Page 44 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Alaina

“I’m not gonna do it,” Dane snaps.

I never thought this would be my brother’s line, but here we are.

My unwrapped fingers shake as I wave the duct tape at him with a glare. “Well, I can’t fucking do it myself.”

Our standoff is happening right outside the bus, the gentle light filtering through the trees is no match for our angry energy.

I’m already in my gear, helmet strapped to my bike, gloves loose in my pocket, fingers throbbing badly enough to make me want to scream because the painkillers haven’t fully kicked in yet.

But qualifying starts in twenty minutes, and I am not sitting this one out.

“The fact that you can’t do it yourself…” Dane says slowly, like he’s explaining something to a toddler, “… should tell you how bad of a fucking idea it is.”

“I can’t ride like this,” I hiss. “I can’t hold on.”

He crosses his arms. “Then maybe, just maybe , you shouldn’t fucking ride.”

“ Fine . If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will. ”

He snorts. “And who’s gonna do that, huh?”

I clutch the duct tape to my chest like the treasure it is and march away, calling one name over my shoulder. “ Luc.”

Dane’s footfalls thud after mine. “Even that crazy motherfucker wouldn’t risk you like that.”

“You confident about that?” I ask, upping my pace to the gondola station.

Mason, Luc, and Otis are all in various stages of gearing up at the gondola station while Piper stands by with Toulouse in her palm.

Luc looks up first, sees the fury storming across my face, and lifts a brow. “Somebody’s in a mood today.”

I chuck my duct tape at him, and he catches it midair with a frown. “What the hell is this?”

I stop right in front of him with my bike, then lay my fingers across the grip. “Tape my hand on, please.”

“Okay.” Luc tilts his head. “Say more words but make them make sense this time.”

I huff impatiently. “I can’t grip properly, so tape me down. I’ll handle the rest.”

To his credit, he looks like he’s actually considering it when Mason snatches the tape from him. “ Hell no. Are you fucking insane?”

I throw my good hand in the air. “I told you, I can’t hold on. I need something.”

“Not a death wish.”

I snatch the roll back from him and point it at Otis. “Will you ?”

He steps back like the tape might bite him. “No way.” He holds up both hands and laughs. “Not touching that. If I do it, at least three guys will kill me. Four, probably.”

I blink at him, then glance at Piper. “ Piper . Please?”

“Nope. I know what that shit could do to you, so I’m doing you a favor. ”

Dane slings an arm over her shoulder. “Go on, darling. Enlighten her.”

Piper sighs like she’s about to recite a well-rehearsed monologue.

“Okay. Worst case? You reinjure your fingers so badly that you’ll never use them again.

Or your whole hand. Your wrist. Your arm.

If you crash, which, by the way, just happened, your bike will fly out from under you, then you could rip the muscles on your entire left side. ”

She pauses, letting that horrible image sink in, then looks me dead in the eye. “And if your bike decides to yeet itself down the mountain, it’ll take you with it.”

Dread pools in my stomach, and I swallow hard. My body remembers my recent yeeting down the mountain of Les Gets with screaming nerves and phantom bruises. Fuck.

Piper raises both brows. “So, yeah. Not recommended.”

I close my eyes as everything threatens to overwhelm me.

Breathe, Alaina.

When I open them again, I paste on my best smug smile. “Sounds like I can’t crash, then.”

Luc snorts , but Mason elbows him in the gut. “Stop encouraging her.”

“I’m sorry, Pretty Boy.” Luc just throws an arm around him and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I wasn’t. She’s just so feisty. ”

Mason shoves him off. “Stop it.”

“You’re feisty too.” Luc grins wider. “ Mon Dieu , you guys make me horny. ”

Dane groans. “Didn’t need to hear that.”

Luc claps him on the shoulder. “ Désolé ,” he says, not sorry at all. Then he turns to me, and I meet his gaze, showing him everything I’ve got. The fight. The desperation. The silent plea that says don’t let this be the end for me .

He reads it, and his teasing grin fades into something much more real. Then he spins back to the group with a shrug, voice dripping with faux innocence.

“Okay, oui , that all sounds very dramatic and medical and horrifying. But let’s be honest, this sport is dangerous as hell no matter what we do.

