t last, we pull away. He takes a step back, turning around so that his back is facing me. Then, with a deep exhale, he runs a hand down his face. "I should have finished the race," he says. "They'll think I took off because I was afraid of losing again."

"Forget about them," I say, stepping forward, but even I know that it's not that easy. As someone whose pride sometimes gets in the way, I know how much this must hurt. "You didn't lose because you're not good enough, Tyler. You lost because your dad was watching, the same reason you came second in the qualifying round."

Slowly, he turns. The look on his face is heartbreaking. "I don't think I can go back out there. He's going to be so disappointed in me."

"Then we won't." I gently take his helmet and gently slip it over his head. "We'll go to the hospital and get your arm checked out."

He shakes his head. "I'm fine, it's just a sprain."

"Tyler," I warn, but he's already pulling me closer. My breath catches, my skin on fire where his hand is holding my waist.

"I'm fine," he repeats. "I promise."

I exhale slightly, surprised at how easily I believe him. If I promise is all that it takes, I'm in big trouble. "Let me at least put some ice on it or something. I'm not letting you just leave it."

If I could see his face, I imagine he'd be smirking. "Worried about me, sirenita?"

"Mildly concerned. What's it going to be, Tyler? Ice or the hospital?"

Briefly, he sighs. "We can go back to mine. My dad won't be back for a few hours."

I'm about to say fine, but the thought of us being alone in his house makes me nervous. "It's fine, we can go to mine."

He shrugs and says, "All right, let's go."

I grab my bike, slipping on my helmet before leading the way to my house. While I'm not exactly thrilled about him meeting my parents, it's better than going to his house. Right now, he seems vulnerable, a side of him I rarely see; I don't trust us alone.

It's not long before we pull up to my house. He hesitates when we get to the door, looking up at the house like he's afraid to go in. "It's either this or you're going to the hospital," I say. "Your pick."

He takes off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. "After you, then."

I turn the key in the lock and let the door creak open. Silence answers back, leading me to call out, "Hello?" but no one replies.

"Looks like no one's in," Tyler says, and I feel my stomach drop.

"They'll be back soon," I say, closing the door behind us. "Come on." I lead him into the kitchen and have him sit on the breakfast stool, where he watches me rummage through the freezer for peas.

I pull out a bag and turn around, following his gaze to Dad's lotion on the table, the one Mom had bought from the internet.

Voice low, he says, "Does he ever miss racing?"

A lump forms in my throat that I'm forced to swallow back. No matter how much time passes, the reminder makes it feel like I'm back there, watching him crash all over again.

"I guess." I close the remaining distance between us and tell him to take off his jacket. He peels it off, followed by his sweater until all that he's wearing is a t-shirt. My gaze trails his arms, remembering the way they had held me in the hot tub, strong and tanned and safe.

"He never talks about it?" Tyler asks.

I shake my head, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "It's too hard for him to talk about, but sometimes he'll get this look in his eyes when I put on my helmet, like he's remembering what it felt like. He lived and breathed it, you know? Not racing for him must feel like drowning."

Silence, and then, "Is that what it felt like for you when you stopped?"

I nod, my stomach in knots at the memory. "At first I was happy to quit. I saw what racing did to my dad, and I knew it was better to stop while I still could." I gently take his arm, running my fingers down his skin. Nothing seems broken as far as I can tell, but I'm not exactly a doctor. I take the bag of peas and gently place it on his wrist, noting the way that he winces. "But the more time that passed, the harder it got to stay away. I'd lay awake at night, staring at my helmet and remembering what it had felt like to ride. It felt like a part of me was missing."

"So, what changed?" he asks. "What made you start riding again?"

My heart warms at the memory of that day in the kitchen. "I got a flyer through the door about the tournament. It was like the fear I'd had suddenly disappeared, and everything felt normal again, like maybe there was hope. I guess that doesn't make any sense."

"It does." He raises his gaze, his eyes dark and careful. "It's the same reason my dad hasn't driven me to quit."

My eyes soften. "Why don't you stand up to him? Tell him to back off?"

"The same reason you spend weeks lying to your parents," he says. "It's not that easy to disappoint your parents. He lost everything for this sport, Roxy. His wife, his family, his health. If he doesn't have me to coach, he doesn't have anything. Everything he sacrificed would be for nothing."

