ick Jagger once said that if you ever lose your dreams then you might lose your mind, and I think he was right. Ever since my bike got destroyed, I'd convinced myself my chances in the tournament were over, but dreams never really end – not unless you want them to – and riding again and being at the track feels a lot like I've made it back home.

Still, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't without its challenges. The first time I'd ridden Dad's bike, I'd expected to feel the same hard edges and grip of my old bike, but despite watching him ride it for most of my life, his bike feels strangely unfamiliar.

Even now, on the brink of the tournament, I still don't feel ready. The bike has a little more horsepower than I'm used to, and walking the line between speed and control is a challenge I'm not sure I'm ready to face.

Not that it stops me from trying. Every minute leading up to the tournament is spent practicing at the track, only for me to go home and sit in the study with Dad so he can give me tips. It's an endless cycle, but the moment I cross that finish line, it'll all be worth it.

The day before the tournament, I wake up extra early to get some last-minute practice in before tomorrow. I fly past Tyler – who is leaning against the barrier – for maybe the hundredth time. He's been with me every moment, either training himself or stopping to watch me, and I'm grateful for the support. It doesn't seem to matter that he's no longer my trainer or that we're competing tomorrow; he dutifully cheers me on.

I push myself harder on the next lap to get a better hang of the control. Despite the difficulty so far in adapting to its functions, it feels nice to ride the same bike Dad used to win his tournaments. Riding has always felt somewhat like a solitary sport, but now I've got a little piece of him with me.

After what feels like the millionth lap, I slow to a stop in front of Tyler. He lifts my helmet to peer in my face, and I flash him what must look like an exhausted grin. My thighs are burning from gripping the bike, and my hands feel red raw beneath my gloves. I've been so determined not to fall off again and not to destroy Dad's bike that I've held on for dear life.

"You want some advice?" he asks.

I tilt my head until I'm looking right at him. "Always."

He kisses my nose gently and says, "Stop thinking so much." I don't know how he can tell, but he does. "You're not going to ruin the bike. The tournament is here, Sirenita. It's okay to be scared, but it's time to go all in."

And he's right, of course. As Dad would say: fear is natural when you step out of your comfort zone, but whatever you do, don't let it win. "When did you get so wise?"

He grins and says, "Probably around the same time that I met you. C'mon, let's take a break."

I want to protest, but practicing more now won't make any difference now that the tournament's here. I'm either ready or not and the only time I'll find out which is tomorrow when I race. "Where are we going?" I ask.

He winks and says, "You know where," before heading to the bay to grab his bike. I grin and flick down my visor before racing down the track toward our spot, desperate to get there first. And this time there are no hangups or worries or holding back, there is only me and Dad's bike, zipping through the trees and up the rutted hill. Whoever invented Motorcross must have craved something others hadn't known they were missing.

As soon as I get to our spot, I take off my helmet, park my bike and walk over to the cliff's edge. Parkwood has always reminded me of one of those model town replicas. Everything is perfect, from the rich green color of the trees to the winding roads that travel like valleys through the old Victorian houses. Kianna had fed me horror stories about small towns before I left, but Parkwood is nothing like she'd described. If anything, moving to this town was exactly what my family needed to heal.

It takes a few more minutes before the sound of Tyler's engine rumbles through the silence. He takes off his helmet and joins me on the cliff's edge, where we take a seat and let our legs dangle over the ledge. He grabs my hand, lacing his warm, calloused fingers through mine, and for a while, we just sit here pretending like the tournament isn't tomorrow.

"So, how's your dad been in the run-up to the tournament?" I ask. With his dad on the mend, he hasn't talked much about the pressure at home, but I can tell from the slight furrow of his brows that he's worried about tomorrow. Losing for him means losing his dad's respect, and I hate that the stakes are high for both of us. Sometimes I think about giving up just for him, but I know that he'd hate that, and I'd hate that, too.

Tyler shrugs as he looks into the distance. "Same as usual. Convinced himself I'm going to win the tournament."

"Maybe you will."

