Page 34 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)

Dane sighs like the sound physically hurts him. “Greer.”

“What?”

“Fucking idiot’s outside. Looks like he made it his personal mission to fix the bus.”

“ Why? ”

“Hell if I know.” He shrugs one shoulder. “And for the record, I don’t care .”

“Fair. But why are you mad at him and not at me, anyway? You know it takes two to?— ”

“Oh, I am mad at you, don’t worry,” he cuts me off, finally looking at me. “But he came onto you.”

“That’s not true. I came onto him.”

Dane snaps his laptop shut. “Alaina, you were in love with him since you were thirteen. He should’ve known better. You’re just?—”

“Don’t you dare say I’m a fucking child, Dane.

I’m twenty-four. He’s thirty-four. We’re consenting adults.

” He looks like he’s about to open his mouth to argue, but I’m not done yet.

“And Piper’s thirty. So what? Because she’s only four years younger than you, that makes it better than our age gap? ”

“Yes,” he bites out. “And the tiny fact that I didn’t watch her grow up!”

We glare at each other, and the silence between us buzzes like tension on a start gate until I break it by rolling my eyes. “I’m going outside. Gonna sit on the bike for a bit.”

“Sure, whatever. Everybody does what they want anyway,” he mutters.

Rolling my eyes again, this time even harder, I grab my gloves, step through the bus’ door, and let it slam behind me.

I glance around and, sure enough, there’s Finn, sleeves rolled up, muscular forearms on full display, hammer in hand, fixing something on the bus like redemption can be welded together.

He notices me staring and turns around with a smile on his face that almost takes my breath away. “Hey, Al. I didn’t know you were in there.”

I don’t answer. Just keep walking toward the back of the bus.

I don’t trust my voice to come out neutral.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry,” he adds, a little softer as I pass him.

What do you want, Finn ?

Do you want me to ask what you’re doing?

Well, guess what? I won’t.

Even if I’d love to know why the fuck the white CREWS on the bus suddenly looks not so shitty anymore.

I pop the lock on the back of the bus and swing the doors open, already reaching for the frame where it’s strapped in, when I feel warmth at my back. A shadow falls over mine as Finn reaches over me, fingers brushing past my shoulder, going for my bike.

“Don’t touch it,” I snap, grabbing his forearm before he can lift it.

He goes still. Hands up, backing off without argument. “Sorry.”

Pulling the bike out myself, I don’t bother hiding the grunt it costs me.

I grab my helmet, too, swing my leg over, and pedal off toward the tree line without another glance at Finn.

Just getting there is a chore. I’m stiff, sore, and I already know this is a terrible idea.

Still, I go, because I have to figure out how fucked I really am, preferably before practice.

There are trails everywhere, and because I’m at the far end of the park and it’s still early, I’m alone between the trees.

Ugh. Trees.

I get off the bike and push it up the hill, legs already burning from the stiffness in my hip, biting through just long enough to gain a little elevation, before I turn the bike downhill and get on again.

I keep my speed low, cautious, with only my forefinger on the brake and my middle finger curled awkwardly around the handlebar, trying to compensate for the two taped ones that can’t hold anything, let alone the weight of my body shifting on a descent.

I try to grip tighter, try to hold on, but it’s useless.

The brake lever shudders under my touch, and the lack of tension makes everything worse. My balance wobbles as the trail levels slightly, and the moment I feel gravity start to pull me forward, I realize I’m not in control. I can’t stop. I can’t even slow down properly.

So I let it roll, and when I hit a shallow rut, I can’t even react fast enough. The bike pitches wrong beneath me, and my fingers slip, my body twists, and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground.

It’s not a brutal fall, and there’s no sharp shock of pain, but I land wrong, my leg tangled with the frame, my elbow scraping dirt as I skid sideways. And even though nothing is seriously hurt, I scream anyway, not from pain, but from fury.

