Jace POV
“Damn, man. You tryna die out here?”
Danny’s voice cut through the roar of my bike engine as I skidded to a stop on the far end of the dirt track. Gravel sprayed around my tires. My heart pounded in my chest, not from the speed—but from the storm brewing in my head.
The engine came to a shaky halt. My gloves were covered in dust. My shirt clung to my back from the sweat. I yanked my helmet off, breathing heavy, eyes locked on the horizon.
Danny jogged over, a half-empty bottle of water in his hand, shaking his head. “What girl’s messing with your head this time, Reyes?”
I glanced at him, tried to play it cool, but all I could manage was, “No one.”
Liar.
Because the second those words left my mouth, her face popped into my head.
Lola.
Sinclair.
The way her lips tasted the other day—soft but urgent. The way she fit in my hands like we weren’t supposed to fit, but somehow did. The way her voice had cracked when she said we couldn’t be friends, and then kissed me anyway.
We’ve been texting the past few days. Just random stuff. Memes. A volleyball TikTok she swore reminded her of me—probably because the guy missed his serve from trying to look cool.
I was in contact with my rival. The girl I’m supposed to hate. The girl I’m fighting against for one golden shot at the biggest scholarship in the state.
And here I was, thinking about her like she was mine.
The worst part?
I didn’t even want the scholarship. That wasn’t my dream.
It was his.
My father’s.
Ever since Mom passed, it’s like I’ve been trying to impress a man who doesn’t even see me. No matter how well I play, no matter how many medals I bring home—he doesn’t say good job. He just says do better. Try harder. Be perfect.
But what if I don’t want perfect?
What if all I want is this—riding, racing, freedom. Dust in my mouth. Air in my lungs. Peace.
Danny handed me the bottle. “There’s a motocross competition coming up next month. You wanna sign up?”
I twisted the cap and drank half in one gulp before answering. “I don’t know. When is it?”
He shrugged. “I need to check the date for you. But it’s soon. Maybe the second week of next month.”
My heart sank a little. That’s when Regionals start.
Volleyball vs. motocross. Legacy vs. love. My dad’s plan vs. my own.
“Let me know the day and the time,” I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I will see.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “Jace, come on. This could be your thing. You’re good. Like, really fucking good. You know that, right?”
I scoffed, tossing the cap into the nearby bin. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t do this. Not seriously.”
“Why not?” Danny asked, stepping in front of me. “Because of your dad?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared down at my gloves.
Danny sighed. “I know your mom would’ve loved to see you do something you actually love.”
I bit my cheek. Hard. Didn’t say anything. Just downed the rest of the water, crushed the bottle, and walked back to the bike.
I revved the engine again, trying to shake the ache off my chest. I did lap after lap, pushing harder, leaning tighter into the curves, kicking up dust like it could cloud my thoughts. I rode like I wanted to leave everything behind.
After three hours, I finally came to a stop. My arms were sore. My legs were trembling from the strain.
Danny walked up again, tossing me a cold wet towel. “Bro. Please. Take a break. You’ve been terrorizing the track like it owes you money.”
I slumped on the hood of his truck, dragging the towel down my face. My hair stuck up in weird directions. My shirt was soaked.
“This is the only place I feel sane,” I muttered. “This is the only place I can stop thinking about her.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “Her, huh?”
I didn’t answer. Because if I said her name, it would be too real.
But the truth was already boiling inside me. If people found out about me and Lola—if anyone even suspected—we’d both be screwed. We’d lose everything. The scholarship. The respect. The team.
Our families.
And yet…
I can’t stop thinking about her.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I wiped my hands on my pants and pulled it out, expecting some useless group text.
But no. It was her.
Lola: Can you come over to my house?