Page 45 of Broken Breath
If I don’t keep the adrenaline pumping, I’ll start to feel my body, and that’s a bigno.
I round a corner and slow my pace, legs still buzzing from the last stretch. Finn is standing near a brutal section of the course with three juniors from his team surroundinghim. Their bikes rest against trees, and their helmets are off, as they give him all their attention. He’s pointing to a section with a long, gloved finger, then traces something through the air.
I can’t hear what he’s saying from here, but I don’t need to. I know exactly how he’s explaining it.
I had the luxury of that once—Finn Greer looking out for me.
Finn never rushes, never talks you down, but eases you into understanding. He gives you space to fail without ever making you feel small for trying.
And I missed the feeling for seven years straight.
He listens with his whole body, like whatever you’re saying might be the most important thing in the world, likeyoumight be, and when you’re seventeen and everything feels too big, toomuch, that kind of attention means everything.
He was always there when it mattered, but never loud about it. He showed up without being asked, brought water before I even knew I was thirsty, and yeah, maybe he was my brother’s best friend and too old, too off-limits, too everything.
It didn’t matter.
He made everything feel safer. Not smaller, not easier, just possible.
No wonder I had a crush on him that hit like a runaway train.
There’s a sudden shout of panic as someone rides past me and loses control, their tire catching wrong. They go down hard, a little higher on the slope than where Finn and the juniors are standing. It’s not one of his teammates, but Finn is moving before the kid even finishes sliding, running to his side to check he’s okay.
The juniorrider waves him off, shaking his head, and Finn laughs and claps a hand on his helmet.
God, why does he still have to be so perfect?
The butterflies in my stomach don’t flutter, theyriot. It seems that the crush I thought had finally ebbed away is still here and thriving.It’s a goddamn fungus.
But just like seven years ago, it can’t be anything. I’ve gotten used to that, at least. Unrequited feelings are just extra cardio at this point. Keeps the heart rate up.
The group gets back on their bikes, the juniors peeling down the trail one by one. Finn waits until they’re all moving before swinging a leg over his bike, taking the rear so he can watch their backs.
I hang back a few more minutes before getting back to practice, and when I clear a particularly nasty rock section, I have to pull off to the side, my breath coming hard.
I idled too long, and now I’m hurting. Bad. The fire in my ribs creeps up to my shoulder, and I shift my weight, trying to stretch it out, but it only makes it worse.
A quick glance tells me I’m alone on this part of the track. So I stop pretending and let it show. I sink into the rare moment to let the pain speak louder than the plan, louder than the mask I’ve been wearing since this whole goddamn thing started.
My knees buckle a little as I press a shaking palm to my ribs, the world tilting sideways.
Stay upright. Don’t fold.
I don’t want to be like this.
I can’t keep being like this.
It’s fine, Alaina.
This won’t be your future.
You finish what you started, and then,you’re allowed to close your eyes forever.
No more pain. No more pretending. No more this.
I hold that thought like a handhold on the cliff edge.
I need it.
