Page 62 of Broken Breath (Rogue Riders Duet #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Finn

The rain hasn’t let up for hours.

I sit hunched in the hot seat, an oversized umbrella clutched tightly in one hand, feeling the downpour drumming steadily against the nylon, but my jersey is soaked through anyway, cold water dripping from my sleeves and pooling at my elbows, and my boots are caked with half the damn mountain.

The screen in front of me flickers, catching up with Raine fighting his way down the track. Slippery roots, axle-deep mud, corners blown wide open, it’s a disaster run.

He’s wrestling the bike more than riding it, feet out on every second turn like he’s just trying to survive, and still, he posts the fastest time so far, but only because half the field either ate shit or got disqualified for accidentally leaving the track.

Fucking Les Gets, it’s always the same story here. Survival of the luckiest.

I hate this damn track.

Tightening my grip on the umbrella, I glance up at the leaderboard again, where three names are left at the top.

Mason Payne .

Luc Delacroix.

Allen Crews.

My stomach twists tighter, and not because I’m worried about the times.

I don’t give a damn who beats Raine today.

Hell, I hope someone does. It’s that crashes here aren’t just likely, they’re brutal.

Career-ending if you’re unlucky enough, and even though Payne is a son of a bitch and Delacroix is an arrogant French asshole, I don’t wish that on anyone.

I especially don’t wish it on her .

Shifting in my seat, I glance down at the wildflower tucked between my fingers. I picked it earlier, right after I racked my bike.

A single blue cornflower, growing where nothing else had the nerve. It was surrounded by trampled footprints, sitting there in the middle of the mud like it didn’t give a damn about the storm.

It reminded me of her —resilient, unexpected, and beautiful in the most unforgiving places. I twirl it slowly, the petals damp and trembling in the wind.

Just get down safe, baby girl.

Please.

God, I fucked this up.

Kissing her was a fucking reflex, but I panicked. I didn’t think. I just reacted. She was standing there, soaked through, shirt plastered to her skin , and Jesus, I’ve never seen anything so fucking perfect in my life.

When Delacroix stepped in, almost getting a glimpse of those beautiful tits, my brain short-circuited like it seems to do now around her. Fight, flight, or fuck it.

The second I got close enough to feel her breath, I remembered the first kiss.

That ache, that pull. She’s addictive, and when she’s near, all logic evaporates .

My thoughts turn to static, and the only thing I can think about is her and how she smells like rain and danger, fits in my arms like gravity, and how kissing her once already ruined me for anything else.

And now she thinks I kissed her just to cover for her, and it didn’t mean anything, that she doesn’t mean anything.

She couldn’t be more wrong.

All I want is her. God, I want her, but I can’t have her. Not with Dane in the picture and everything I’ve already messed up. Not when every choice I make just pulls us deeper into the wreckage.

I don’t know how the hell to fix that without breaking her trust even more.

Or breaking what’s left of myself.

The rain intensifies, sending the remaining spectators scurrying for cover.

Only a few die-hard fans remain, clad in rain ponchos, their cheers muffled by the storm.

Raine doesn’t even bother to come sit with us in the hot seat, and when the rider next to me sees that, he mutters a curse and heads for shelter.

Yeah. Fuck this.

I stand, too, stretching my stiff legs, and glance toward where some fans are huddled by the gondola station in search of Dane, but instead, I spot Alaina rolling her bike toward the lift.

What the hell? I glance at the track and see that Payne just dropped in. With Luc going before her, she’s still got a buffer, but the gondola ride takes at least fifteen minutes, and that window is closing fast. It’s going to be tight.

Impulsively, I make my way to the station, pushing my umbrella at the next best person. Alaina hangs her bike on the side of the cabin and steps in, and I slip in behind her just as the doors close with a soft thud.

The gondola is small, designed for maybe six people, but it’s just the two of us. She turns, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Finn, what…”

“We need to talk.”

Shit. That came out way too harsh.

Her brows shoot up, arms crossing over her chest in that signature Crews stance, the one that used to mean she was about to mouth off to their team manager or flip off Dane. “Oh, now you want to talk?”

I wanted to talk with her yesterday, but before I could persuade her, Delacroix almost made me punch someone for the first time in my life, and by the time the asshole finally backed off, she was gone.

“You’re late for the race.”

“No kidding.”

