Mason
My shoulder ached with every movement, a dull, persistent reminder of exactly how close things had come on that road, but I refused to spend the next ten days sitting on the sidelines while Zoe trained for a championship she had no business being ready for on such short notice. I couldn't ride myself, not with my arm strapped tight against my chest, but I could still teach.
I sat on an overturned crate at the edge of the track each morning, calling out corrections while Zoe ran lap after lap, pushing herself harder than I'd expected given how new she was to actual competitive riding.
"Ease into that turn," I called out, as she came around the bend a little too aggressive for my liking. "You're not fighting the bike. You're working with it."
She adjusted on the next pass, smoother
