'm jerked awake from a terrible nightmare by a pain in my chest. I try to sit up, gently at first, but this proves too painful. Laying back down, I stare at the ceiling and try to breathe in before wincing.

I'd dreamt of that night again, replaying the way Dad flew off his bike and straight into the barrier. The way he'd been rushed to the hospital, barely alive. Last night that could have been me. The thought should be enough to want to lock away my bike and never ride again, but either I'm reckless or plain stupid because I can't just walk away.

Instead, I find the strength to pull myself up, ignore the pain, and tiptoe downstairs. It's early enough that my parents are fast asleep in their room, so I head into the kitchen and rummage through the cupboard for some painkillers.

Maybe it's the ten hours of sleep I'd managed to get, but the pain isn't as bad this morning. I convince myself that riding will be fine, that I won't push myself too hard, and swallow down my painkillers. Then I head to the bathroom and lift up my tank top, wincing at the sight of my ribs. Even if the pain has lessened, my stomach looks worse than ever –a canvas of mottled bruises that sit like poison beneath my skin. I swallow hard and pull down top, suddenly feeling sick. If my parents were to see me now, I'd never be let out of their sight.

The rest of the morning goes by in a blur. Tyler messages several times to see if I'm okay, and I lie every time, telling him I'm just a little bruised – nothing that won't heal within a day or two. He tells me we'll take it easy for today but to still meet him at the track tonight, which is fine with me. I'm praying that the less I do today, the less it will hurt tomorrow.

When my parents wake up, Mom cooks up a hearty breakfast of pancakes while Dad quizzes me further about last night's race. I tell them I don't want to talk about it anymore – reliving that crash is more than I can handle – so Mom changes the subject to her cupcakes. One of her clients is throwing a bachelor party and wants the cakes to resemble boobs. When Dad says he's happy to lend a helping hand, Mom swats him with the spatula.

"I'm taking your father for a checkup today," Mom says, "but we were thinking of grabbing some food after. Want to come?"

I glance at Dad, who almost looks hopeful at the thought of his checkup. Mom's started to convince him that maybe there's hope, and maybe there is, but if there isn't, it's going to break him.

"Yeah," I say, "sure. Just call me when you're finished."

The pair go back to discussing cupcakes, and when I've finished my breakfast, I wait until they've turned around before hoisting myself off my stool. The painkillers have kicked in so it doesn't hurt as bad, but I still can't help but wince.

"Have a good day at school, honey," Mom says.

"Go get 'em, tiger," Dad says after.

I roll my eyes and head into the garage before pulling out my bike. It takes a few moments to gather the courage, but then I slip on my helmet and climb onto the seat, letting out a hiss of air. Settling into position, I wait a few minutes for the pain to subside and kickstart my bike.

As soon as I pull onto the street, I find my rhythm. The pain, to my surprise, isn't so bad and only kicks in when I shift out of position, so I keep my back stiff and try to keep the pressure off. This is fine, I think as I pick up my speed. Everything is fine.

At lunch, Vanessa and Niko spent what feels like hours quizzing me about the race, and while I'd planned to keep what happened to myself, they finally break me.

"Fine, I lost," I say to my plate full of fries, because clearly my ego is bruised. Maybe Tyler is right after all – my pride is going to get me in trouble one day – no doubt sooner than I think. "I came off my bike, and I lost. Now all of the other riders are going to think I'm weak." Their faces soften, and I can see the flash of pity in their eyes as I continue to nibble on my food.

Niko leans forward and rests both his forearms on the table. His gaze is intense, determined almost, like he's about to deliver some inspirational speech. "Losing isn't weak," he says. "Giving up is."

I sigh and lean back in my chair, defeated. "You sound like a fortune cookie."

"Plus," Vanessa says, "I don't think that's true." She's busy helping herself to my fries, but I can't bring myself to care. I push the plate over and watch as she grabs at least five in one go. "Sometimes being brave means knowing when to give up."

The pair start to argue, such is the way of their friendship, and I lean back and study my fries again, wondering if maybe she's right. If my father had given up riding before he'd had his accident, he wouldn't be going for a check-up today to determine if he'll ever walk again.

Our family wouldn't have been destroyed.

I spend the rest of lunch studying my tournament notebook. There's a page for each rider that will enter the tournament, each with its own list of strengths and weaknesses. If one good thing came out of last night, it's that at least I can add a few more points to each profile. When I'm finished, the only page without any weaknesses is Tyler.

My stomach knots a little. Trying to learn his weaknesses feels strange now that we've grown so close, but if I don't find one soon, there's no way I'm going to beat him. All of this training – this pain – will have been for nothing.

"You're becoming obsessed," Vanessa says as she pulls my notebook away. "Why is this tournament so important?"

I look up now, the truth on the tip of my tongue, which is that until you've felt that fire in your chest, it's impossible to understand. "It just is," I say, and the bell rings.

'm nervous the whole way to the track. A part of me is certain that Tyler knows me so well, he's going to see the truth all over my face. Another part of me can't stand the thought of facing anyone after my accident last night.

Tyler is already riding the circuit, so I park up my bike with difficulty and slowly make my way up the stairs. The painkillers have worn off, so as soon as I've lowered myself into a chair, I take one dry then pull out my notebook again.

Maybe it's my paranoia, but several familiar racers look away from the balcony to shoot me a pitiful glare. I ignore them and focus on watching Tyler ride, my heart already thrumming with excitement. Searching for a weakness in Tyler is like searching for the next Messiah: impossible. He just rides so perfectly, each turn and jump made with absolute precision; I both love it and hate it.

At some point, when my ribs start to hurt, I force myself up and head into the bar in search of the bathroom. When I'm safely inside and away from prying eyes, I lean against the sink and splash some water on my face. When I feel a little better, I dry my hands and step into the hallway, right into Sam's chest.

"Heard what happened last night," he says, and my heart ramps up a beat. "Figured you wouldn't be back for a while."

"Well, as usual, you were wrong."

"You're not looking so good, darlin'." He tilts his head, studying me in a way that makes me feel exposed. "Looking a little rough around the edges." His eyes drop to my hand, which I hadn't realized was cradling my side. "Didn't get too hurt, did you?"

I drop my hand and shoot him a withering glare. "No."

"Really." He reaches out, lightly punching the side I was cradling, and I let out a yelp. "Looks like you're hurt to me."

"You," I say, through gritted teeth, "are a psychopath."

"Hey," he says, "I'm just looking out for you. I know how important the tournament is to you, and no way Ty will let you train in that state."

I manage to straighten up a little. "It's a cracked rib, not a broken leg. I'll be fine."

Sam shrugs and steps forward, which puts me on edge. "Hey," he says, "I get it better than anyone, but Ty won't. He doesn't understand what I do."

"Which is what?"

Eyes dark, he lets his gaze fall to the side of my stomach like he's able to see through the material. "That if you want something bad enough, you'll fight through the pain."

There's a moment where he stares at me, and it feels like my skin beings to prickle beneath his gaze. Then he smiles a little, tells me to call him when I inevitably need his help and walks off.

I head back to my table with a feeling of dread, but there's no time to dwell for long – Tyler has won his race and is heading up the patio steps. My heart does a leap, both because I'm excited to see him and because I'm nervous as hell. While I've done my fair share of lying as of late, lying to him about not being injured feels like playing with fire, and sooner or later, I'm going to get burnt.

❤️