Page 248 of Rogue Riders Duet

Of this.

Of him.

Of life.

FOURTEEN

“Jesus Christ, Finn. What the hell happened to your face?”

Shit. I forgot how bad I look.

Why did I FaceTime my manager again? Could’ve just written a fucking email.

Right, I wanted to stop being a coward.

Even if it took me two days to gather the courage to make this phone call.

There’s still medical tape stretched over the bridge of my nose, but the real kicker is the bruising. Two solid black eyes, like I went ten rounds in a ring instead of taking one punch from a pissed-off best friend.

I look like a raccoon who lost a fight with gravity.

“Oh, you know,” I say, forcing a grin. “Fell off my BMX.”

He squints at me through the screen. “You sure you didn’t get punched in the face? Because that looks a lot like a punch.”

I huff a laugh. “Well, what can I say? You’re not wrong.”

He mutters something about idiots and athletes under his breath but then cuts himself off and leans back in his chair. “Anyway, don’t stress. Remember Willy? Four or five seasons ago, he got into that bar fight before the Swiss run. We still have that nose extender somewhere, the one that keeps the goggles from pressing onto the bridge. It’ll hurt like hell anyway, but it’ll get you through the race.”

I shift my weight on the shitty hotel bed I’m sitting on. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t want to race anymore.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he looks up, brows furrowed. “I get that it’s your last season. You wanna end it on a high note, not taped up and hurting. Okay, well, look, you’ve been with us a long time. I’m sure I can talk to the higher-ups about extending your contract for another season.”

My chest tightens, but he doesn’t even give me the chance to open my mouth.

“We’ll frame it like this season ended early due to injury. Give you the off-time to recover, then let you wrap it up next year, your way. Clean exit. Full support. You’ll be back on your feet for Fort William.”

“You’d do that?” My fingers flex around the phone.

“Of course,” he says, almost scoffing. “You’ve been solid for us. A great mentor for the juniors, dependable as hell, and the fans love you. I’d love to have you for another season.”

It hits harder than I expected. Not only the offer, but his words, telling me that all the work I’ve done in the shadows actually meant something. I didn’t think anyone noticed, and I didn’t expect them to. I was just doing what felt right.

I almost say yes.

Almost let myself be swayed by the comfort of being wanted, needed. By someone finally seeing what I brought to the table, but then my nose stings, and I remember why I called him, why I’m doing this.

I was clinging to racing because it was the last piece of me that made sense. The only thing I hadn’t wrecked, but now the only thing that matters is Alaina, and I can’t keep chasing long-ended dreams while I’m trying to rebuild what I destroyed. She deserves someone who shows up for her, who doesn’t run, who doesn’t keep hiding behind handlebars and adrenaline to avoid the hard shit.

If I want a chance at getting Alaina to let me back in, not just into her life, but to earn her trust and belief, I need to be better, and that means letting go of the version of me who only ever knew how to race away.

This time, I’m staying.

No more finish lines.

Just the fight that actually matters.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice thick with things I’m not sure how to name. “That means a lot, but I’m done.”