He looks over now. Up close like this, it's easy to see the amber flecks in his eyes and the sprinkle of light freckles on his cheeks. "Maybe you will."

A strange nervousness fills up my stomach. I still don't know what will happen once one of us wins, whether it'll prove too difficult to be happy for the other, but I do know my fears aren't going to stop me this time. Even if everything ends with the tournament, at least I get to be with him now. And maybe that's the point, maybe life isn't always looking to the future but enjoying what we have in the present.

"It's crazy to think that after tomorrow, it will all be over," I say.

He nods but doesn't say anything. He's deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed as though he's thinking about something that troubles him. Finally, he turns to face me, his lips curling upward in a lopsided smile. "You remember what you said to me that first day you came to the track? Twenty bucks says I'll beat you." He laughs a little, a deep rumbly sound that fills me with warmth. Leaning in closer, he tucks a curtain of hair behind my ear. "You had quite the effect on me, sirenita."

I smile a little. There is something about the way he looks at me that makes everything better. I could have one hundred worries, one hundred reasons to feel upset, and he'd still have the power to make me happy. "Oh, I have that effect on everybody."

He laughs and leans closer. "I don't doubt that for a second." His thumb gently brushes my neck as he says it, running along the ridge of my scar. It's the same one I'd shown him that first night at Mojacks when we'd talked about our scars. I reach out too, gently brushing the scar on his wrist, and the pair of us smile. There are certain things in life that tether us together, and racing is one of them.

"C'mon," he says, grabbing my hand, and he helps to lift me to my feet. "I want to ravage you, and I can't when we're hanging off the ledge."

I laugh as he leads me away from the cliff and over to our usual spot. He heads toward the foliage where he keeps out picnic essentials stashed and pulls out the blanket before laying it out for us. I take off my shoes and lie down first as he lies down next to me, propping himself on one elbow to study me properly. I move closer to his chest as his other arm comes around me, pulling me in.

We stay like this so long that we get to watch the sunset. A burnt, orange haze fills up most of the sky, and as the sun disappears beyond the valleys of Pinewood, I can't help but feel nervous for tomorrow.

Tyler, forever able to read my mind, brushes his mouth across my cheek. "Tomorrow doesn't change anything," he says. "You know that, don't you?"

I nod and pray to God that he's right because giving this up would be torture. Someone along the way, Tyler has become the person I love being around most. I don't ever want that to change.

"I almost forgot," he says. "Are you missing something?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin, gold chain – my bracelet.

A wave of relief washes over me. I've been searching the track every morning for that bracelet and hadn't been able to find it anywhere. "Where did you find it? I've been looking everywhere."

"I didn't," he says. "One of the riders handed it to Alex, and she gave it to me. Why didn't you tell me you lost it?"

He doesn't sound angry about the loss of my bracelet but confused, as though he's not sure why I hadn't brought it up. But the truth is, things have been so perfect between us that I didn't want to risk him finding out. That bracelet must have cost a fortune, and I'd barely had it a week.

"I don't know," I say. "I guess I hadn't had it long, and I thought you might be hurt if you found out I lost it." I look down at the bracelet still sitting in his palm and feel relieved all over again. "I'm so glad it's back. It's been my lucky charm."

"It was never for luck," he says as he fastens it over my wrist. He lets his thumb run over the charm before he looks up and meets my gaze. "You don't need to keep things from me, sirenita."

"I know," I say because I do. I keep second-guessing things, keep expecting him to turn around and decide this isn't for him, but that's not his fault, that's mine. If I want this to work, I need to stop with the doubts and the lies and the desperate attempts to keep what's left of my walls up; I need to let him in.

"How about this," I say as I move on top of him. He stills beneath my weight in a way that excites me, and I lean in closer to his ear. "I promise from this day forth, I'll tell you everything."

His eyes flash with amusement. In one quick move, he flips us around until I'm the one trapped beneath him. "You're known to be quite the liar," he says. "How do I know I can trust you?"

I look up, breath held as he brushes the hair from my face. "Because," I say, pulling his face toward me, "I love you."

And then I kiss him.

😢

❤️