CHAPTER ONE
Mason
The front tire spins and spins on the giant screen just beyond the finish line.
I can’t stop staring at it, waiting to see the missing rider.
But he never comes.
The rain on the vinyl roof of the official’s tent creates static above us, but it does not drown out the panic clawing at my chest.
What the fuck just happened?
The footage glitches before the broadcast cuts to an aerial shot of the mountain, and around me, the world seems to stutter. The rain, which had been hammering down like it wanted to drown us all, slows to a drizzle, the wind dies, and even the trees stop rustling.
It’s like the whole damn range just swallowed him whole.
Is the Crews name cursed or something?
The hot seat sits abandoned out in the open, water pooling on its plastic surface, waiting for someone who isn’t coming.
“Merde,” Luc hisses, snapping the silence in half. “What the fuck is going on?” he demands, spinning toward his team manager.
“Apparently, he crashed,” Paul says, listening to a radio held to his ear. “Went over the slope.”
My heart trips over itself.
Fuck.
“I can fucking see that,” Luc bites out. “Howishe?”
Paul’s face contorts as he listens to something on the radio again. “I don’t know any details yet, but a tree stopped his fall.”
Bile crawls up the back of my throat as I think about that small body slamming into a tree, think about how he winces through pain with every movement already, the way his voice went soft when he told me he hurts all the time. The quiet way he admitted he lost a kidney in a crash and acted like it wasn’t a big deal.
He can’t take another hit like that.
That would end his career.
Luc pulls at his hair, muttering in sharp, panicked French, but when the radio crackles again, he stills. Paul listens, face grim, then nods once.
“How bad?” Luc demands, although judging by his face, he doesn’t want to know.
“Bad enough that they’re gonna airlift him out of here, despite the weather.”
I dig my fingers into the knot of tension coiled at the base of my skull, but it’s useless.
This is so fucked.
The low thrum of rotor blades cuts through the air, and everyone’s heads snap upward as the helicopter crests the ridge.
They’re already here, which means he’ll be at the hospital soon. Which means… it doesn’t meanshitif he’s broken.
I look around for Dane, but I don’t see him anywhere, but I seehim.
Delacroix and I lock eyes, just for a breath, a flicker of shared panic, then I’m gone. I tear away from the tent, boots skidding in the mud, and I don’t care who sees. Don’t care that the officials are yelling something behind me.
I have to get to my Bambi, to my nobody.
