Weirdly enough, it feels like the opposite, and every nod of casual acceptance chisels away another piece of the girl I used to be.
I push the ache down and start pedaling, letting my legsfind their rhythm. The burn kicks in fast, but it’s a welcome kind of pain. It’s unlike the other pain, which is already creeping back in, but a slow, sick pulse through my ribs, spine, and hip. It always starts like this, a whisper that builds until it’s a scream.
I took my pills. Naproxen in the morning and again before we left the bus, washed down with the last of my lukewarm energy drink. I dosed myself so hard, I felt numb for a while, and I was grateful for it. I’m thankful for the quiet where pain used to live, but it never lasts. Now it’s back, clawing its way up my spine, reminding me that I don’t get to forget.
I shift in the saddle, trying to find a position where it doesn’t feel like knives are stabbing into my hip, but there isn’t one. There never is. I don’t let it show, though. I can’t. I’ve done this dance a hundred times.
Pretend the burn in your legs is louder than the pain in your bones, and just keep spinning, keep going. This is the price of being here, of coming back, and pretending to be someone who’s still whole.
This is fine. It doesn’t matter.
It won’t be forever.
CHAPTER THREE
Alaina
“Dane-fucking-Crews!”
My head snaps up from where I’ve been trying to focus on the dirt at my feet instead of the throbbing pain in my hip.
Finn.
Canadian, red-wearing, stupidly good-on-a-bike Finn. I used to tease him about how aggressively patriotic his kit always looked, like he was sponsored by maple syrup and hockey fights. He’d just smirk and say,What, you don’t like a guy with national pride?
He’s grinning as he strides over, all loose confidence and easy swagger, like he’s got nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. He’s dressed in his red kit and is dangling a white helmet from his fingers as he stops in front of us.
His blond hair is a little shorter than the last time I saw him, but his blue eyes are still so damn beautiful, if not a little more tired. He looks the same and completely different all at once. Only he’s not twenty-seven anymore,he’s thirty-four, and yet, he’s stillhim. Still effortlessly cool in that way that used to drive me insane.
They call him Grandpa Greer now, as he’s the oldest guy racing in the World Cup, but apparently, this will be his last season.
Of course, I’d come back the year Finn Greer is finally leaving.
When Finn reaches Dane, he yanks him into a tight hug, clapping him hard on the back.
“I heard rumors that you were back, but dammit, you really fucking are!”
Dane huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m notbackback. But I’m here.”
“God, I fucking missed you.” Finn lets go of him, still grinning. “And you’re a fucking ghost. Why haven’t I heard from you in so long? Going on forever.”
“I’m sorry, man.” Dane exhales. His posture is tight, but his voice is soft in a way that makes my chest ache. “I missed you too.”
I know how much he means it. Finn wasn’t just his best friend, he was Dane’s only family, besides me.
Finn nods, like he gets it. “And how isshe?”
She?Is he talking about me?
“Alaina’s fine. She’s working for Dad now in DC.” Dane gives Finn the lie we agreed on.
We knew this would happen eventually, someone asking, wondering where I went. But I didn’t think we’d have to use the story so soon, and I sure as fuck didn’t thinkFinnwould be the one asking, that he would care.
He pauses, his expression unreadable. Then warmth settles in his gaze, and he nods again, slower this time. “Beauty. Good for her.”
It’s genuine. I can hear it in his voice and see it in theway his shoulders ease. This is actually good news to him. It matters that I’m supposedly okay.
My throat tightens, my fingers flex on my grips, and I have to fight the sudden, stupid, useless urge to swallow hard.