Any of us could break something every time we drop in.

So if ma Petite can’t ride without the tape, maybe we let her try it with the tape.

It’s DH, and we all follow the twenty/eighty rule. ”

Otis squints. “What rule?”

“Twenty percent skill. Eighty percent balls.”

Mason groans as Dane mutters, “ Jesus Christ,” but I laugh out loud.

God, I love this idiot.

Footsteps pound up the gravel behind us, and we all turn as Finn barrels into view—no helmet, no bike, not even in his racing kit. Just a pair of shorts, a wrinkled black shirt, and a look on his face that says he’s been chasing time and finally caught it by the throat.

He skids to a stop next to us, chest heaving. “Sorry,” he pants. “Took longer than I thought. The UCI are assholes, but they just approved it last minute.”

Luc whistles low. “You look like you sprinted through hell, mon frère .”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, looking him over. My heart is already thumping, because something in his tone—hopeful, breathless, and aimed at me —has my blood buzzing.

Finn holds out something between his hands. It looks like a modified grip made of rubber with a strange matte finish and a hook extending from one side.

“I was talking with Jim,” he explains, catching his breath. “We worked on a prototype. For you. For your hand. ”

My mouth goes dry as I stare at it, at him .

“You what?” My voice catches before it even leaves my throat.

“I rode it yesterday,” he explains. “It works. It’s stable, and it’ll release under impact, but the UCI needed to sign it off, and, well, they finally did.” Finn steps toward my bike and me. “Can I?”

I nod, anticipating the raw dread of him messing with my bike, but it never comes. Somehow, him touching my bike doesn’t feel wrong. Maybe because he’s not taking it from me, he’s giving something back.

Or maybe it’s just because it’s Finn.

He crouches beside my bike, pulls a screwdriver from his pocket, and starts removing my left grip. I don’t even pretend to care about the tool or the mechanics, I just watch him and the way his brows furrow when he concentrates and how he bites the inside of his cheek.

He slides the new grip on, positioning it so the hook curves gently upward. The top of the grip is textured, almost fuzzy, and the angle of the hook makes sense now. It’s designed to press over the knuckles, holding down my hand.

Then he reaches into his pocket again and pulls out a thick glove.

“It’s the only thing I could get on short notice.” He rubs the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed. “It’s a ski glove, so it’s not ideal, but I already called my mom. She’s sewing you a proper one out of a bike glove. You’ll have it before Canada.”

That stops me cold. He called his mom?

I take the glove mechanically. “You did this for me?”

He just nods, focused as he gestures to the glove. “Put it on. It’s a lobster-style glove. Your forefinger and thumb are separate, the other three together.”

I slide it on, careful with my fingers, and explore the way it’s padded around the fractures. When I turn the palm up, I see he’s stitched a patch of Velcro into it.

“Okay. Now slide your hand into position and press down.”

I place my hand over the grip and feel how it sticks when I grip the handle.

He adjusts the hook over my knuckles and holds it in place. “It’s not trapping you,” he murmurs. “It’s just guiding. Enough contact pressure to keep your hand down so you don’t have to grip too hard, but in a crash, it’ll release.”

“Show me,” I demand softly.

“Pull slowly first.”

I tug at my hand, but it stays put.

“Now with more force, like when you crash and the bike gets pulled from your grip.”

I hesitate for only half a second before I yank, hard.

The hook springs up, and the Velcro gives with a muted rip as my hand lifts clean. There’s no pain or pull on the fractures. Nothing.

I stare at it like the miracle it is.

“Holy shit, ” I whisper.

Dane exhales behind me. “ Motherfucker. ”

Luc whoops and throws an arm around Finn’s shoulders. “ Papi , you goddamn genius. This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. I want one, just to be able to say I’ve got one.”

Finn shrugs, a little flushed, but his mouth quirks. “Couldn’t let something that insignificant keep her from qualifying.”

The fucking lengths he went to for me. Not just because he believes in me, but because he knows me. Knows how much I need this. Knows what it would’ve done to me to sit it out.

My heart kicks hard behind my ribs .

“Thank you,” I whisper, still trying to wrangle the wonder swirling inside me.

Finn gazes at me intently before nodding. “Always.”

And fuck , I know he means it.

