Page 57 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)
CHAPTER THIRTY
Alaina
The crowd at the finish of Mont-Sainte-Anne screams my fake name like I just won the whole damn race, but when I look up at the board, I feel nothing.
Yeah, I’m sitting in first, for now. But that time is not going to hold.
The run was clean, sure. Fast enough. But not podium-fast. Not Raine-fast. Not Mason-fast. And definitely not me at my best fast.
Canada has always been good to me. The slope, the air that tastes like pine, but the dirt today was a mess, loose as hell, and barely held together.
A whisper of a misstep and you’re sliding out.
Even with Finn’s new grip mod and that perfect glove he gave me yesterday, I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth.
They helped me qualify fourth. I guess that’s probably where I’ll land today too. Right outside the podium.
I’m supposed to walk over to the hot seat now, sit down, and let the cameras pan to me while the crowd screams for Allen Crews, but it feels more like I’m walking to my own fucking execution .
Dramatic. I know.
But I can’t help it.
Every step I take under the sun feels like another spotlight on me. Now that I’ve finally decided what I want, now that I’m hell-bent on making it out of this with my identity still my own, every cheer, every camera, and every shout of a name that isn’t really mine is suffocating.
Maybe it’s good, safer, that I won’t make the podium today, but fuck, I’m still me. Still Alaina, the sour loser, no matter how much the plan changed. Not getting the run I wanted fucking irks me, and I feel like crying.
From relief, maybe. Or disappointment.
Both.
Just one more race, Alaina.
It’ll be fine. You’re fine.
I scan the finish area, ignoring the crumbling inside me, and look for Dane, ready to hand off my bike and do what’s expected of me.
A flash of blue catches my eye. It’s my blue.
Dane and Piper, Finn, his parents, Rachel, and Kevin. They’re all standing there with ‘Crews’ printed bold on their chests and my ‘7’ stitched over their hearts.
They’re here wearing my color, cheering for me.
I force a smile even though they probably won’t see it under my helmet. Mustering all the energy I can, I fake it for the cameras, for them and Dane when I roll over and hand him my bike.
He taps my helmet like he always does and tells me, “Good job.”
“Thanks.”
I wave and nod to everyone before calling it enough and walking stiff-legged to the hot seat where I finally rip off the helmet and set it down between my feet. The air hits my sweat-damp hair and face, and I blink against the sun and the burn behind my eyes.
I stare up at the screen just in time to see Raine drop in. He cuts through the trees with that smooth, fucking effortless style that makes my stomach knot. His lines are tight, aggressive, and confident.
Too confident.
I hold my breath anyway. Hope is a bitch that doesn’t die easily.
But when his second split flashes green, overtaking mine, that breath doesn’t release.
It’s not a surprise, but it still hits like a punch to the ribs. Just because I decided to let go of the revenge doesn’t mean this part is easier.
The scene that played out in my head a thousand times—me, standing at the top of the podium, helmet off, telling him it was me all along while the world gasped and the cameras flashed— poof.
Gone. Burned up in a cloud of dust.
He crosses the finish line, and I’m not just hollow anymore.
I’m cold.
Seven years.
And now I get to sit next to the guy who took it all from me, knowing that no matter how hard I fought, how much I sacrificed, he’s still better.
He still won.
Every grown-up decision I’ve made—therapy, letting go of plans that kept me alive—means shit when the guy who ruined me is riding like he’s never done a damn thing wrong in his life.
I want to scream. To cry. To tear the whole finish zone down with my bare hands and demand the seven years I gave to this sport back, but then the crowd cheers as Luc starts his run.
He’s flying like he always does, wild and precise all at once, and every split lights up green. I try to care, try to anchor myself to something good, something still worth holding onto. When he crosses the line and slots into first, I swallow hard against the lump lodged deep in my throat.
At least Raine won’t win this.
I shift from second and drop into the third-place chair, while Luc rides the fence, giving high-fives to the kids and fans leaning over the barrier with their hands outstretched.
As soon as he sinks into the chair beside me, his eyes find mine. I force a smile, mouthing, good job, but he frowns, like the lie isn’t even worth playing along with. I glance away before he can call me out.
Mason is up next, the last still on top, and I look up at the screen as he cuts through the middle section.
He’s still brutal, but now there’s something else woven into his lines, like he’s not just trying to outrun his demons anymore but aiming to beat them with flow.
