Girl on Track

40| Freedom

Every moment leading up to the pre-tournament race is spent training. Now that Tyler and I are finally honest with each other, it's easy to focus on racing again without wondering what if. He sticks to my rules, strictly kissing me before and after practice and not while we're training, which means I can get my head in the game and focus on the tournament while giving me something to look forward to after.

The evening before the race, he has me meet him at the track for a last-minute run-through. I run the circuit a few times as a warm-up, focusing on the things Tyler had told me to work on, and I can't help but feel powerful with the wind beneath my wheels, like I'm ready for anything.

When my legs start to ache, I pull up next to Tyler and climb off my bike before lifting my helmet. He looks better than ever right now in his tight black tee and jeans, like he's just stepped off a motorcycle shoot. I have to resist the urge to take a step forward and throw my arms around him, because that would be breaking the rules.

"How'd I do?" I ask.

He breaks into a grin that I'm certain could melt icecaps. "Amazing," he says, and I can tell from the way that his gaze flits to my lips that he's thinking of breaking the rules, too. "I'm proud of you."

I break into the biggest grin. It's strange what having someone believe in you can do. At times I'd doubted whether I'd be ready for this, whether I was really good enough, but every time that doubt creeps up, Tyler is right there to push it back down. As nice as it is to have faith in yourself, it feels even better to know that someone you care for has faith in you, too.

"You feel ready for tomorrow?" he asks.

I shrug and say, "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Your biggest competition will be a guy on a green bike called Kai," he says. "He's an expert at riding dirty without actually breaking any rules."

"A sore loser," I say, "my favorite kind."

Tyler pulls me closer by my hand until I'm standing right in front of him. "I'm serious, sirenita. The kind of people you're racing against are different from the regulars at the track. They're hellbent on winning."

"Good," I say, looking up. "So am I."

He grins now, and I like that I have that effect on him. "Anyone ever told you that you're stubborn?"

"All the time." I give him a kiss on the nose that makes him brush his lips against my neck.

Despite the fact I should be nervous about the race, I'm not – I'm excited. This is my chance to find out how much progress I've made and what's left to work on before the tournament; this is my chance to put everything I've learned into practice.

"Are you sure you don't want to race, too?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I need to be on the sidelines so that I can see what you still need to work on."

I nod. A part of me thinks it's foolish that he's sacrificing his chance to practice, but if what he said was true, maybe he doesn't need it. Which leads me to wonder how it will feel to race against him in the tournament. If he wins, will I be able to put aside my feelings and truly be happy? If by some chance I do, can he? Or will the pressure be too much? Will whatever this is even last until then?

He pulls me in closer as I glance at my watch. "There are still three minutes left of training," I say as I tilt my head. "You're breaking the rules."

He grins again, and something deep inside me soars. "I can live with that," he says, and then he pulls me toward him and kisses me.

***