he first thing I see when I open my eyes is Tyler's concerned expression. He's leaning over me, his strong palm lightly cradling my face as he calls out my name. I blink a few times as his face comes into focus, soft and slightly blurred around the edges. Maybe I'm delirious from being thrown off my bike, but right now, his eyes are liquid honey.

Standing behind him are a few worried spectators, including Alex. At seeing I'm awake, she crouches next to Tyler and rests a hand on his shoulder before pushing back my hair with the other.

"Sirenita," Tyler says, his voice warm and solid, "can you hear me?"

I make a mmm noise, and the relief that crosses his face is unmistakable. He leans forward now, roughly kissing my forehead as his hands cup my face, and for a second, I feel guilty for the terror in his eyes. It's the same terror I'd felt watching my dad be carried into an ambulance, the same terror my mother feels every time I head to the track; sometimes the things we love are the very things that hurt us the most.

I slowly sit up, but the pair try to keep me back down. It hurts to breathe, and there's a tightness in my chest that sets alarm bells ringing, but I don't dare mention it yet. An injury – especially a bad one – would get me kicked out of the tournament.

"Easy," Tyler says, holding my shoulders, "don't try to move. You might have broken something."

I shake my head, the events of the last few minutes rushing back to me. Even through the pain and confusion, one thing sticks out like a flashing amber beacon. "I lost the race," I say like it's not already obvious to everyone, but saying it out loud makes it more real, somehow. Final. "Kai won, didn't he? That little–"

"Forget about it," Tyler says, frowning. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

I nod, but for the first time in a long time, tears prickle my eyes. This race was supposed to be proof that I'm ready, but if the pain in my chest is anything to go by, all it's done is leave me worse off. "I'm fine." I glance at the mini crowd behind him, flashing them a reassuring smile. "You guys don't have to wait. I'm fine, seriously." The last thing I want right now is spectators to my misery.

Tyler waves them away before turning back to face me. "We need to get you to the hospital," he says. "Just hold still."

Panic sets through me at the mention of the hospital. Going to the hospital means calling my parents, and if they find out what happened, I'm one hundred percent certain they'll never let me race again.

"I don't need the hospital," I say hoarsely, "I'm fine." A quick glance over shows there's no obvious damage, and as long as I take slow, shallow breaths, my chest doesn't hurt that much.

"You need to get checked over anyway," Tyler says. "Just in case."

"Yeah, you could have internal bleeding," Alex says, "or a concussion. How many fingers am I holding up?" She waves four fingers in front of my face in a way that is dizzying.

"Eight," I say.

Her mouth falls open, and the pair share this pained, worried look that makes me shake my head.

"We're going to the hospital," Tyler says.

"Guys, I'm kidding," I say. "I'm fine, okay? Just help me up."

Tyler clenches his jaw in the way he always does when he thinks I'm being stubborn, but he sighs and wraps an arm around my waist, helping me to my feet.

The jolt that strikes my ribs is dizzying. I stumble a little, sucking in a breath before steadying myself. Tyler's grip tightens like I'm about to collapse, but I force myself to ignore the pain and straighten up, flashing them a reassuring smile. "See? I think I'll be fine. If anything is hurt, it's my pride."

Tyler's eyes soften as he opens his mouth, but I don't get to hear his wise words. Kai walks up behind him with his helmet in his hands, looking rather smug. "Glad to see you're okay," he says. "You took quite a fall."

The way Tyler turns makes me flinch. His eyes darken, and he advances toward Kai like he's about to knock him out, but Alex lets go of me to pull him back. I stumble again, but with the pair preoccupied with Kai, they don't seem to notice.

"If you touch him, you could be disqualified from the tournament for harming another competitor," Alex reminds Tyler, but from the look on his face, he doesn't care. She turns to Kai, who stands smugly before us like he's enjoying this.

"Walk away," Alex warns Kai, "while you still can."

Kai waits a beat, giving me a mini salute before smiling. "Guess I'll see you both at the tournament if you make it that long." And with that, he slips his helmet back on and crosses the track.

"I'm going to kill him," Tyler says as he watches Kai's retreating figure.

"Probably best if you don't," Alex says, turning to me. "You're standing weird. Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"I think it's just a bruise," I say, waving my hand. "I just need to sleep it off. Can someone drop me home?"

"I'll drive you," Tyler says. "Alex will follow behind on your bike."

A wave of exhaustion hits, and I nod, which is about all I can do right now. Tyler hooks an arm around my waist, brushing the side of my ribs in the process, but I suppress the urge to flinch. As much as I hate having to lie to them both, I know they'll only worry.

My eyes feel heavy as we head to the parking lot. Tyler helps slide me into the passenger seat before climbing into the driver's seat. With a quick glance in the mirrors, he turns on the engine and reverses.

The drive to my house is silent as I try to stomach my humiliation. The other competitors will no doubt be having a field day at this, certain I'm a weaker competitor, and deep down, I'm thinking it, too.

"You couldn't have done anything differently," Tyler says, glancing over. "It wasn't your fault."

"You told me to watch out for him," I say. "I should have paid more attention to who was around me. I get so damn caught up in the thrill of racing that I forget everything else."

"You're being too hard on yourself."

"You're right, as my coach, that should probably be your job."

"Over something that wasn't your fault?" he asks. "Not really my style, sirenita."

I sigh and sink back into the folds of my chair, wishing I could climb into bed. Today has been exhausting, painful, and downright humiliating; I just want it to be over.

He pulls up at the end of my street and kills the engine before facing me. "Believe it or not," he says, "I don't give a shit about the tournament right now. You could have been seriously hurt out there." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear before letting his hand linger. "Promise me you're all right. You could have a concussion for all we know."

I lean in to kiss him, ignoring the searing pain in my ribs as my mouth finds his. After a moment or two, I say, "I promise," and even though I really don't want to, I pull away. The sooner I get inside, the sooner I can inspect the damage. "See you tomorrow?"

He nods and starts up the engine again. I manage to climb out without letting out a yelp and hurry inside. My parents are busy talking in the kitchen, and while I'd hoped to sneak up to my bedroom undetected, Mom calls out my name.

I pop my head in the doorway and say, "Hey."

They both look up from the cupcakes they're making and grin. "How was the race?" Mom asks.

"Did you win?" Dad follows.

I smile tightly. "It was fine, and no, I didn't win."

Dad's eyes soften, because he knows what it feels like to want for glory, only to end up with failure instead. "I'm proud of you, anyway."

"Me too," Mom adds.

Throat tight, I thank them and tell them I'm heading to bed before making my way upstairs and into the safety of my bedroom. Then I head into my bathroom and stand in front of the mirror, heart pounding as I slowly lift my t-shirt.

The damage is worse than I'd hoped. A large welt that starts beneath my breast and travels across my left ribcage, which already looks swollen. I lightly brush my fingertips over my ribs before wincing in pain. Now that I'm alone, I take a deep breath, only able to inhale so far before the pain forces the air back out in a breathless rush.

Panic settles in my stomach again. I pull out my phone, Googling my symptoms and clicking on countless pictures before wishing I hadn't. Each search I pull up is another variation of cracked or broken ribs, six weeks plus to heal.

I put my phone away and peel back my bed covers, wincing as I climb into bed. It hurts too much to turn on my side, so I stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster as I contemplate what to do: I can tell Tyler the truth and lose valuable training time, or I can lie to him and carry on racing as normal in the hopes that I'll be ready for the tournament. But even as I think it, my chest grows tight with worry. No matter which I choose, I'll either be betraying Tyler by lying yet again, or I'll be sacrificing my one chance to win.

Right now, I can't tell which is worse.

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