Page 4 of Broken Breath
Now it’s my job to keep myself in the game.
I lower the scissors, my fingers going slack around the handle. “I can’t do it.”
Dane exhales through his nose, sounding half-amused, half-unsurprised. Then he shrugs. “So don’t. Just do what you’ve been doing. Never take your damn helmet off.”
I scowl, turning in my seat to face him. “That only worked because no one gave a shit about me.”
We’d spent the past few weeks racing, gathering enough points to qualify for the World Cup. Unlike the factory teams, with riders backed by big bike brands, with salaries, mechanics, gear for days, and automatic invites, the privateers like us have to prove we even belong. Show up, race, win. Earn our spot.
After every race, I left immediately and never talked to anyone. Not that weknewanyone at those races. Well, except Mason Payne.
I watched him take podiums with no team backing him, no support, no sponsors. Just himself and a bike, fighting for every result and, lucky for me, Payne doesn’t talk to people, never has. Avoiding him wasn’t hard.
I roll the braid between my fingers, staring at it like it might cut itself off if I glare long enough, while Dane leans against the counter, eyes flicking over the scattered gear, the blue jersey I’ll wear in just an hour for the first World Cup race of the season.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better. He also knows exactly why we’re here and had to do it this way.
Seven years ago, we had a team—Crews Racing.It was the one thing Dad ever gave us, probably to keep us busy and from complaining. He didn’t support us in any other way, but he bought us a team and a damn bike factory.
We had mechanics, a line spotter, a big pit setup with a lounge, even a physio and a team manager, everything we needed to compete against the best.
But Crews Racing is gone now.
Dad still has plenty of money, more than ever actually. He could have brought it back and funded a full team, with real resources, but he didn’t wantthisassociated with his name, or rather, money, so he gave us just enough to get by as privateers. A season on the road, a bike, and enough in entry fees to get me to the starting gate.
A hundred grand. More than most privateers could dream of.
But not enough to rebuild a legacy.
I hope it’s enough to destroy Isaac Raine,at least.
“Someone wanted to interview me after qualifying yesterday, and I had to bail before they got too close.” I grip the braid tighter. “I can’t keep doing that, people will think I’m insane.”
Dane smirks. “They will anyway.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather it be for my speed and not because they think I’m some feral raccoon who refuses to take off my helmet.”
“A privateer coming out of nowhere and suddenly kicking the asses of the top-ranked riders? You’re gonna be popular.”
I placed fourth in qualifying.
I have to fight back a grin. I knew I could keep up. It’s the only reason we’re here after all these years, because now, finally, I know. I’m fast enough,good enough.
I was even faster than Finn.
My stomach twists, but I shove the thought away. I can’t think abouthimright now.
“I don’t care.”
Dane gives me a look, one that says we both know that’snot entirely true. That at some point, I did care very much. About racing, about my name, about everything I lost when I crashed, but I’m not here to be popular.
I meet his gaze in the mirror. “I’m here to show Isaac Raine what happens when you fuck with the Crews siblings.”
He didn’t just end my career, he ended my brother’s too. Dane should have won his fourth World Cup overall title that year. He should have cemented his place in history. Instead, he never even raced that day. He walked away and straight into the hospital. Isla and Isaac Raine took the wins while I lay there, broken and barely breathing. Dane never raced again, not a single run, all because of the Raines.