Finn pulled the anger out of him, leaving behind something dangerous in a whole new way.
It’s fucking gorgeous to watch and almost makes me feel something more than rage.
When Mason crosses the finish line in first—barely a breath over Luc—he lets go of his bike like it’s a weight he’s finally ready to put down and does a stupid little hop that would be embarrassing if it weren’t so damn endearing, throwing both fists into the air.
A real smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it, because if anyone deserves this, it’s Mason.
Luc whoops and sprints toward him, tackling him with a hug.
The atmosphere at the finish is warped, just like it was in Val di Sole when he won.
No one seems to know whether they’re supposed to clap or hold their breath.
Luc is the loudest one by far, yelling and celebrating like it’s his own win, and he’s trying to shout the joy into existence for all of us.
I should follow, should get up and celebrate Mason, too, but before I can move, someone steps into my space, blocking out the sun.
“Guess you’re out, rookie,” Raine mocks, smug as fuck. “Time to fuck off.”
You’re out.
His words shouldn’t matter, but they scrape open everything I was barely holding together.
You’re out.
All the things I’m dying to tell this asshole boil up inside me as I stand, the heat of the seat still clinging to my legs as if mocking me.
But then the words just sink back down, and I turn and walk away.
I need to get out of here—off this stage, out of this skin, somewhere I can breathe without the taste of defeat in my mouth.
I just want to go.
“Al!” Rachel’s voice cuts through the fog my brain is in, and I turn toward the sound, regretting it instantly. Her eyes are shining with something too bright for how dark I feel. “You were so good!”
I force a smile and croak out a soft “thanks” even though the taste of failure lingers on my tongue.
Kevin steps up next, offering his fist with that quiet steadiness I recognize from Finn. I bump it with my good hand, and he nods once. “Yeah. Well done.”
Finn steps up behind them, and when his eyes drag over me, concern pinching his brow, I know he sees too much.
“You did good.”
“Thanks,” I repeat because what else am I supposed to say ?
Finn’s parents come to a stop beside him, watching me with soft smiles and warm eyes.
I’m not supposed to know them, right?
“Hey,” I offer them, weak and deep. “It’s nice to meet you.”
His mom steps forward and pulls me into a hug, whispering against my ear, “It’s so good to see you again, Alaina. We dearly missed you.”
That suffocating feeling inside me ramps up ten times, and all I can do is hold back my tears as my arms tighten around her, needing something to hold onto.
When she lets go, I’m not ready, so I stand there in the aftermath of it, dazed and my throat full of barbed wire. I try to catch Dane’s gaze, to signal help, I’m not okay, get me out of here , but he’s busy talking to Piper.
Finn’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Come on.”
When I don’t move or say a word, he turns to his dad and asks, “Can you take Kev and Rach home later?”
“Sure.” His dad hands him a set of keys. “Take my car. We’ll take your mom’s and grab pizza before we head home.”
“Thanks.” Finn takes the keys and starts to guide me away.
“Where are we going?” I ask, voice thin.
“Home,” he says simply.
His home?
“Why?”
He looks down at me as we step off the gravel and onto the quiet stretch of pavement leading to the parking lot.
“Because you need some privacy.”
The drive is silent, maybe ten minutes, maybe forever. I sit in the passenger seat and stare out the window, trying to find myself in the old sidewalks or the familiar curves of the road I’ve ridden more times than I can count .
When Finn parks in front of the Greer house, the memories hit like a freight train.
There’s the dent in the mailbox we once blamed on raccoons, but definitely made with a poorly landed bunny hop. The pine tree still leans too far over to the side, and even though everything is older now, it still feels like home , or something that used to be.
Mechanically, I climb out and head down the side steps toward Finn’s apartment under the house. He unlocks the door and gestures for me to go inside. For a moment, I hesitate on the threshold, because I already know stepping in there will punch me in my already hollow and aching chest.
And it does.
The space has changed—grown up. The furniture is newer, the color palette toned down, but it’s still messy in a way that screams Finn .
A couple of hoodies are on the back of a chair, tools are on the counter, and bike parts are laid out on the table. It makes me smile, just a little, as I feel like the girl I used to be.
Finn closes the door behind us, and when he turns to face me, his eyes are too gentle. Too knowing. “It’s fine, Alaina. It’s just me. You can let it out.”