Page 11 of Broken Breath
Then Finn’s eyes flick to me, and just like that, the warmth is gone. Something flashes across his face, startled. His gaze lingers, and his brows pull together ever so slightly. It’s quick, barely a flicker, but I see it, the way his brain catches on.
I fight to keep my posture relaxed and hold his gaze just long enough before shifting down, like I don’t care and don’t feel the tension thickening between us.
“And you are the rookietheDane Crews took under his wing?” Finn asks casually, but his eyes don’t match his tone when mine come back up to meet his.
Ah, fuck.
“That’s my little cousin, Allen.” Dane steps in smoothly. “Allen, this is my best friend, Finn.”
Finn blinks, apparently resetting as his brows lift slightly before his face lights up like Dane just handed him a damn Christmas present.
“Best friend?” he repeats, turning back to him. Then he yanks Dane into another hug, gripping the back of his head like they’re still twenty-something and undefeated.
Dane laughs, pushing him off. “All right, all right.”
Finn lets go, stepping back with a smirk, breaking his gaze from Dane to glance back at me. “I gotta warm up too. Can’t have the rookie being faster than me again.”
Then he winks at me, and my stomach does a stupid, traitorous flip.
Really hormones? After all these years?
“See you out there!” He turns, and the number 14 stares back at me from his jersey as he strides away.
“Send it!” Dane calls back while I exhale slowly, forcing my hands to loosen their death grip on the bars. Dane watches Finn disappear before muttering under his breath. “That was close.”
“I know.”
“I’m gonna head down.” He ruffles my short hair with a grin. “Show them how a Crews does it.”
I glare at Dane who just chuckles and walks off toward the gondola station, but I stay on the trainer, my legs spinning, keeping my muscles warm until, one by one, the other riders filter past me, heading for the gate. When it’s close to my time, I exhale sharply and unclip from the trainer, grabbing my helmet and shoving it back on. The moment it’s on, I feel steadier.
This is fine.
I grab my bike and move toward the start, taking my position in fourth-to-last place. It’s tight, and I can feel the adrenaline rolling off the other riders as we inch forward one spot at a time, each rider dropping in and vanishing down the mountain. No one speaks because there’s nothing to say. The only sound is the hum of the starting gate, the distant roar of the crowd below, and the rhythmic breaths of everyone waiting for the drop.
Ahead of me, Finn steps up. His posture is loose, like he’s out for a casual ride and not about to launch himself down one of the most intense courses in the world, but that’s just Finn, always relaxed.
Mason Payne, Isaac Raine, and Luc Delacroix are behind me. The best of the best, and I’m standing right in the middle of them.
Fuck.This is real.
Finn rolls up to the gate, and the countdown starts to beep for him. Five seconds, then I’ll be next up.
My pulse kicks up, and my breath turns shallow underthe weight of the riders behind me, the eyes of the crowd below, and the crushing realization that this moment, the one I’ve spent seven years crawling back to, is actually happening.
The white 14 on the red jersey in front of me blurs as I try to concentrate on it, and a sharp jolt rips through my chest when my throat locks.
My diaphragm spasms.
Hiccup.
Finn’s head snaps around so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t give himself whiplash. Through the clear lenses of his goggles, his blue eyes go wide.
Then the start beep blares, and Finn rips his gaze away, turns back, launches off the gate, and disappears down the track, but those wide, stunned eyes stay with me even after he’s gone, stealing the air from my lungs.
Just the way they did the last time he looked at me like that.
And suddenly, I remember.
