Page 46 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)

Luc bounces in place beside me like he’s about to explode, then deposits Toulouse into my palm. “Hold this. Emotional support sausage.”

I blink at him. “What?”

But he’s already snatching Finn’s bike. “You sure, Papi ?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out.”

Luc grins like a devil and grabs Mason by the arm. “Come on, Pretty Boy, time to embarrass the youth of Italy.”

Mason groans but follows, and I take a few steps into the shade of a nearby tree and plop down onto the grass.

I watch them head toward the starting hill, already talking shit and bumping shoulders, while Toulouse nestles into my lap like a furry hot water bottle.

Finn lowers onto the grass beside me, setting down the little speaker he brought from his car between us.

A moment later, his usual music starts playing.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, at those arms I jumped into without thinking yesterday.

A short-circuit of gratitude and adrenaline, but now I don’t know what to do with him sitting so close.

I stroke Toulouse’s ears, but when I catch Finn glancing at me, too, he doesn’t say anything either.

Neither of us seems quite sure which version of ourselves we’re supposed to be now.

I let my gaze drift to Mason, who’s trying to race the BMX down the little rhythm section, laughing so hard he nearly wipes out.

That does something to me. Something powerful.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Finn glances over. “For what?”

“Everything. The finger guard, for getting Mason riding at his full potential. I don’t know. For showing up, keeping your word.”

He leans his head back against the tree trunk. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I don’t know what else to do,” I whisper. “You missed the race because of me.”

His head jerks back toward me, brows knitting. “Al.”

“You missed qualifying because you spent all your time fixing my grip and getting it approved, and they didn’t let you race . I ruined your last season. I’m?—”

“Stop.” His hand encircles my wrist, cutting me off mid-apology. “Al, please. Don’t feel guilty. You don’t have to. I’m not racing anymore.”

I blink at him, stunned. “What?”

He releases me and looks away. “I ended my career after Les Gets.”

“ What? ” My voice cracks. “No. Why? Because of me? ”

“Not because of you. You didn’t pressure me. You didn’t make me feel anything but…” He sighs, shaking his head a little. “You gave me clarity. That’s it. I’ve wanted to stop for a while now.” He finally looks back at me then. “I just never had the guts.”

My heart pounds in my ears. “Finn, you don’t just end a career like that. Not in the middle of the season. Not when you’re still ranked top five?—”

“Oh, but I can, ” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And I have. ”

“But why ?”

His eyes burn so quietly and full that it almost hurts to hold his gaze. “Because I can’t do both. I can’t keep one foot in something that’s been dying for years and still give you, us, a real shot. I can’t focus on racing and on making this right with you. My priorities changed.”

I don’t breathe. I can’t.

“I know you have him .” He nods toward the track, where Luc is currently trying to jump the rhythm line sideways. “And him .” Mason yells at Luc for almost flipping the bike.

“I know they make you happy,” Finn continues. “And I love that. I love watching you laugh with them and seeing how they take care of you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be there, too, however you’ll have me. I just want a place. Somewhere I get to make you happy again.”

All I can do is look at him.

Because it’s him . Still. Again.

And maybe always.

The speaker shifts to a new track, and I recognize it in half a beat, “I Miss You” by Blink-182. The slow, aching rhythm hits, and my chest caves inward.

Where are you… and I’m so sorry.

Fuck .

It’s too much. All of it.

The summer air. The tape on my hand, the ruined plans, and lost wins. Finn, right here next to me, close enough to touch but still holding the ghost of every version of us that ever fell apart.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to push it back down before it overwhelms me. The longing. The confusion. The desperate, spiraling need for everything and nothing at once.

I open my eyes just in time to watch Mason nearly eat shit again, while Luc shrieks with laughter and runs after him.

They’re ridiculous. Perfect. Light.

All that I’m not.

Because I can’t seem to get over myself, my pain, my uselessness, and my fucking longing for a guy who hurt me even though I have two who want me and never caused me pain.

My throat tightens, and that dull ache rolls through my chest. Before I can stop it, a single tear slips free, tracing hot down my cheek.

Finn’s fingers curl under my chin before he turns my face toward him. He studies me like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my pain for several long, aching moments before his thumb brushes the tear away, soft as breath.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says, his voice barely louder than the music. “I swear, baby girl, I will never hurt you again.”

The stinging in my eyes worsens, and I have to glance away from his gaze, down to his lap—tiny purple blooms, yellow buds, a few torn stems. The whole time we’ve been sitting here, he’s been quietly picking wildflowers and twisting them together, badly .

Lopsided, barely holding. It’s the saddest, ugliest flower crown in the history of flower crowns, and still, it makes my heart swell so big it’s almost unbearable.

Finn tilts my face back up toward him again, his eyes impossibly soft as he gives me that familiar crooked grin. “I see a future in flower crowns and first-place trophies.”

The sound I make isn’t a laugh or a sob but something in between. My throat works around it, and another tear slides down my cheek anyway, carving its way through the mess of emotions I’ve been trying so hard to hold back.

“You remember,” I rasp, shaking my head.

“You’re not so easy to forget, Alaina,” Finn murmurs, setting the crown on my head.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t try. I just sit there, breathing him in while my chest quietly aches in all the places he still fits.

After a moment, we both look back toward the track. Luc is riding the BMX backward now, arms flailing dramatically, while Mason trails behind him slowly, looking absolutely done with his life.

Finn chuckles beside me, and I join him.

He shuffles closer to me so our arms brush, his thigh warm against mine, and I think maybe this moment, this messy, aching, imperfect thing is the closest I’ve come to peace in a long, long time.

The flower crown tilts a little on my head, petals brushing my temple, and I don’t fix it.

I just let it be.

Because maybe things don’t have to be perfect to be real.

Maybe they don’t have to be clean to be right.