“Let’s go, guys,” Otis calls. “We’re up.”

As we head to the gondola, I adjust my glove, flexing my fingers to test the tension. When we get there, I freeze, whipping around to scan the area when I realize Finn is not with us anymore.

Frowning, I hang my bike on the side of the gondola—only now realizing the flaw in the plan to tape myself to my bike at the bottom of the mountain—and step into it after Luc, Mason, and Otis. As soon as the doors slide shut, I sit down next to Luc. “Why isn’t he coming?”

“No idea.” Luc shrugs. “But if he’s not qualifying, he won’t race tomorrow.”

My breath catches in my throat. He might not start because of me.

He gave up a race in his last season so I could ride.

I stare out the gondola window, but I don’t see the view. I see him —sacrificing the thing he loves most, just to hand me a shot at staying in this fight.

That’s not just loyalty, history, or guilt.

That’s love in the kind of language only Finn Greer knows how to speak.

I don’t know what to do with it.

We unload quickly at the top. Everything is faster for qualifying, no warm-up on top or delays, just rider after rider dropping in.

“Don’t crash this time, okay? I kinda like you.” Otis laughs before he fist bumps my good hand when we make our way to the start. “See you at the bottom.” Then he’s gone, tires spitting gravel as he drops into the course.

Mason steps up beside me. “You ready?” he asks, glancing down at my left hand. “Think you can do it with that?”

“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Gotta thank your dad big time for this.”

Mason’s brow arches slightly. “Pretty sure that gratitude should land on Greer.”

I nod, but my emotions are too tangled to make sense of them right now.

He leans in so only I can hear him. “Don’t ride to prove anything today. You’re riding because you love it. So do that. Forget everything else. Keep the wheels down.”

His fingers squeeze my forearm once before he gives me a soft smile, puts on his helmet, and rolls up to the start gate, leaving Luc and me behind as he drops in.

I can feel Luc’s eyes on me before he speaks. “Do you think you could forgive Greer?”

“I…” I glance over my shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Luc taps the hot pink helmet tucked under his arm. “Still feeling hurt when you see him?”

I think about that. I think about how the pain isn’t sharp anymore. It’s not betrayal. It’s not heartbreak. It’s an ache.

“Not in the same way.”

“You’re allowed not to forgive him, you know. But you’re also allowed to.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I put on my helmet, just as the marshal waves me forward.

“Whatever it is, think about it when you’re safe at the finish. Just enjoy how he made you feel right now. Focus on what you love.” Luc leans in and taps the top of my head. “Send it, Petite. ”

I take some deep breaths as I roll up to the start, and then I do.

My tires hit the trail, and the world narrows. The pain in my hand flares the second I hit the first root section. Every jolt, every shift makes the fractures burn. It’s different from my hip. My hip is old pain. Familiar pain. I’ve gotten used to feeling it while riding.

This is new.

But the glove and hook hold. My grip is supported and secure, and I don’t have to fight to stay connected to the bike. It fights for me, and with every corner, every drop, I remember why I’m here.

I reach the bottom with my lungs burning and adrenaline right where I like it to be, and when I glance up at the time board, I blink hard.

Third place.

I won’t stay there. Luc is still up top, so he’ll push me into fourth place. But still, fourth. With broken fingers. Fourth with pain like this and everything stacked against me.

I tug, and the hook lifts, and the Velcro gives before I step off and roll toward the barriers. Dane meets me and reaches for my bike, but I don’t even register what he says as I pull my helmet off and hand it to Piper.

Because Finn is there, too, standing off to the side in the grass, watching me. There’s a soft smile on his lips, but his eyes send me running straight to him.

My gloves slap against my thighs, heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. I launch myself into his arms, and he wraps me up without hesitation. One arm around my waist, the other sliding to the back of my head like he wants to shield me from the entire fucking world.

He’s never stopped being where I land.

Burying my face in his neck, my breaths are fast and shaky. “ Thank you .”

I mean it with everything I have.

Even if this— us —was never meant to be.

Even if we never find our way back to who we were .

Having Finn Greer in my life?

That’s something I’ll never stop being grateful for.

Just when I think I might fall apart from the sheer weight of it all, his lips graze my temple.

“I’m not gonna flinch, baby girl.”