yler follows me home to make sure I get back in one piece, but as soon as he's helped me off my bike, he's back on his own and zipping down the street under a cloak of night. My heart thuds with dread as I watch him disappear, and even though I wish it weren't true, something feels so final about it.

I compose myself and head inside where my parents are getting ready for dinner. I'm in no mood for pretences, so I tell them I'm not feeling well and head to the bathroom to run myself a bubble bath. It's an attempt to distract myself from everything Tyler said, but his voice seems to echo in my ears.

If that's your choice, then I'm out.

The hurt runs through me all over again, and even though he's right to be mad, I can't help but feel betrayed all the same. If my parents' relationship has taught me anything, it's that you don't walk away from those you care about, no matter how hard things get.

Once my bath is ready, I strip and sink into the bubbles with difficulty, spotting my bruises through the water. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, Tyler is right. If I don't at least get checked out by a doctor, I could cause some irreversible damage. I grab my phone from the side and unlock the screen, hopeful he'll have calmed down by now and sent me a message, but there's only one from Alex.

My heart sinks, and I contemplate messaging him first, but this pride of mine won't let me. Instead, I message Alex, asking if she'll take me to the doctor – she messages back with a yes.

Sinking into the water, I close my eyes, heart beating, and sink under the water where it's peaceful. Under here it is silent, not just from the outside world, but from the thoughts and voices in my head. I stay like this until my lungs give way, and then I break the surface, ribs hurting as I claw back my breath. But for the first time in days, I'm finally in control.

he next morning, Alex takes me to the hospital to get checked out, and after several tests, I'm relieved to learn that while my ribs look a mess, they're just bruised and not broken. It fills me with hope, because maybe now things can start getting back to normal.

"You're looking at about two weeks recovery if you rest," the doctor says. "Ice will help relieve any swelling, and I'll prescribe you medication to help manage the pain."

The smile that crosses my face must be blinding. "Thank you."

It takes a while to form-fill before we can leave. Alex is silent for the most part, and I can tell from her expression that there is something on her mind, which means I'll hear about it soon enough.

"You got lucky," Alex says as we head to the car. "It could have been much worse. You should have gone to the hospital the moment you knew something was wrong."

"I know," I say, sliding into the passenger seat. "I'm just glad I can race soon."

She shakes her head as she reverses out of the parking space. From the side, it's hard not to look at her familiar features and think of Tyler, who hasn't spoken a word to me since that night. A part of me doesn't blame him, but it's hard to ignore how much his silence hurts my pride.

We pull up to my house, and Alex tells me if I'm feeling okay, she'll meet me back at the cafe for my shift. I quickly get changed, wondering if Tyler will be there and whether we'll get the chance to talk. Ever since last night, my stomach has been in knots at the uncertainty of it all. If I don't figure out what's going on soon, it'll drive me insane.

I knock down some of my painkillers and head out to my bike, wishing I could curb this anxiety. I'm so used to looking forward to seeing Tyler that dreading our encounter feels inherently wrong.

It's not long before I'm parking up and spotting him in the distance. He's leaning against the patio balcony, studying the riders on the track. Throat tight, I walk up the steps without looking over and head into the back, where I put away my things. Alex is already busy serving customers, but when I don't make it out, she's forced to come and find me.

"You spending your whole shift in here?" she asks.

"No," I say, but I make no effort to move. The track usually offers me some much needed confidence, but today I am terrified.

"Look," she says, "you're not going to solve anything by hiding in here. Just go and talk to him."

She's right, as always, which is why I stand straighter, smooth back my hair, and follow her out onto the patio. Tyler is still standing there, his eyes steadily fixed on the track below, and I take a deep breath before walking over.

"Hey," I say.

He turns around and leans against the railing before regarding me carefully. "Hey."

I wait for a second for him to give me something more, but he doesn't. "I'm only working a few hours today. Can we talk after my shift?"

He nods briefly, and when it doesn't look like he's going to say anything else, I get to work wiping tables. He shifts from the balcony at some point to join the others on the circuit, and every so often I stop what I'm doing to watch him.

There's a thrum of excitement when he turns the next corner. The track is chaotic, the other riders zig-zagging all over the place, but he has this calmness that never seems to waiver, a way of bending the track his will; I just wish I could do the same.

I get back to wiping down tables. Toward the end of the race, it starts pouring with rain, and while a few of the riders try to ride the next circuit, Tyler doesn't. He pull off his helmet and heads toward the gym while I hurry to move everyone inside. I'm not exactly a believer of omens and whatnot, but this feels like a bad sign.

y the time my shift finishes, I'm cold and wet and my hair is a straggly mess. I gather my things, certain Tyler has given up and left, but I stumble across him in the parking lot.

He straightens up as I cross the parking lot, my heart thrumming in my chest like a hummingbird. The rain – to my relief – has eased off a little, but the light pitter patter is enough to make me shiver.

Tyler watches as I stop just in front of him. It's already dark, and he's parked the furthest away from the only working streetlamp, so only a sliver of his face is visible. It's enough for me to see he hasn't forgiven me.

"Hey," I say. "So, good news. My ribs aren't broken, they're just a little bruised. Doc says I'll be fine."

Relief fills his eyes before disappearing again. "Good."

I inch a little closer. "I can probably train again in about a week. Maybe even–" my sentence trails off when he briefly shakes his head, and another shiver runs through me. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied to you."

There's a long, drawn out pause, and then, "You know what I did after I dropped you home last night?"

"What?" I ask, nervous, because everything about this feels wrong.

"I went to look after my dad because he could barely get out of bed." He leans forward slightly, a blaze in his eyes I've never seen before. "He's forty-five years old, Roxy, and he's got the mobility of someone twice his age. And you know what I kept thinking? He chose this. He chose to keep racing through injuries instead of letting himself heal. He didn't know when to stop, and neither do you."

"It's not the same," I say. "This is just a bruise."

"It's a bruise this time. What about next time? What about when it's a broken leg? Or a head injury? A trainer needs to be able to trust his rider, and I can't."

"You can trust me." I reach out and touch him, hating that a lump has formed in my throat. Somehow this feels worse than last night. Somehow this feels like the end.

"No," he says, stepping back, "I can't. And if I can't trust you, I can't train you."

My eyes search his, waiting for the moment he'll take it all back, but he doesn't. He just stands there like a statue, utterly closed off, and I realize this is it, this is the reason my stomach was in knots. Deep down, I knew this was coming.

"Fine," I say shakily before stepping back, because if I don't leave now he is going to see me cry. "Good luck with the tournament," and then I turn away, blinking back the tears, and head toward my bike.

❤️