Page 184 of Bend

People are moving around the paddock. Officials. Marshals. Sponsor staff. Somebody’s talking low to Andre, and Sayshen’s beside Echo looking like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Reign’s sitting on the ground with his head between his knees.

I can see all of it.

I just can’t make any of it mean a fucking thing.

Because Wolfe was just talking to us.

That’s the bit my brain keeps snagging on.

He was just fucking talking to us.

I heard every second of it through my helmet.

Wolfe knew he was going down.

We all fucking knew.

And the second it happened, every part of me screamed to turn around, to get back to him, to do something other than keep riding away while he was somewhere behind us on the fucking ground.

Andre wouldn’t let me.

The thought punches straight through the numbness, and suddenly I’m looking at him instead of Echo.

“You made me keep riding.”

Andre’s head lifts slowly.

I’m already moving toward him, boots heavy against the concrete, hands flexing at my sides because if I don’t do something with them, I’m going to put one through a wall.

“He went down and you made me carry on like some fucking lap time mattered.”

Andre’s jaw tightens. “Thorne—”

“Don’t.”

The word comes out low and shredded.

“I was right there, mate. Right fucking there, and you wouldn’t let me go back.”

“The course was live,” Andre says, voice controlled, but there’s strain underneath it now.

“I know the bloody course was live.”

“There were riders behind you at speed.”

“And Wolfe was on the fucking ground.”

My voice cracks on his name.

Andre flinches this time.

Good.

He should.

“Thorne.”

Echo’s voice comes from behind me, small and broken enough that it cuts straight through everything.