Page 274 of Rogue Riders Duet

A mechanic?

When was the last time it got checked?

Since when has it even been standing in the garage?

The panic flares again, and I fumble for balance, try to swing off the saddle, but my leg won’t move high enough. I twist, panic climbing up my throat once more, and my foot catches on the pedal. I go down, the bike tangled between my legs, my side slamming into the ground.

Ouch.

Clawing out from under it, I feel gravel biting into my palms as pain stabs through me, and I want to throw up.

I hate this. I hate this so much.

I hate my hip, my lungs, my fucking ribs. I hate that I can’t lift my leg like a normal person, hate that my body betrayed me, hate my mind for freezing, for panicking.

But mostly, I hate that I thought I could do this, and that I ever believed I could be something again.

And I hate this fucking bike.

I stand, unsteady, but grab the frame with both hands, and push it over the edge and down the trail with a scream.

It only skids a few feet down the track, and I scream again because I can’t even get that right. I scream until my throat rips raw and my lungs give out, and all that’s left is the heaving in my chest and the dull throb of everything—hip, ribs, heart.

“Al.” A warm hand lands on my shoulder, startling me.

I look up to find Dane’s eyes wide and worried.

Fuck. I only manage to worry him.

“I can’t do it, Dane.”

He wraps his arms around me, his warm hoodie brushing my cold skin. “It’s just too early, Speedbump. You can’t yet. You just managed to walk again without crutches. Give yourself time.”

“I don’t have time.” I shake my head hard, tears blurring everything. “I don’t have any fucking time, Dane.”

“That’s not true,” he says, gripping my shoulders. “We have all the time, okay? I already told you, it’ll take years. Years to get you back and on this level, but that’s okay. We can do it.”

“It’s not even just me. I don’t… I don’t trust it. I don’t trust the bike anymore.”

“Okay.” His hand moves to my back, while he’s looking down the trail where the bike’s still lying. “Should we get you a new one?”

“No, it’s not… it’s just… who touched that bike last?”

“I don’t know. Probably your mechanic or you. Or me, pushing it up here.”

“But you don’t know.”

“No,” he admits. “I don’t know for certain. Should I call your mechanic? I can. I’m not sure if he’s gotten a new job yet. We could offer him something permanent. He could stay here with us. Make sure your bike’s fit. Every day.”

I shake my head again. “We can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s a fucking dream job. I’m sure he’d say yes, and Dad would pay him if I asked him to.”

“I don’t know if I can trust him anymore,” I say, and the words taste like rust because my mechanic never failed me, and I know it was Isaac’s doing and not his, but still.

Dane frowns, nodding slowly. “Okay. What about my old mechanic? He’d jump on it in a heartbeat.”

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t… I don’t think⁠—”