He took everything from me.
Now I’m going to take everything from him.
Dane stares at me, his expression like he’s seeing a ghost come back to life.And then,he nods.
“If that’s what you want, then yeah. I’ll help. I can do that.Wecan do that.”
I exhale, and for the first time in a year, the breath feels real.
“And after that, it ends.” I look at my brother, but he’s gone as still as a statue. “When I’ve won, when I’ve taken what he stole and made him choke on it, I want to be done.”
Dane’s mouth opens, but I keep going.
“If I come back… if I train, if I fight, if I bleed and break and still claw my way to the top, if I make it all the way back just to crush him, then that’s it.”
I stare at him. Let him see it in my face, the honesty, thepromise.
“I don’t want a life after that. Hell, I don’t have one anymore, not really.”
Dane’s voice is hoarse. “Alaina…”
“This isn’t about healing,” I whisper. “It’s about justice.Revenge. I want him to pay. I want him to see me win and realize he didn’t bury me, that he failed. That I’m still here, only to ruinhim, and bury myself afterward.”
Dane looks like I’ve pulled the air from his lungs, but he’s seeing something else too.He’s seeing me, for the first time in months, sitting upright. Because for the first time since the crash, I want something.Not healing or peace, justvengeance.
Even if it means war.
Even if it means the end.
“Swear it,” I demand. It’s not fair, none of this is, but I need him to agree. I need permission to carry this weight without the expectation of surviving it.“Swear that when it’s done, you’ll let me go.”
His face crumples. “Don’t make me…”
“Swear it, Dane.”
The silence that follows feels like a held breath, and the whole world is waiting to see whether he’ll break.And then, just loud enough to shatter me, he gives me what I want, what I shouldn’t want.
Like he always does.
“I swear.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Finn
My body is absolutely wrecked.
Here in this dark hotel room, Ishouldbe exhausted enough to have passed out as soon as my aching body hit the bed after the last three days—race day, then that long-ass drive with the blown tire, pit setup, practice, and physio.
But my brain won’t shut up because it’s full ofher.
Of Alaina.
My phone lights up the dark room as I hit replay, because for once, I’m not mindlessly scrolling to keep my loneliness at bay. I’m rewatching the crash.
Hercrash.
The video is grainy, some ripped feed from an old broadcast uploaded to YouTube. It’s one of those “Top 5 Gnarliest MTB Wipeouts” compilations that gets passed around for clicks. Alaina Crews is number two, and I almost smile at that, wondering if she’d be pissed for not even being first place in this.
