everal families have already set up shop by the track. I push through the bodies, taking in the hordes of people overhanging the cafe balcony. I'd known Parkwood's annual racing tournament was somewhat of a big deal, but I hadn't expected this. It's like I'm swept up by the sea of unfamiliar faces, fighting to stay above water. Any second now, and I'll be lost to the current.

As I push through the crowd, electricity fills the air, a buzz of excitement on par with Dad's old races; it's both comforting and terrifying. I continue on, almost ready to give up and go back, when I catch a glimpse of a familiar silhouette in the distance.

Tyler.

He parks his bike in one of the bays and then turns, his expensive black gear shining brightly under the morning sun. I can't see his face – he's still wearing his helmet – but the moment he lifts it, I breathe.

At first, he doesn't notice me. He looks into the distance, past the crowd of fussing families, and over to the trees on the other side of the track. The sun peeks through them, coating the track in the same orange haze I saw the first day I turned up.

I stare at it, too, overcome by its tranquility amid what feels like chaos. It winks back at me, taking me back to the first time those riders had bound across the hills, lit up by a golden hue. And more than anything, it's this that calms me: the sunlight over the track. Familiar. Warm. For the first time all morning, I feel like I'm home.

Finally, his eyes meet mine. Several emotions cross his face, none of which I can pinpoint. But I'm drawing ever closer, wading through the countless bodies until I'm standing before him, away from the chaos near the track. And then, with a split second's pause, I throw my arms around him.

His arms envelop me at the same time my body molds to his. Each nerve beneath my skin seems to spring into action. Gone are the nerves I'd felt just a moment ago, replaced with a dopamine rush. After several long seconds, he reaches down and tucks back my hair, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Thought you might have got cold feet," he says, stepping closer. His voice is low and strangely hypnotic; my heart skips a beat.

"And give up my one chance to beat you?" I tease. "Not in a million years."

"Figured that would be the case. Come on," he says, grabbing my hand, "we need to get ready."

A wave of nausea runs through me. I'm not usually this nervous, but knowing that everything we've done has led to this is more pressure than I can handle. With a brief nod, I give Tyler one last kiss before the pair of us get to work, signing in and checking our bikes before going over the rules.

Throughout the process, my heart beats like a drum in my chest. As hard as I try to ignore it, it's a constant reminder that today is the day I've spent several months waiting for: the day I either leave here a champion or a loser.

I'm terrified.

"Hey," Tyler says before grabbing my hand, "whatever happens, nothing changes, sirenita. Remember?"

I nod and lace my fingers through his. Despite the fact competing against him is nerve-wracking, a part of me is glad that we're doing this together. He'll be right by my side through every jump and turn: I like the thought of that.

Sam and his friends appear in the distance and make a beeline toward us as we're finishing up. I am instantly tense. Catching my change in demeanor, Tyler turns away from the table and follows my gaze to Sam. He tenses too, his jaw contracted as Sam stops before us with an unpleasant smile.

"Today's the big day, kids," he says, "how are you lovebirds coping?"

Tyler steps between Sam and me. It makes me nervous, as though he's about to do something stupid that might get him disqualified. Violence at the track is not usually tolerated, especially at an event like this. Tyler's dreams of winning the championship will be over before they start.

When Tyler speaks, his voice is low and clipped. "Can we help you?"

"Just checking in on my girl," Sam says before turning to me and smiling.

From the hardened look on Tyler's face, this was the worst thing Sam could say. Tyler steps forward into Sam's face and growls, "She's not your girl."

I grab Tyler's arm and gently squeeze. "Come on, let's go. He's just trying to provoke you before the race." But Tyler doesn't move. His eyes still burn with fury, his body unmoving as he stares Sam down. "Please," I say, tugging his arm, "for me. Let it go."

Slowly, he looks at me. It's hard to tell what he sees in my expression but whatever it is makes his muscles relax as he grabs hold of my hand. With one last look at Sam, he leads me away before Sam says something that gets him in trouble.

"I'll see you after the race," Sam calls after us. "One way or another, one of you owes money."

Tyler's grip around my hand hardens. We just about have time to say a quick hello to our friends, so Tyler leads me over to the part of the track where Alex, Nico, and Vanessa are waiting with their banners.

"We've been calling you all morning," Vanessa says as she pulls me into a hug, "how are you feeling? Are you ready?"

It's the kind of question that's impossible to answer, so I just squeeze her back. The truth is, I'm not even sure how I'm feeling. It's like I've spent so long waiting for this moment to come that now that it's here, I don't know how to act. On the one hand, I'm excited, desperate for the moment I get to ride my bike, but on the other, I'm terrified. Not of losing the race as I'd first thought, or even because of what might happen with Tyler; I'm terrified of ending up like Dad.

As soon as we pull apart, I start to turn to Alex when Nico throws his arms around me. I risk a glance at Tyler, but for once, he's not shooting a death glare at Nico for being within my vicinity; he's too busy searching the track.

Frowning, he turns to Alex. "Where did Dad go?"

"He wanted a better view," she says, then studies him for a moment longer, something different in her expression. "You all set?"

He looks at her now. Maybe it's just my imagination, but things don't seem as frosty between them; maybe there's hope after all. "Think so."

She nods and then, as though she's unsure, steps forward and gives him a hug. "Good luck." It ends as quickly as it had started before she's turning to me and hugging me too. "Both of you."

The look on Tyler's face tugs my heartstrings. What looks like relief mixed with something I can't place clouds his eyes. As much as he pretends not to care about his sister, I can tell how much that meant to him.

The call for riders to make their way to the track sounds over the intercom. Tyler takes my hand, and we make our way over to the bays to collect our bikes. Just as I turn to mine, he pulls me closer by my jacket and kisses me. It lasts a second – not even that – but it's enough to send butterflies to my stomach.

"I love you, sirenita," he whispers. "I'll see you at the finish line."

I nod and press my lips to his. "I love you."

The moment we break apart, reality sets in. We grab our bikes and, with a final look, slip on our helmets and head toward the start line. My heart pounds harder, so loud that I can feel it reverberatingin my ears, but I refuse to let it show. Sometimes the trick, my dad used to say, is to pretend you're ready, even when you know you're not. So that's what I do all the way to the bay: I pretend.

As soon as we're at the starting gate, I slip onto my bike. At first, something feels wrong, like when you try on someone else's clothes. This bike isn't mine. Not only is it not mine, I can't shake the feeling that I don't deserve the privilege of riding it in the tournament. This bike was Dad's baby, a part of his identity in a way that only another rider could understand; how can I take that away?

But then I search the crowd, spotting my parents near the start line. Mom looks anxious; her hands are in her lap and balled into fists, but when she spots me, she grins. Being here is hard for her – that much is clear – but she's ready to support me anyway. Dad sits next to her, beaming so bright, so proudly, that I realize I'm being stupid. Whether I deserve the privelige or not, this is what Dad wants ; I'm determined to make him proud.

It's almost time. I hold my breath and stare straight ahead, trying not to look at Tyler. The announcement is made over the intercom. My heart flutters, my skin like ice beneath my gear. Slowly, the breath I'd been holding releases all at once as I scan the thousands of cheering faces. This is it, I think, this is what everything I've done boils down to. Everything about this feels so finite, like the end of an era; I just hope it's an ending that won't break us.

With another deep breath, I turn back to the race track and put my game face on. Deep breath, Roxy. This is what you trained for. What you live for. But as the weight of this tournament crosses my mind, so does Dad's accident.

It's what people die for.

❤️