Page 33 of Broken Breath
“Because if one bolt slips… it’s over. Not just the run. Everything.”
“And… you’ve had that kind of experience, kid?”
I look away, jaw tight. “I’m not a kid.”
Not since I learned what it feels like to suffocate on blood, silence, and the weight of your own body turning traitor.
“No,” he agrees. “No, you’re not.”
Then silence, thick and crackling.
“You ever crashed so hard it rewired your brain?” Finn asks eventually, the tone of his voice losing its teasing edge, turning to something lower and more real. “I did. Les Gets. Four years ago.”
I remember.God, I remember.We watched it live. Dane’s face lost all color when Finn crashed and had to beairlifted from the track. I told him twenty times as he paced to call and check on Finn because Ineededto know, too, but he didn’t, so I did. Used a blocked number, and when Finn picked up and said,Hello?I panicked and hung up.
At least I knew he was alive. The following season, he was racing again as if nothing had happened.
“Woke up on a stretcher, couldn’t feel my legs,” Finn shares, like we’re trading ghost stories. “Doctors said it was shock. I told them I didn’t care. I just needed to know if the bike made it.”
Right. He’d been handed his team’s latest prototype, a carbon beast no one else had raced yet, so everyone was watching.
He huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That shit sticks. I still wake up some nights not feeling my legs and looking for that damn bike.”
“You don’t get over crashing.” I nod slowly. “You just get better at hiding the fear.”
“Yeah.” His voice is softer now. “Yeah, you do.”
Our eyes lock, and this time, neither of us looks away. Something flickers behind his eyes, a shift. Understanding? Something was starting to click.
“I crashed once too,” I say before I can stop myself. “Body met tree. Tree didn’t move.” I meant it as a joke, but it comes out raw, and he doesn’t laugh. “They said I was lucky I didn’t die. But I didn’t feel lucky.”
Why am I even telling him this? What the hell is wrong with me?
Stupid, Alaina. Stupid.If I want to keep this cover, I’ve just done the dumbest thing imaginable. Yeah, plenty of riders crash into trees. But this? This was practically a neon sign. Too close. Toospecific.
But my brain never did work right when his eyes were on me.
“You didn’t feel lucky because it wasn’t luck. It was grit. And pain. And fighting like hell to stay standing.”
I tear my gaze away from him and hug myself again, not because of the shirt now, but because I can still feel the memory in my bones. The impact. The blood. The gravel.
The bus continues to hum with the sound of tires rotating against asphalt. Finn lifts his can to his lips again. “Well,” he says, voice lighter now. “That got deep. I’m gonna go take the wheel before Dane drives us into a cow.”
He finishes the drink, crumples the can in his large hand, and stands with a low groan, stretching his arms over his head. His shirt lifts with the motion, rising just high enough to flash a strip of toned stomach, with cut lines, and a hint of his V-shape that should be illegal.
My gaze zeroes in before I can stop it.
When I look up again, his eyes are already on me. And yep, there it is. That damn grin. He turns toward the front of the bus, then pauses halfway down the aisle.
“Try not to drool on your notes this time,” he calls over his shoulder, then chucks the can into the trash.
I’m left staring at my notebook, my heart thudding like I just raced a double-black with no brakes and survived.
But it was a close thing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Finn
