om makes me wake up extra early for school. There's no heading to the track with Tyler anymore, there's just school and home, according to her, with work thrown in intermittently.

I'm silent for the whole drive there. She tries to make small talk, like asking me what radio station I want will make up for her taking away my only happiness in life, but it doesn't. There's only a week until the qualifying rounds, but there will be one less rider attending.

"Have a nice day," she says as I climb out of the car, but I can only nod in reply. I've almost escaped when she grabs my arm, forcing me to look back. "I know you're mad at me," she says, "but I'm doing this because I love you, even if you can't see that right now."

My eyes soften. It's hard to stay mad at her, especially these days. "I know that's why you're doing it," I say, hoisting up my bag, "but that doesn't mean you're right." I slam the door behind me and walk toward school, certain she's watching me.

Vanessa and Niko try to cheer me up all morning, but it's impossible. I can't stop thinking about how much effort I've invested into training these past few weeks, and now none of it matters.

Tyler hasn't responded, either, which irks me more than I'd like. It's not like we usually message outside of training, but the least he could do is check in on me. Or maybe he doesn't care, maybe to him, this was only ever about winning his stupid bet with his friends. Maybe now that our training is over, so is any communication between us.

"Does this mean you don't want me to get you into the qualifying rounds?" Niko asks. We're gathered around my locker as usual, where we like to regroup between classes. Vanessa nudges him like he's being unsympathetic, but all he says is, "What? I kinda need to know."

I shrug. It's not like I don't have a bike to ride – my parents might have taken mine, but thanks to my mother's lack of observational skills, she's not aware I've been riding Tyler's. Still, after the blow-up we had, I'm not sure I want to risk lying again, even for racing.

"As soon as I've decided, I'll let you know," I say.

He nods, and the pair of them are extra nice to me, with Niko offering me his cheesy fries at lunch. As much as it sucks that I'm in this situation, I'm grateful at least that I've made friends here.

For the rest of the day, I focus on my classes, trying not to think about later. I'm dreading my shift at the track, mostly because watching the others ride while knowing I can't is torture, but also because a part of me is nervous about seeing Tyler. Nervous that he doesn't want to talk now that he no longer needs me, and nervous I even care.

I don't.

***

s soon as we pull up to the track, my heart does this summersault. Mom waves me off, so I begrudgingly head up the steps to the patio, maneuvering past the crowds of people who have gathered for the evening race. Friday nights are always the busiest, and tonight is no exception.

Inside the bar, Alex is busy wiping down tables but stops when she sees me. I try to smile before heading out back, where I put away my things and slip on my track t-shirt, followed by my little black apron.

"You okay?"

I turn to find Alex leaning on a locker, head tilted in concern. "Fine," I say. "Well, no, not really. I'm not allowed to race anymore." I thought maybe I'd be mad when I saw her, but I'm not. She couldn't have known when she'd pointed me out that I'd been lying to my family.

"What do you mean you're not allowed to?" she asks. "Who's stopping you from racing now? Sam? Tyler? I swear, I'm going to–"

"It's not them," I say, sighing. "It's my mom. She found out I'd been lying about racing, and now I'm grounded."

Alex frowns. "Aren't you like, eighteen?"

"Well, no, not yet. A few more months."

"Uh-huh," she says, still looking confused, "but you're nearly eighteen, which is technically an adult."

"Technically," I say, "but–"

"Roxy," she says, "you're a big girl. If you wanted to, you could go and get married or join the army right now. So, if you want to race, just tell them you want to race."

"I did tell them," I say. "The problem is, they just don't listen."

She shakes her head, and maybe she's right. Maybe if I were brave enough, I'd tell my parents this is what I'm doing and force them to accept it. But the thought of disappointing them further is what stops me from pushing them.

"We should get back out there," I say, and I straighten out my apron and get to work.

The first half of my shift feels eerily similar to my first trial shift. I keep looking over the balcony, longing to be out on the track with the rest of them, to feel the hum of my bike beneath me. It's only been a day, which should be an easy feat considering I once went eight months, but it feels harder than ever.

