very moment leading up to the pre-tournament race is spent training. Now that Tyler and I are finally honest with each other, it's easy to focus on racing again without wondering what if. He sticks to my rules, strictly kissing me before and after practice and not while we're training, which means I can get my head in the game and focus on the tournament while giving me something to look forward to after.

The evening before the race, he has me meet him at the track for a last-minute run-through. I run the circuit a few times as a warm-up, focusing on the things Tyler had told me to work on, and I can't help but feel powerful with the wind beneath my wheels, like I'm ready for anything.

When my legs start to ache, I pull up next to Tyler and climb off my bike before lifting my helmet. He looks better than ever right now in his tight black tee and jeans, like he's just stepped off a motorcycle shoot. I have to resist the urge to take a step forward and throw my arms around him, because that would be breaking the rules.

"How'd I do?" I ask.

He breaks into a grin that I'm certain could melt icecaps. "Amazing," he says, and I can tell from the way that his gaze flits to my lips that he's thinking of breaking the rules, too. "I'm proud of you."

I break into the biggest grin. It's strange what having someone believe in you can do. At times I'd doubted whether I'd be ready for this, whether I was really good enough, but every time that doubt creeps up, Tyler is right there to push it back down. As nice as it is to have faith in yourself, it feels even better to know that someone you care for has faith in you, too.

"You feel ready for tomorrow?" he asks.

I shrug and say, "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Your biggest competition will be a guy on a green bike called Kai," he says. "He's an expert at riding dirty without actually breaking any rules."

"A sore loser," I say, "my favorite kind."

Tyler pulls me closer by my hand until I'm standing right in front of him. "I'm serious, sirenita. The kind of people you're racing against are different from the regulars at the track. They're hellbent on winning."

"Good," I say, looking up. "So am I."

He grins now, and I like that I have that effect on him. "Anyone ever told you that you're stubborn?"

"All the time." I give him a kiss on the nose that makes him brush his lips against my neck.

Despite the fact I should be nervous about the race, I'm not – I'm excited. This is my chance to find out how much progress I've made and what's left to work on before the tournament; this is my chance to put everything I've learned into practice.

"Are you sure you don't want to race, too?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I need to be on the sidelines so that I can see what you still need to work on."

I nod. A part of me thinks it's foolish that he's sacrificing his chance to practice, but if what he said was true, maybe he doesn't need it. Which leads me to wonder how it will feel to race against him in the tournament. If he wins, will I be able to put aside my feelings and truly be happy? If by some chance I do, can he? Or will the pressure be too much? Will whatever this is even last until then?

He pulls me in closer as I glance at my watch. "There are still three minutes left of training," I say as I tilt my head. "You're breaking the rules."

He grins again, and something deep inside me soars. "I can live with that," he says, and then he pulls me toward him and kisses me.

he morning of the race, I feel jittery. I shouldn't, it's not like this race at the track is any different from training, but knowing I'll be competing against riders entering the tournament twists my stomach into knots. If I come last place today, it'll mean I'm not yet ready to race in the tournament, and if I'm not ready by now, I never will be.

Mom makes me a big breakfast in a bid to give me energy, but I can hardly eat a bite. Despite the fact she doesn't agree with my racing, she's doing her best to ease my nerves.

"Just be careful," she says as she clears away my untouched eggs. "I mean it, Roxy." She's trying her best not to get all upset, but I can tell when she glances over at Dad that she's thinking of his accident. From the look on his face, so is he.

"She'll be fine," he says in a bid to reassure me, "it's just a practice race, right?"

"Right," I say, but really, it's so much more. I'm not racing with amateurs from the afternoon track, I'm racing against the very same people I'll be racing in the tournament with – that's enough to make anyone feel nauseous.

"Maybe we should come and watch this time," Mom says, and I'm horrified. The last thing I need is for my parents to turn up.

"It's fine," I say. "Like Dad said, it's just a practice ride before the real thing. I'll be home straight after, okay? Don't stress."

She gives me her typical pointed look. "Telling a mother not to stress about her kid is like telling her not to breathe."

I roll my eyes and give her a kiss before allowing her to slip on my helmet. It's not like me to feel this nervous, but something about this feels different from usual, and the butterflies in my stomach working overtime; I just hope it doesn't last.

