Page 307 of Rogue Riders Duet

“You what?” My voice catches before it even leaves my throat.

“I rode it yesterday,” he explains. “It works. It’s stable, and it’ll release under impact, but the UCI needed to sign it off, and, well, they finally did.” Finn steps toward my bike and me. “Can I?”

I nod, anticipating the raw dread of him messing with my bike, but it never comes. Somehow, him touching my bike doesn’t feel wrong. Maybe because he’s not taking it from me, he’s giving something back.

Or maybe it’s just because it’s Finn.

He crouches beside my bike, pulls a screwdriver from his pocket, and starts removing my left grip. I don’t even pretend to care about the tool or the mechanics, I just watch him and the way his brows furrow when he concentrates and how he bites the inside of his cheek.

He slides the new grip on, positioning it so the hook curves gently upward. The top of the grip is textured, almost fuzzy, and the angle of the hook makes sense now. It’s designed to press over the knuckles, holding down my hand.

Then he reaches into his pocket again and pulls out a thick glove.

“It’s the only thing I could get on short notice.” He rubs the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed. “It’s a ski glove, so it’s not ideal, but I already called my mom. She’s sewing you a proper one out of a bike glove. You’ll have it before Canada.”

That stops me cold. He called his mom?

I take the glove mechanically. “You did this for me?”

He just nods, focused as he gestures to the glove. “Put it on. It’s a lobster-style glove. Your forefinger and thumb are separate, the other three together.”

I slide it on, careful with my fingers, and explore the way it’s padded around the fractures. When I turn the palm up, I see he’s stitched a patch of Velcro into it.

“Okay. Now slide your hand into position and press down.”

I place my hand over the grip and feel how it sticks when I grip the handle.

He adjusts the hook over my knuckles and holds it in place. “It’s not trapping you,” he murmurs. “It’s just guiding. Enough contact pressure to keep your hand down so you don’t have to grip too hard, but in a crash, it’ll release.”

“Show me,” I demand softly.

“Pull slowly first.”

I tug at my hand, but it stays put.

“Now with more force, like when you crash and the bike gets pulled from your grip.”

I hesitate for only half a second before I yank, hard.

The hook springs up, and the Velcro gives with a muted rip as my hand lifts clean. There’s no pain or pull on the fractures. Nothing.

I stare at it like the miracle it is.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

Dane exhales behind me. “Motherfucker.”

Luc whoops and throws an arm around Finn’s shoulders. “Papi, you goddamn genius. This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. I want one, just to be able to say I’ve got one.”

Finn shrugs, a little flushed, but his mouth quirks. “Couldn’t let something that insignificant keep her from qualifying.”

The fucking lengths he went to for me. Not just because he believes in me, but because he knows me. Knows how much I need this. Knows what it would’ve done to me to sit it out.

My heart kicks hard behind my ribs.

“Thank you,” I whisper, still trying to wrangle the wonder swirling inside me.

Finn gazes at me intently before nodding. “Always.”