I glance at the trail winding below us, disappearing into mist and cloud as we climb. “Why aren’t you up there warming up?”

She gives me a slow once-over, eyes flat. “Maybe I didn’t want to see you.”

Yep, I deserve that, but it doesn’t make it hurt less.

I rub the back of my neck. “Alaina, I want to apologize.”

“No.” She groans. “Stop fucking apologizing.”

“I’m sorry,” I say anyway, because I mean it. “I want to make it better, but it seems I’m only capable of making it worse.”

She exhales hard, her shoulders loosening just slightly. “Okay, how about we be adults about this? I am one now, too, if you haven’t noticed.”

A breath of a laugh escapes me, unbidden. Still the same sassy little thing .

“The facts are, I kissed you,” she states simply, and it sounds rehearsed. “And that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry. How about we just act like it didn’t happen? And then you can drop the guilt-filled looks? I can’t handle them anymore. ”

“Alaina…”

The gondola groans as it climbs, rain battering it on nearly all sides as it rises into the gray. The trees are gone now, and the track, the mountain, everything has disappeared. All that’s left is mist, clouds, and the thrum of the storm pressing in on all sides. And her.

She’s only a few feet away, but it might as well be miles. I lost her somewhere between that first kiss and now, and I don’t know how to get her back.

“We’ll just be normal,” she says decisively, turning to face the window. “For Dane’s sake.”

I take in her profile, her delicate features edged with anger and hurt.

Impossible .

As much as I want her back in my life, however that looks, there’s no way I can simply forget the way we fit together. The way it felt to kiss her, and for her to kiss me back.

“It’s only a few more weeks,” she adds.

My stomach bottoms out.

That’s the real problem, isn’t it?

Dane said she’s not okay, and I believe him. Hell, I see it when I look at her, which is always.

Breathing is automatic for most people, but not for her. She fights for every single inhale, and I’ve managed to make the fight that much harder by being thoughtless with her. Careless. This space between us is karma.

My gaze roams down the slope of her neck, and my gut twists again.

The hickey blooming on the right side of her throat glares at me like a fucking neon sign, another little piece of karma.

She let him close.

Delacroix. That arrogant, reckless asshole who treats the circuit like his personal playground. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen him making out with fans or half-drunk in some club, grinding on anything that moves.

And now Alaina is one of his trophies?

My unbearable concern for her pours out of me as unadulterated rage.

“What the fuck were you thinking, making out with Delacroix? He’s going to blow your cover. How can you be so irresponsible?”

She whips around, facing me off with a fierce glare. “That isn’t your fucking problem.”

“It is! ” I fire back, my anger rising. “You can’t seem to keep your head straight!”

“I’m sorry I kissed you and ruined everything, okay? I’m sorry! But the thing with Luc has nothing to do with you.”

“It does! ” I step toward her, and she immediately steps back, bumping into the side of the gondola with a soft thud. “Because you matter to me, Alaina! And I’m not going to just stand here and watch you crash and burn while I do nothing.”

She flinches at my words, or my intensity, I don’t know which, but neither option is good.

“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face, trying to steady the fire clawing up my throat. “I just mean, no one should be kissing you right now. Not when you’re like this.”

Not when you’re barely holding it together, and the hurt sits so close to the surface I can see it in every breath you take.

Her eyes narrow, but her voice is soft with hurt now. “Then why did you kiss me?”

“Why do you think, Alaina?” I bite out.

She blinks, looking confused, like she’s trying to figure out whether I just said what she thinks I said, and for a second, I wonder too .

What the fuck am I even doing here?

I look down at the bruised flower in my hand. Breathing hard, I close my eyes and remember when the world was safe. When Alaina sat cross-legged in the grass, threading stems together.

When I finally gather the courage to open my eyes to this other world again, the one where I only hurt the people I care most about, her eyes are dulled.

Empty.

“I found this.” I hold the flower out to her. “And it reminded me of you.” Her eyes flick to the flower warily, but she takes it, the tips of her fingers brushing mine.

She doesn’t speak, just stares at the battered bloom in her hand, raindrops still beading along the petals.

“For the last seven years, every flower has reminded me of you.” I laugh brokenly, resting my hands on top of my head, tugging my hair until it hurts, then letting it go.

“And as you know, in our line of work, flowers are fucking everywhere. Growing right off the edge of cliffs like they don’t know what fear is. Just like you.”