Page 90 of Rogue Riders Duet

Dane looks vaguely alarmed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She nods. “You were the reason I wanted to work on the circuit.”

He coughs into his elbow. “Damn.”

“Yeah, so dumb, right? I had such a crush on you.”

That little tidbit shuts Dane right up and makes me grin wildly.

“Didn’t everyone?” She continues, “Funny, though, you were already gone when I started, and now I’m so over this anyway. It’s my last season here, but I guess it was fun. So…” She shrugs as if all of those words were no big deal. “Thanks for that.”

She hands him a nasal rinse and some pills with a practiced smile. “Take this. Steam, rest, and try not to infect your sister.” She stands and is already heading for the door. “Get well soon,” she calls over her shoulder, hopping down the steps like the fairy godmother she is.

Dane stares at the door long after it shuts behind Piper, his mouth agape.

I sigh and head for the front of the bus, toward my makeshift nest in the driver’s seat. “You’re welcome.”

“What the fuck, Alaina?”

Dane drags himself upright from the bunk, his blanket falling off one shoulder, eyes bloodshot, face flushed with fever. He’s leaning on the wall as if just standing is costing him everything, which means this conversation is that important to him.

“She knows?” he rasps, then folds forward with a violent cough.

“Yeah,” I say, arms crossing tight over my chest.

“You told her?”

“No,” I snap. “I’m not that dumb. She figured it out.”

“You said we didn’t need a physio.” His face twists. “Swore we didn’t. I could’ve found someone. Someone reliable. Someone we could trust.”

“It just happened,” I mutter, still hugging myself. “She is reliable.”

“You don’t even know her! She’s a risk. If someone finds out⁠—”

“If someone finds out…” I cut in, voice rising, “… it’s my fuckup. My name. My face. My head on the chopping block. If this all blows up, that’s on me, not you. So stop acting like you’re the one about to lose everything.”

“No,” he croaks, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. It can’t end already.”

I frown. “Why? What are you even talking about?”

And why is he looking at me like that?

He coughs again, harder this time, and when he straightens, his eyes are glassy, and I don’t think it’s from coughing.

My stomach twists with dread.

“Alaina, please…” he whispers, looking at me like I’ve just broken his heart. “I need more time.”

I inhale sharply. “More time for what?”

Is he feverish? Delirious? Do I need to call someone, after all?

“To make you want to live past this fucking vendetta!”

I bristle, and defensiveness rises within me. “We talked about this.”

“Yeah,” he snaps, coughing so hard it folds him forward again. “We talked about it six years ago! When I thought I had time. Time to show you that your life is still livable.”