After a quick goodbye hug, I set off down the street on my bike. The ride helps to ease the nerves in my stomach, and by the time I get to the track and see Tyler, the nerves have been replaced with something else entirely.

I park up my bike and take off my helmet before trying to sneak behind him, but he must have the reflexes of a ninja. Quick as a flash, he turns on his heel and pulls me into a hug by my waist.

"I'm convinced you're a vampire," I say, kissing him gently, and he grins in return.

"No, you just have the stealth of an elephant."

I laugh, and it's easy to forget that in less than an hour, I'll be back on that track and racing against the best of the best.

"You're overthinking it," Tyler says, because somehow he knows the inner workings of my mind even better than I do.

"I can't help it," I say. "If I end up coming last, it'll mean–"

"It'll mean nothing," he interjects. "One race doesn't define you, sirenita. Believe me."

My eyes soften as I think back to his last race. It must be hard having a father as overbearing as his, and a part of me doesn't blame Tyler for wanting to impress him, but another part of me wishes he could stand up to him. The second you stop racing for yourself and start racing for others is the second you've lost.

With a brief look at the track, my heart thumps. The others are starting to arrive and set up, which means soon I'll be out there doing what I love, and yet for some reason, I can't shake this feeling of dread in my stomach, like something is about to go horribly wrong.

Alex comes over now, shooting Tyler an apprehensive look before she throws her arms around my neck. "You're going to kill it, as always."

I try to smile, but it's hard when my nerves are getting the best of me. The track is almost as busy as it had been during the day of the qualifying rounds, and when I spot Sam leaning over the balcony watching me, I break into a sweat.

"I've got to get to work," Alex says, "but I'll catch you after, okay?"

I manage to nod before turning to Tyler, who spends the next twenty minutes going over each rider's flaws in a bid to ease my anxiety. And somehow, it works. I forget about the knots in my stomach, about how much is riding on this race, and I put on my game face. If I do lose this race, I'm not going to let it be because of something as stupid as my nerves.

By the time we're finished, it's almost twelve – show time. Tyler checks my bike over one last time, then again for good measure, and something swells in my chest. Tyler turns to me now, taking in my worried expression with a look of concern.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of my hair back before leaning in closer. "Good luck, sirenita."

I take a deep breath, allowing him to slip on my helmet before I gather my things and make my way to the start of the track. It feels like the first time I came here all over again: excitement mixed with uncertainty and a strange sense of not belonging.

The other racers barely look at me as we take our positions, but I spot the green bike Tyler warned me of beside me. The rider, Kai, looks strong and lean as he stares straight ahead, an iron grip around his handlebars.

Undeterred, I turn to the front and steady my breathing, focusing on the feel of my bike as it works to keep me balanced. Each ride on this track feels like another step closer to racing in the tournament, and I'm more determined than ever to win.

Grip tight, I'm racing down the track as soon as the whistle blows. A gush of wind lightly blows about my bike, pushing against me, but I fight the resistance and careen around a curve as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I don't think about anything now, not Tyler or Alex or the fear I'd once felt – nothing but the swell in my heart that accompanies doing something you love.

For the next few minutes, everything goes as smoothly as it can. I'm hitting each corner with perfect precision, and when I get to the hill I used to decelerate on, I feel my heart race as I speed up a notch, suddenly overcome with confidence.

This, here, is why I always come back. Dad used to say that fear is a prison, and the only real freedom is the freedom of conquering your demons. Now here I am, flying over the same hill that not long ago would terrify me, and I realize he's right.

This, here, is freedom.

I'm about to hit solid ground when something hard clips my side, jolting my bike and body in different directions. What would have been the perfect landing now sends me spiraling through the air, and for the fraction of a second that I'm airborne, I catch the distinct green flash of Kai's bike as he disappears down the track. Then I'm crashing back down, rolling several feet before the world crashes down to a thundering stop.

The pain shocks my body into stillness. Black dots blur my vision, and all I can do as I lay here in a heap is try not to breathe, because breathing is pain.

Moving is pain.

The slight rattle of my breath as I suck in a gasp fills my ears. I'm vaguely aware of a crowd beginning to form, and somewhere through the faces and chaos, Tyler shouting my name. I blink a few times in a bid to clear the haze, but the black dots get bigger and the world gets quieter until all that is left is the dark.