Page 87 of Tailwind

Pain blossomed on the back of my skull as I cracked it against the table trying to get up. Great, another bruise to match the mottled colours of my face. I’d looked away for half a second and Cam had chosen then to start the conversation – and not with a very positive attitude.

‘I was intending to have that conversation with Lena herself.’ Bach maintained eye contact with Cam as he spoke. He was braver than me. ‘But if this is a group I can speak freely in front of I have no qualms involving you too.’

He turned to me after speaking. Cam remained in crew-leader mode and stayed locked on Bach.

I nodded as I heaped food on to the now free plate and slid it over to him. ‘Yeah, of course. They’re family.’

Trea straightened up by the hallway, her shoulders squaring. I did my best to squash the swelling of my heart.

‘I’m here to offer my mentorship,’ he said as he tore a pepper off a skewer.

White noise filled my ears and the tips of my fingers felt fuzzy. Mentorship? He wanted to mentor me?

‘For racing?’ My mouth had moved without permission. It was quite possibly the stupidest question I’d ever asked – including during all my strategy sessions with Josie.

‘Yes,’ he answered. The casual way he spoke didn’t match the weight of the situation at all.

My mind began to race. This went against all of my instincts when it came to Bach: to avoid, to not embarrass myself, to not let him know me and my flaws. Yet doors I had thought closed, locked and barred now had cracks of light coming through them.

‘No.’

My head whipped to my sister. ‘What? Cam—What?’

She ignored me. ‘Where was your mentorship the past four years?’

Oh no. She was trying to make the decision for me.

‘Where were you when that piece of shit,’ – She spat the words and pointed to the muted cast still playing behind Bach. – ‘was making my little sister miserable? Where was your mentorship while she was flying under your nose half the season? What have you been doing for the three decades of your career while riders like her have been squeezed, beaten and harassed out of the sport?’

Moisture welled in my eyes as heat rushed to my cheeks. When Cam had met me at the city train station she’d merely taken my bags from me and led me home. We hadn’t spoken about what had happened. I didn’t need to tell her, she’d watched my interview with Cooke. She’d shown up when I needed her and that had been enough.

Or, I thought that had been enough. From the way cold fury was pouring off her, it wasn’t enough for Cam.

Bach placed the skewer down and sat back in his chair.

‘Fair questions,’ he replied. ‘Ones with answers that would only disappoint everyone here. The truth of it is that I’ve been ignorant of a lot.’ He held up a hand to stop the interruption coming his way. Bold. ‘Even wilfully so in recent years. I can’t change my inaction. I can’t go back and do more. What I can do though is do more in the future.’

He turned to me. I swallowed a lump in my throat and tried desperately to will the tears back into my eyes before they spilled. I knew all too well what he’d missed, what I’d endured just to be near the sport I loved, but to hear my hero acknowledge it … The weight of it pressed down on me.

Bach was offering to help me go back. To return to the place where I’d been broken apart and held up as an example of failure. If the version of myself from a month ago – the one who had put on Thorne’s helmet – knew I was considering turning this down she’d have made me disappear too.

‘I’m sorry for the things I’ve missed. I’d like to do what I can to make up for it, though how much use I can be now I’m not sure.’ Bach was solemn, his blue eyes steady.

I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

He rolled his shoulders, looking uncomfortable. ‘After the crash last week I won’t be racing again this season. Maybe not next season either.’

My jaw dropped. Even Cam shifted in her seat and Trea ran a hand over her jaw. I didn’t need to see Lynk to know he was equally shocked. As standoffish as they’d all been at Bach’s arrival and his part – or lack of – in my career downfall, he was still a racing legend. All of us had grown up watching him fly.

The first race I’d ever seen was at Lynk’s parents’ house, crowded around the new casting augment they’d got, just to watch the first Decennial race of the season.

The big kids had blocked my view for most of it, until I’d climbed on the back of the sofa and stood behind Cam, my feet digging into the cushions. I could still see it so clearly in my mind’s eye. I could still remember the feeling in that room as he’d sliced through those old-fashioned arcans with his battleaxe.

I’d been five years old at the time. I’d seen some glimpses of Volitant races before, I’d been around drakes at the hatchery where my uncle had worked, but I’d never seen anything like the Decennial. Twenty riders and dragons from Volitant Forge and Chroma all racing together to see who was the best of them all.

The answer had been Bach. Already Volitant Chroma Champion three times over, he took the Decennial Champion title that year too.

Now he wasn’t going to fly again, because of a chain of events that I’d set in motion.