The riders fly across the craggy hills, crouched low to the handlebars as they jolt back to the ground. My fingers twitch, almost like I can feel the weight of handles bars in my palms. My eyes fall on Tyler, his bike as familiar to me as my own. As usual, he's weaving through the competition and executing jumps like his bike is merely an extension of him. In some ways, it is.

My heart thrums as his bike crosses the finish line first. He maneuvers it to the side, parks it up in a bay, and takes off his helmet and goggles before heading up to the patio. Despite the toll a race can take on your body, he always looks handsome, effortless, like he's just stepped off the cover of Men's Health.

His dark hair is tousled, his warm skin lightly sheened with sweat, casting a soft, hazy glow under the lights. His lips, full and pink, are pulled into a boyish grin as he makes his way over to the closest table, where all of his friends are sitting. They gruffly pat his back, congratulating him on his millionth win, before scooting over to make room for him. He takes a seat between Sam and the same brunette I've seen him with before, who quickly snakes an arm around his waist and pecks him on the cheek.

Heat rises in my stomach, but I urge it back down. Tyler is – was – my trainer, nothing more, and who he chooses to socialize with when I'm not there is none of my concern. None at all. But then he does something that surprises me. His grin fades, and his mouth twists into an irritated frown as he whispers something to her. She nods briefly, then pulls her arm away from his waist and casually sips her drink.

Finally, after taking a sip of his coke, he looks up. His eyebrows furrow, as though he's surprised to see me standing here. He says something to Sam, then stands up and heads toward me.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the table I'm cleaning, "you all right?"

"Aside from the fact I can't race anymore? Peachy."

Frowning, he shoves his hands into his back pockets, staring down at me with those liquid black eyes. "So, what now?" he asks. "You're quitting?"

"Not quitting," I say, because I've never been a quitter – not when I can help it. "Just...temporarily out of service." I lean forward as I say it, continuing to scrub the table between us, but a curtain of hair falls forward.

He leans over to tuck it back, letting his hand linger. "Sounds like quitting to me."

I shrug and focus on scrubbing instead of his hand near my face. "Not much else I can do. I don't want to have to keep lying to them, and they're never going to accept me wanting to race."

He's about to argue, I can tell, but Alex nears our table and pauses to watch. I step back from Tyler and focus on scrubbing, but it's hard to miss the way her eyebrows furrow in concern. Tyler's eyes narrow as they stare each other down before he heads back to his table.

I almost make it through the rest of my shift unscathed when Sam walks over. Tyler is already heading down the steps, half of his friends in tow, while Sam plonks himself on the table I'm cleaning. "Sorry, this table is in use," I say.

He gives me a look, then stretches his legs across the bench like he's marking his territory. "I don't see anyone here," he says.

"That's because it's filled with my imaginary friends. You're actually sitting on Bob right now."

His eyebrow arches. He's not amused. "You didn't train this morning. You know the qualifying rounds are coming up, right?"

It occurs to me that with him owning the track, he must know exactly how often Tyler and I've been training. The thought of him watching me – spying on me – is unsettling.

"Thanks for your concern," I say, "I appreciate it."

"It's not you that I'm concerned for, it's my money. What, did you finally realize you're in over your head?"

My blood boils. I put down my rag and turn to face him. "So in over my head that you chose to bet on me in the first place."

He smiles a little. "What can I say, I like to take risks. But if you really can't handle the pressure, I'll call the bet off right now. Tell everyone you just couldn't cut it. I mean, I can see it all over your face. Getting to be a little much for you, isn't it? Maybe Ty was right, maybe you can't beat him."

I think I see red. The bet – and Tyler's part in it – is just another reminder that despite his help, I shouldn't trust Tyler. I don't.

"You're both wrong," I say as I lean in his face, "and I want a stake on that bet."

His eyebrows fly up. Amused, he says, "Well, then, we'll add you to the pool." He stands up now, letting out a slow, long whistle. "This is going to be more interesting than I thought. Good luck, Doll."

As soon as he heads down the steps, I sit at the table, my heart now pounding twice as fast. The thought of having to lie again fills me with dread, but there's no way I'm letting those boys get the best of me. My pride is on the line, and the only thing stronger than my desire to race is my need to win, which is exactly what I intend to do.

❤️