpose friend.

I’m down for partying, brunch, six a.m. practice, petty revenge, illegal road trips, deep emotional spirals, and…

” he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him and wiggles his eyebrows, “… non-horny cuddling . ”

He pats the mattress again. “You get under the covers, and I stay on top. No funny business. Just two dudes, hanging out, talking feelings, and maybe taking a nap.”

He tilts his head, his grin softening just enough to make my chest ache.

“Come on, Petit. Let me be your emotional support himbo.”

Fuck.

I want that. Not just the bed or the soft promise of rest.

Him .

This unhinged, chaotic, ridiculous man who seems to genuinely care about me, despite having no reason to. Despite my giving him every excuse not to.

And the idea of curling up somewhere that isn’t the bus, a gym floor, or inside my own screaming head is too tempting to resist.

If he stays on top of the covers, he won’t accidentally grope a breast, right?

With fake nonchalance, I pull my hoodie around my head, kick off my shoes, and crawl into the bed, sinking into sheets that smell unmistakably like Luc.

He drapes the blanket over me with a weird kind of gentleness, like he thinks I might bolt, and then he scoots close behind me, the heat of his body soaking through even with the fabric between us.

One arm wraps around my waist, and the other reaches over to tug the hood off my head.

I huff, but he just smirks. Then, he does exactly as he promised, he holds me, and it doesn’t take long for the tears to start again, much quieter this time, more of a release than a lament.

But that doesn’t mean they’re harmless because each tear still carries weight, and the longer I lie there, still and trembling in the space between his arms, the more the voices in my head get loud again.

You fucked it all up.

You let him see too much.

You kissed him.

My chest aches, not from crying but from the fallout. From the crash that wasn’t on a bike but inside me. From Finn. From what it meant. What it didn’t.

The physical pain flares up again, too, letting me know that my last dose of pain meds was far too long ago, but just when I think I’m going to break apart, Luc pulls me closer.

He’s here, holding me like I’m worth the trouble, even though all I did was be mean and lie to him.

Still, I don’t pull away. Despite the chaos in my head and the bruises on my heart, it feels good to be held. Safe.

Like maybe, just for tonight, I don’t have to be the one holding myself together.

So I let the tears fall, let them soak into his sleeve, and let myself grieve about what happened with Finn, and everything, really.

The crash. The years I lost. The girl I used to be.

I cry like I haven’t cried in years, and when I finally settle completely, when my body quiets and the tremors fade, Luc shifts.

He turns me over gently, and his blue eyes find mine. All soft and steady, like he’s trying to check for cracks in the surface, not realizing I’m already splintered through.

“What happened?” he murmurs, brushing a bit of hair from my forehead with the back of his fingers.

“I had a fight with Dane.”

“Dane?” he asks, confusion cut into his forehead. “Not Greer?”

My heart stutters. Not enough to give me away, but enough to feel it, right in the ribs, right where it already aches. I swallow it, pack it tight, and lock it away.

“No.”

“Okay.” He nods, not looking convinced in the slightest. “What about?”

“I had some big feelings,” I mutter. “He had some big feelings too.”

Luc hums thoughtfully. “Oh, I know having big feelings. My maman always says you’re entitled to your big feelings whenever you want, but you’re still responsible for the way you make others feel while you’re feeling those feelings.”

“That’s… weirdly wise.”

He grins. “She’s terrifying and powerful. I love her. ”

“Yeah?” I ask, not even sure which part I’m asking about.

“Yeah,” he answers anyway. “She’s my best friend. Next to Toulouse.”

“Must be nice. I don’t have a mom.”

His expression softens even more. “I don’t have a dad anymore.”

“I don’t like my dad.”

He exhales slowly. “Mmm.”

His hand finds mine under the covers, stroking the back of it with his thumb.

We’re quiet for a long time after that.

“What were those big feelings about?” he asks eventually.

I hesitate. “I don’t know if I should tell you that.”

“You can tell me anything. Nobody would believe me anyway.”

I huff something close to a laugh. “Life.”

“What about it?” When I don’t answer quickly enough, he asks, “Does it have something to do with the scars that are all over you?”

Fuck, I’d hoped he had forgotten about them. “I know they’re not pretty.”

“Tout chez toi est joli. Absolument tout, ” he murmurs, then demands softly, “Tell me.”

I shift closer and rest my forehead against his chest. “I’m not well. I haven’t been for a long time. And Dane just doesn’t understand.”

His hand slides up, threading into my hair. “I’m not well either,” he says quietly. “I understand. You can tell me.”

I sink further into his chest, relieved beyond words by something in his response. Something I’m too tired to pinpoint right now. “Life’s too heavy. ”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t be who I want to be. Can’t do what I want to do. And because everything hurts all the damn time.”

He rakes his nails lightly down my scalp, creating a shiver all the way to my toes. “I get that, it’s shitty, but you’re here, you’re racing. We’re living the dream.”

“And what happens when the dream ends?” I whisper.

Luc doesn’t answer right away, but he continues his soft touches, then shifts slightly, snuggling closer. His nose brushes my forehead as he whispers, “Anything can be a dream if it’s small enough.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

He chuckles, his breath fanning across the bridge of my nose , and I swear I feel his smile against my skin.

“It means…” he murmurs, “… you don’t have to chase the whole sky, Petit. You can just lie here with someone warm, under a cheap blanket, in a borrowed bed, and decide this is enough. That this little dream is real, safe, and entirely yours.”

“That’s…”

Ridiculous.

Beautiful.

Before I can settle on one, he reaches over and turns off the light.

He comes right back, curling around me and gently situating me until my back is against his chest. His arms band tightly around me like he means to keep everything bad out, like his body could hold back the world, and I can’t help but let out a contented sigh.

“See?” he murmurs, smug as ever. “Therapeutic and hot. You’re welcome.”

I huff a laugh. It’s barely a sound, but it’s real.

Then the world goes quiet, and it’s exactly as he said. It’s enough for now .

My hip still throbs, and my thoughts still vaguely linger around Dane, Finn, and the wreck I’ve made of everything, but here, snuggled in Luc’s arms, they don’t linger.

“Are you asleep?” I whisper after a long while.

“No.” His voice is low and a little rough. “Just listening to you breathe like a total creep.”

I laugh again. More miracles.

“Say something in French for me, Luc,” I whisper, and there’s a beat of hesitation before I add, “ Please.”

His body shivers, but stops abruptly, so close I can feel it in my spine. He clears his throat and takes a long, deep breath. And then, softer than I’ve ever heard him speak, he says, “Je pourrais passer l’éternité à te tenir comme ca.”

His shiver transfers to me, but I let it play out, feeling every moment of it.

I angle my head toward him, seeking him in the dark. “What does that mean?”

Luc exhales a laugh into my hair. “It means… ‘No guillotine could take away the head I’m giving you as soon as you let me.’”

I elbow him. “Luc!”

He snickers, making me smile, and my chest hurts in that warm, confusing way.

Luc kisses the back of my head. “Sleep now.” A second later, he adds, in barely a whisper, “Dors maintenant, mon Petit.”