The surge of power beneath me is exhilarating. I focus on the hum of the engine, letting the sound fill my ears. My whole shift I've been anticipating this, waiting for the moment it's just me and the track; finally, I can breathe.

The rain from earlier has barely let up, so only the most dedicated are out on the track. I fly past all of them, pushing myself to my absolute limits, determined to outride my problems.

It works, for a little while. But when a steep hill comes up, my efforts not to think of Tyler fail. He's suddenly in my head, whispering at me to push harder on my ascent, and instead of decelerating, I do. My hands grip the handlebars, clenching the solid metal as I fly over the crest. And in the moments I free fall, when the wind lifts me up like the sails of a boat, it is him that I think about.

The crash back to earth is like a wake-up call. My head feels dizzy, my heart beating twice as fast with adrenaline. Maybe I'm stupid for wanting to trust Tyler, but the slightest chance that I'm not makes it a risk I am willing to take; I just need the truth first.

As soon as I pull up to the finish line, I'm pushing my bike into one of the bays and calling Tyler. If I'm going to get the answers I want, I need to do it now, before I have a chance to back out. Before I overthink. But his phone goes to voicemail and doubt settles in, telling me to focus on the tournament.

So why won't I listen?

"Hey." An arm reaches out, and I turn to see Alex looking at me cautiously. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say, "I just–" I pause, certain she doesn't want to hear about Tyler, but I need to find him. "I just can't reach Tyler. Do you know where he would be?"

"Probably at his dorm." She pauses, and then, "I'll drive you."

"Really?"

She nods and pulls her keys from her pocket. "Come on."

Cautious, I follow her to the parking lot and climb in her car. It's silent as she checks the mirrors and reverses onto the main road. I use the time to pull off my gear, folding it up before slipping it into my bag. Then, when there is nothing left to distract me, I turn to the window and think about Tyler. He's just a boy, and yet I'm as nervous as I was on my ascent up that hill. Something about this feels strangely terrifying, like walking into the abyss; I just hope I make it out again.

Alex waits until we're at a stoplight before looking over. "The tournament is in just over a month."

"I know."

"You're getting distracted."

"I know."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

It's silent for the rest of the way. My heart is beating twice as fast, certain I'm making a huge mistake, but if I'm going to move forward from all of this drama, I need answers. One way or another, things need to change.

We pull up to Parkwood college, which is just outside of town. She drives into the parking lot by Tyler's building, which I wordlessly stare up at with a feeling of dread.

"He's in dorm 35A," she says. "Do you want me to wait around?"

"No, it's okay."

She nods and gives my hand a squeeze. "Call me if you need picking up."

I nod and say thank you before grabbing my bag and climbing out. The walk toward the building feels painful. I'm about to try Tyler's number again when a boy walks out of his building. He smiles as he passes, and just as the door is swinging shut behind him, I slip through the gap.

Doubt works its way through me as I climb up the stairs. A part of me is certain that I'll knock on that door and find him with someone else. And maybe, deep down, I want to. It means I could focus on racing, I could forget about Tyler and all of these feelings; I could fix my damaged friendship with Alex.

Finally, I'm outside his door. My hand goes to knock, but I pause and chicken out. With a deep breath, I try again. There's a sound of someone stirring, then footsteps getting closer before the door creaks open.

Tyler stands before me with a towel around his neck, his eyebrows drawn in the middle. To say he's surprised is an understatement. "Roxy?"

I nod, and then, "Can I come in?"

He opens the door a little wider and steps aside to let me.  I walk into the middle of the room and do a quick turn. The place is spotless, his shelves neatly organized with various trophies, his bedsheets tucked in at the corners. Despite my wild imagination, there is no naked girl in his bed. 

"Are you all right?" he asks. "Did something happen?"

I turn to face him, noting for the first time that his hair is slightly damp, as though he's just got out of the shower. He's wearing dark sweatpants and a tight black tee that shows off his large, tattooed arms.

"I'm fine." I force myself to drag my gaze away from his arms and focus on his concerned expression. "Why didn't you tell me about the race this week?"

The corner of his lip curls upward. "That's what you raced down here to ask me, sirenita?"

I scowl, because he makes it sound like it's just an excuse to see him. Maybe it is. "Tell me the truth," I say. "Are you trying to sabotage me?"

Something dark clouds his features. Gone is the playful look in his eyes, replaced with something dangerous. "Why would I sabotage you?"

"That's what everyone else thinks." I'm searching his face, trying to find the truth in his features, but it's buried somewhere deep. "That I'm stupid for trusting you. Am I?"

He closes the last strip of space between us. "You're smart, you'd know if I were sabotaging you." His breath feels hot and smells distinctly of mint. It takes all of my power not to shiver.

"Even smart people can be stupid. I mean, it would make sense. You're betting against me, right? That's how all of this started, isn't it? You told everyone you could train me yourself and you'd still win. Why wouldn't you sabotage me?"

His eyes blaze back in a way I've never seen before. "You think this is all for a bet?"

"Isn't it?"

"No," he says shortly, "it's not."

"Then why didn't you tell me about the race this week?" I ask.

His eyes remain dark, his expression unreadable. It's hard to tell what he's thinking right now, but I'm certain he's mad. "I didn't tell you because it's an unnecessary risk before the tournament. Some of the boys ride dirty in a bid to scare off the competition."

"But as my trainer, you'd know that riding against the other qualifiers would be invaluable practice. I'd be able to learn their weaknesses before the tournament."

He's stonily silent, which tells me he knows this, so why would he put me at a disadvantage?

Furious, I take a step back. "You are sabotaging me." I go to push past him to get to the door, but quick as a flash, he grabs my wrists, holding them steady in palms.

"I'm not sabotaging you," he says impatiently. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

My eyes flit to his, taking in the fury raging just beneath the surface, the same fury I'd felt a moment ago. If what he's saying is true, it means he's willing to put this thing between us above my chances of winning.

This is worse than I thought.

"I'm going to ask you something," I say slowly, "and I want you to be honest. Did you make the decision not to tell me as my trainer, or as ...you?"

His jaw is tight as he stares down at me. I start to think he's not going to answer when, in a low, voice, he says, "Me."

Silence hangs in the balance. I want to be angry that he's hurting my chances, but another part – a bigger part – is overcome with emotion.

He pulls me in closer, his palms still clenched around my wrists. My chest is practically pushed against his, but I can't bring myself to step back. "Why is it such a surprise that I don't want you to get hurt?" he asks.

"Because training is supposed to come first," I say. "I thought that's what we both wanted."

"What I want," he says in a gravelly voice, "is you, sirenita." And then he's grabbing my face and kissing me.

A/N

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