I don't say anything. I can't imagine what it's like to sacrifice your family for racing. Even I wouldn't go that far. I can't help but wonder if his father regrets his years racing, or if he'd do it again given the chance. I wonder if it even matters.

Tyler looks up now, eyes dark. Serious. Hurt. "Sometimes I think I'm heading the same way." He pauses, and then, "You want to know what I'm most afraid of?"

I nod, because hearing him talk so openly like this when he's usually closed off gives me butterflies.

"I'm terrified that one day I'll wake up, and I'll be that old man that looks back through his trophies, reminiscing about the glory days. No wife, no real friends, just a bunch of meaningless medals and shit ton of injuries."

"You still have time to change things if you want," I say. "It doesn't have to be that way."

"Yeah," he says, voice quiet, but he doesn't sound like he believes it.

In a bid to make him feel less exposed, I say, "My biggest fear is that you're right. I'm not over my dad's crash, and I'm worried it's going to ruin my chances in the tournament."

He looks up now, his eyes considerably softer. I like when he does this. It's like despite the countless old friends he has, I'm important to him.

"It's okay to be scared," he says, leaning in closer. "We'll figure it out, all right? But you need to trust me."

And even though I know I shouldn't, I say, "Okay."

A few seconds pass where neither of us speaks, and the silence makes me nervous, every nerve in my body hyper aware of his. It's the first time we've been honest, the first peek I've been given behind his charming smile, and I realize I like it.

"I like you like this," I say.

He lifts an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"I don't know, I just feel like I've seen a different side of you today."

"Cowardly?"

"No." I frown. "Honest."

For a moment, he's surprised. He tenses slightly, then lowers his head until his mouth is near mine. My skin begins to tingle, my insides screaming that I need to step closer, but my brain is screaming, Don't be stupid. One kiss might be considered a mistake, but twice is a choice – one that Alex won't forgive me for.

I suck in a breath, my heart feeling jittery. When that doesn't work, I pull the peas away from his arm and rest them on the counter, about to turn away.

But then his hand grabs mine, and he's pulling me into the space between his legs. He reaches out and tucks back my hair, letting his hand linger. "You don't have to be nervous around me, sirenita."

"I'm not nervous," I say, but we both know it's a lie. I feel more exposed than ever, but instead of being horrified or wanting to pull away, I find myself drawing closer. Eyes closed, I lose myself to the feel of his hand. "Don't do it," I warn, because I know what's coming next.

His voice comes low. "I can't help it."

My hands find the front of his t-shirt. I mean to push him back, but instead they bunch in the thin material and pull him even closer. His mouth brushes mine, a touch so light that I barely even feel it, but still it sends shockwaves through my body.

"Your call," he whispers.

But he's crazy if he thinks this is a choice. Right now my body is the only thing awake, all logic now out of the window. I pull him closer and without another thought, gently press my lips against his.

Everything about this feels different, from gentle brush of his lips to our desperate embrace. Last time had been frantic – a kiss I'd enjoyed – but there is a rawness to this moment that hits harder, somehow, like we're both now exposed. It's both freeing and terrifying.

Just as his hands grab my waist, the key turns. We both jerk apart as the front door swings open, and Mom wheels dad over the threshold.

"Ah," Dad says when he lifts his head. "It's the brooding boy."

Tyler looks over, a little alarmed, and I sigh. "Dad, this is Tyler. Tyler, These are my parents."

Mom recovers from her shock and closes the door behind them before regarding Tyler cautiously. "Nice to meet you, Tyler. Are you staying for dinner?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I can't," he says, getting to his feet. "I have to go and check on my dad." He turns to me now, and I can see the slight fear in his expression. "Wish me luck?"

"Good luck," I say.

He smiles a little and walks toward my parents. "It was nice to meet you both. Rain check on dinner?"

Mom, all flustered, says, "Um, sure, anytime. Nice to meet you." She opens the door to see Tyler out, and with one final look, he disappears toward his bike.

"You two sure looked guilty," Dad says as he wheels a little closer. "You weren't canoodling, were you?"

"No, we weren't canoodling," I say. "We're just friends."

It's the biggest lie I've told so far.

❤️