JAXSON.
The second it happened, I swear my chest stopped working.
One second we were flying neck and neck, engines screaming, the crowd going wild. The finish line was right there, so close I could almost taste it. And then—bam. Damien’s bike clipped Tessa’s. Hard.
Her bike jerked sideways. She didn’t even have time to scream. The sound of metal grinding against asphalt tore through the air, and then she was on the ground, rolling across the track like a rag doll. Her bike spun out, sparks flashing, before it smashed into the side barrier.
She just kept rolling. My stomach dropped when she slammed against the pavement, tumbling so close to the pole by the roadside that I swear my heart died for a second.
I didn’t care about Damien. I didn’t care about the race. I didn’t even look back