I scream again as I push myself up, every part of me shaking from the effort, the shame, and the humiliation of falling like a rookie when I’ve spent the last seven years turning myself into someone who doesn’t fall.

Seven fucking years.

For fucking nothing?

Tears blur my vision, but then a branch cracks, and I spin around.

Finn steps out of the trees, hands out like I’m a cornered animal. “Alaina.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I bite out.

“I heard you scream. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He looks at me like he might call bullshit. “You know ‘I’m fine’ isn’t a personality trait, right?” He takes a step closer, carefully, like I might break down on him. Joke’s on him—I already did. “You can tell people when you’re not okay. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

“Fine,” I snap, turning on him so fast he actually flinches. “I’m not fucking okay.”

The words come out louder than I meant, but I don’t take them back. I let the heat rise, let the fire come up through my chest and spill out of my mouth like it’s his problem now, because fuck it , he’s the one who followed me out here.

“You want honesty?” I laugh, but it’s not funny. “Great. Here’s some. This is all because of you. ”

His face shifts. I see it hit him like he didn’t expect that one to land so hard. Maybe he thought I’d play nice just because he showed up with his sad eyes and his goddamn hammer and tried to fix something for once.

Well, congratulations, Finn. You fixed the paint on the bus. Too bad you wrecked me .

“Are you scared?” he asks, making me even angrier.

“What did you just say?”

“You crashed again. It would be natural to be a little scared to get back to racing now.”

“I’m not scared. I can’t ride! You’re the reason I broke my fingers. You’re the reason I can’t hold on to my bike anymore. You’re the reason I won’t be able to do what I came here to do.”

“You’re right. I am.”

I blink, thrown off by him so easily giving in. “Do you think admitting it helps?”

“No,” he says quietly. “But I’m standing up for it.” He steps even closer. “I can’t change what’s happened or what I did, but I can promise you it’s not over yet. We’ll find a way, okay? I’m going to help you. I’m here for you .”

“ Fuck , Finn. I told you, I can’t handle this right now. I have to focus on how the hell I’m going to race like this. I don’t have the space in my head to figure out what you’re doing or why. I need my head in the game.”

“Good. That’s exactly what I want. We concentrate on you. I’m here for you.”

“Stop, ” I plead. I can’t hear it again .

Because it hurts more than it should.

“You can hate me as much as you want.” He meets my eyes. “But don’t push me away. All I want is to help you, and it looks like you need that help.”

I scoff, wiping angrily over my goggles. “So what, you think painting the bus will make it all better?”

Finn shrugs. “I started painting it, but Jim said I had to fix the rust first before even thinking about that.”

“But why? Why are you doing this? This is our last stretch. After that, we’re in Canada, then the US. We’re not shipping the bus over. What’s the point? It’s only five more days in this thing.”

“Maybe. But it’ll be easier to get it overhauled off-season if it’s not completely trashed when you park it.”

“There won’t be a next season. You know that.”

“Maybe not,” he agrees. “But I want to make sure there’s something great for you to come back to, if you decide to.”

I look at him, and I hate how kind that sounds.

How much it hurts .

“You know how this will end. They’re not going to let me race again.”

He smiles sadly. “And you know me. I’m an optimist.”

I stare at him, chest hollow and burning because he still doesn’t get it.

He’s trying to build a future for me? Now?

He could have been that future. I would’ve given him everything, my trust, my loyalty, my whole damn heart. And he threw it back, said he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have touched me.

And now he’s changed his mind?

I don’t need someone who didn’t want me to build safety nets I never asked for .

I don’t need someone who didn’t want me to hold me up like I’m broken.

What I need is someone who doesn’t think I’m too brittle to be kissed when all I needed back then was a reason to believe I mattered to him.

But that moment is gone, and he’s too fucking late.

I grab my bike, haul myself back onto it, the silence stretching tight between us.

Pedaling, I mutter as I pass him without looking back, “I don’t need saving. I need someone who won’t flinch when I fall.”

And today, Finn Greer reminded me that person isn’t him.