he first few days of training with Sam go surprisingly well. I'd expected him to be abrasive or hard for me to stand, but if anything he's the opposite. There is no emotion in his training style, no trying to protect me from risk. He just offers advice, his only motivation for me to be better, and it works.

Still, I can't help but feel that by training with Sam, I'm somehow betraying Tyler. Not that he cares – he just turns up at the track every night to ride the circuit, then disappears into the night. Each time he appears – and pretends I don't exist– feels like a knife to the chest, but I channel that pain into riding. I might be broken inside, but at least when the tournament comes, I'll be ready.

"One more lap," Sam says when I'm finished. He's just checked the timer and from the look on his face, is clearly unimpressed by my record. "You've got the technique, you just need to push for speed."

I frown and think back to something Tyler had said during one of our sessions. Control is the difference between a good rider and a reckless rider. Any faster and you risk sacrificing control – that's the last thing you want when your life is on the line.

"If I go any faster, I'll end up sacrificing control," I say.

"Too much control is holding you back," he says. "A champion knows how to balance both. Tyler's goal was to keep you safe, but riding isn't a safe sport, Roxy. Playing it too safe means you sacrifice speed. If you don't find a middle ground, you're not going to win the tournament. These next few weeks, you need to push yourself harder than you ever have before."

I turn to face the track again, fingers gripping the handlebars, and give myself to the track. It hurts at first, a tightness in my legs and thighs that travels through my stomach, but the more I get used to the speed, the more my muscles relax. I battle the wind, the slight brush of rain that litters my helmet, and push myself further, shedding the fear that threatens to hold me back. Not all of it – fear in the face of danger means survival – but enough to give me an edge.

Enough to beat my record.

"There you go, a new record," Sam says when I get to him, but his voice lacks the pride that Tyler's would have whenever I achieved something. My heart pangs, a sudden reminder of the hole in my chest. I've gotten so good at ignoring his absence that it feels like a shock to the system.

"Now go and hit the steam room," he says. "Your legs will thank you for it tomorrow."

Relieved, I turn to leave just as Tyler walks over, but he doesn't look at me, it's Sam his eyes are focused on. Sam smirks a little – the kind that would send anyone over the edge – and crosses his arms. "Can we help you, Wakeford?"

Tyler's eyes darken before he takes a step closer. "You're pushing her too hard."

Hearing the hardness of his voice surprises me. Not because he's wrong, but because I'd started to think he no longer cares. And yet right now, towering over Sam like he's about to start a fistfight, he most certainly looks like he does.

Sam's face lines with amusement. He's almost seemed normal our last few sessions, focused only on what I need to do to improve, but now the real him is back with a vengeance. "Maybe you weren't pushing hard enough."

The blow of his words is instant. Tyler stills, eyes narrowed as the muscles in his jaw contract. Briefly, he drops his gaze to look at me, the hurt behind his eyes unmistakable. "Training with him is a mistake, sirenita."

A shiver runs through me. I can't take being called sirenita right now, not when things are like this between us. We're standing so close, but we couldn't feel further apart. I open my mouth to say something back, then hesitate, because what I really want to say is that his quitting as my trainer was a mistake. His choosing to walk away was a mistake. His hot and cold attitude ever since was a mistake.

I step forward, voice low, and say, "You've been acting lately like I don't exist. You don't get to come over now and tell me how I should train. That's not fair, Tyler."

His eyes soften slightly. There's an uneasiness behind them that I'm not used to seeing, and I know him well enough by now to know it's more than just us behind this cold attitude: something is going on. "I know. I'm–" he runs a hand along his face, looking conflicted. Voice low, he says, "Look, forget it." He turns to leave, and I feel the hole in my chest expand.

"And that," Sam says as Tyler walks away, "is the face of a man who knows he's going to lose the tournament."

It happens so fast that I don't see it coming. Quick as a flash, Tyler turns back and throws out his fist, catching Sam's nose. Sam stumbles back and clutches at his face, but the blood still trickles through his fingers. "You son of a bitch."

Then all hell breaks loose. The pair are throwing punches, brawling in the mud like we're in the middle of a bar and not at the track. I shout for them to stop, grabbing Tyler's arm in a bid to pull him off, but I might as well be invisible. Neither is listening, they're both just hellbent on causing the most damage.

A few others catch the commotion and run over to split them up. I'm pushed back and forth by the small crowd that has formed until I lose sight of the pair completely. Terrified, I try to push through the barrier of bodies to get back to Tyler, but they act as a forcefield keeping us apart.

After what feels like forever, a couple of riders manage to pull the pair away, and I watch as Tyler's friend grabs his arm and drags him in the opposite direction. Tyler looks at me from over his shoulder, offering a glimpse of his bloody lip, then carries on walking without looking back.

"Hey, come on."

I turn as Alex grabs my hand and pulls me away from the commotion. We end up in the locker room of the cafe, where she sits me on the bench. I must be in shock, because I don't manage to speak for another few minutes, and when I do, my voice is shaky. "I have no idea what just happened."

"I do," Alex says, and she takes the seat next to me before sighing. Between my training and her work, we've barely had much time to catch up, but up close like this, it's easy to see the exhaustion on her face. Just like Tyler's, her eyes are dusted with shadows.

"My dad isn't doing so well," she admits. "He's refusing to go to the doctor to get checked out because he's adamant nothing is wrong, which of course, is ridiculous." She shakes her head, pulling at a loose fray on her sweater. She's not exactly the sharing type, so I know this is hard for her. "We've been taking it in turns to look after him, but Tyler is taking it especially hard, I mean, he hasn't said anything to me, and we don't talk other than to ask each other how Dad is doing, but I can tell. They've always been super close. He can't stand to see him getting worse." She looks up now, regarding me carefully. "That's why he's pushing you away, you know. That's just what he does. He's never been good at dealing with his emotions. We've basically lost our dad to racing, and he's scared he'll lose you to it too."

My chest feels tight as I lean forward slightly, staring at my hands. I have no idea when everything got so complicated. Once upon a time, everything was clear, and the only thing I wanted was to win the tournament. Now I don't know what I want. Or I do, but sometimes what you want isn't the same as what you need.

Finally, I turn to Alex and pull her into a hug. While it's clear that Tyler is taking this hard, she must be, too – she just won't show it. "Tell me what I can do to help. I can take more shifts at the cafe or get groceries for your dad – anything."

She doesn't speak, just hugs me harder. I stroke her hair, and we sit like this for a little while longer, neither of us saying a word. Finally, she pulls back a little and dabs at her eyes, where the remnants of her tears linger. "I'm probably going to take you up on the offer about the shifts," she says.

"Good," I say. "I mean it, Alex. Whatever you need."

She nods and stands up before straightening out her apron. "I should probably get back to work." She starts to turn, then thinks better of it. "You know I'm the last person to jump to Tyler's defence, but for what it's worth, I've never seen him like a girl the way he likes you. I'm secretly rooting for you both."

I'm caught by surprise for the second time today. It's as close to a blessing as Alex will ever give, but as much as her words should invoke a sense of comfort, they don't. The problem is that while Tyler doesn't trust me, I've lost my trust in him, too.

His walking away when I need him the most makes me wonder what would stop him from doing it again. What if one day things get tough or I mess up again? Will he just turn his back on me? Quit when we should be working through it? How do I know that the second things go wrong, he's not going to bail? And that's the scariest part about love, the thing people don't tell you about: that one day you could wake up and the person you love is no longer there to love you back.

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