wake up to the feel of him stroking my hair. Still half asleep, I crack open an eye and find him staring at me with a boyish smile on his face.

"On a scale of one to ten, how much is my mom going to kill me?" I ask.

"Zero," he says, tucking my hair back. "I only let you sleep ten minutes. I don't want your parents thinking I'm a bad influence."

I glance at the clock on his wall to confirm before settling back into his chest. I hate that I have to leave soon. Hate that I even feel this way after promising myself I wouldn't; my plans to focus only on racing have well and truly been foiled.

"Maybe we should lay down some ground rules," I say.

He cocks an eyebrow before pulling me closer. "Ground rules?"

"Yeah," I say. "Like, no kissing or funny business during training."

His mouth finds my neck, and I feel his lips tilt as he plants a kiss there. "Funny business?"

"You know what I mean."

"Fine, no funny business."

"And no hiding any racing stuff from me." Or anything else, I want to add.

He frowns a little. "I did that to–"

"Protect me," I say. "I know, but I don't need protecting, Tyler; I need to win."

He sighs like I'm stubborn, but so is he; maybe we're more similar than I thought. "All right," he relents, "but please tell me that's the last of our ground rules," and he leans in to kiss me.

"One more," I say before taking a breath, because even though I'm enjoying where this thing between us is going, a part of me is hesitant. What if Alex has been right all along? What if the others have, too? Until I know the reason behind Tyler wanting to train me, I'll always have this doubt. "I need to know the truth about why you volunteered to train me. You've already made it clear that it wasn't for the bet, so why?"

I hold my breath at the same time he tenses. His answer could change everything, and while all I want is for things between us to stay exactly as they are, I have to know the truth.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he says.

Maybe if I were somebody else, this answer would satisfy me, but it doesn't. It's almost impossible to trust someone who isn't forthcoming, even if they're not outright lying. And even though I'm certain that it's going to be my downfall, I want to be able to trust him; I need to.

"It matters to me. Don't you think as my–" I catch myself quickly and say, "–trainer, I should be able to trust you? To do that, I need to know what intentions you came into this arrangement with."

He's quiet for so long that I think he's not going to answer. I start to grow angry and get to my feet before scooping up my things. You'd think by now that he'd be willing to trust me, that he'd want me to trust him, but we're no further forward.

"If you can't be honest with me," I say, "then this was a mistake."

I've already slipped my shoes on and I'm almost by the door when I feel him grab my hand. He spins me around until I'm forced to look up and into those dark, troubled eyes.

"Are you asking as my trainee or you?" he asks. "Because neither of you is going to like it."

"I don't need to like it," I say. "I just need to know."

"Fine." He drops my hand and turns to face the bed like he can't even look at me. "I was using you."

My mouth feels like cotton as I take a step closer. "Using me...how?"

His sudden change in demeanor sends my heart into overdrive. I'm wondering what could be worse than the original bet, but my mind comes up blank. Just what have I got myself into?

"It was never about the bet for me," he says. "I wanted you to win. That's why I agreed to train you."

I take a step closer, resting my hand on the side of his arm, but he doesn't turn around. "That doesn't make any sense."

Finally, he turns. I hate the conflict written on his face, but I don't dare reach out. Not until I know the truth. "You remember the day you first raced me?" he asks.

I nod, uncertain where this is going. "Yes."

"You lost, but you gave me a run for my money in a way no one else had, sirenita. I thought about it all night – how good you'd be with a little more practice. Good enough to beat me."

Something clicks, but not in a way that makes sense. "You want to lose the tournament."

His eyes flash with guilt. "I thought if I trained you, with a little more time, you'd be able to beat me fair and square. I could walk away from racing for good."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. While I can pretty much guess why he wants to quit racing, nothing else makes sense. "We aren't the only ones who qualified," I say. "What makes you think it'd between you and me?"

"I win the tournament every year," he says. "I know who competes, and I know how to beat them. You were the wild card."

Wild card. Like I'm just a cog in his elaborate plan, and what's worse is I didn't even know it. In some ways, it's worse than the bet. At least that I had known about right from the beginning. At least that, I'd expected. Knowing that he's tried to rig the tournament – something I've dreamed about ever since I got here – makes me furious.

"Why not just throw the race if you want to lose?" I ask. "Why involve me at all?"

He shakes his head like I don't understand. "My dad has been watching me ride since I was a kid, he'd know if I didn't give it my all, and–" his eyes flit to mine, "–I know the moment the tournament started, my pride would never let me throw it. It needed to be real."

The betrayal overwhelms me, followed by hurt. "But it wouldn't be," I say. "You want to lose, which means a part of you will make it happen, even if it's subconsciously." I stop for a moment, trying to gain back some semblance of control, but my veins are burning with fury. "If I win that tournament, it won't be because I deserve it. It'll be because you let me."

He doesn't speak, but the mix of guilt and hurt in his eyes is all too clear to see. It doesn't matter – everything I've worked for seems so inconsequential now, because I know that his heart isn't in it.

What's the point?

I throw my bag across my shoulder and hurry into the hallway. I can't stand this anymore. Can't stand to think that my dream of winning would have only been an illusion, a win because someone else wanted to lose, which isn't a win at all.

I storm down the staircase and back to the parking lot. It's already dark, and with just one flickering streetlamp in the distance, it's hard to see in front of me. I pull out my phone, and even though my pride screams back not to prove Alex right, I'm about to dial her number.

The sound of footsteps stops me. I spin around, a little relieved to see it's Tyler walking over and not a potential kidnapper. He's pulled on a sweatshirt and has flicked up his hood, but even in the dark, I know his presence.

"Maybe you're right," he says when he gets to me. "Maybe the only reason I'd have lost was that my heart wasn't in it, but I meant it when I said it didn't matter. I changed my mind–I want to win."

When I don't respond, he takes my hand and pulls me toward me. I want to resist, but my body draws closer to his like a magnet; I hate it.

"Losing in front of my dad the other night gave me a taste of what it would feel like," he says, "and I hated it. I couldn't stand the way he looked at me, Roxy. It was like–" his voice breaks a little, and some of the anger inside of me disperses. "I'm sorry."

Tears form in his lashes, and my heart breaks. "Do you still want to win?" I ask. He doesn't speak, but the brief nod he gives is all I need. "Then it's a fair race. You don't do me any favors, and I won't do you any."

He nods and goes to wipe his face, but I catch his hand and pull him toward me before throwing my arms around him. His arms grab me back, squeezing so tight like he's afraid I'll let go, but I won't. Maybe I should hate him for hiding this from me, for using me, but I don't. I can't. And maybe that's a bad thing – maybe down the line, I'll look back and regret that I gave him this chance.

But maybe I won't.

❤️