Page 229 of Rogue Riders Duet

Dane punched Finn.

Luc held me while I broke.

My dad told me he loves me.

Just like Finn did.

And it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t hit me this hard after what he did, but it does.

Because somewhere deep inside, I’m still seventeen and spinning on top of a mountain, so in love with a guy who wouldn’t stop teasing me, even when the world was about to tilt, and now, here I am, lying flat on my back, staring at a crooked picture of lavender and wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with everything I’m feeling.

I close my eyes, breathe in.

Lavender and laundry detergent.

Breathe out.

Just air.

But it still aches, and my brain won’t shut up. It’s eight in the evening, and I’m wrecked. I should be passed out by now. I want to be, my whole body feels hollowed out, like I’ve been scraped raw and filled with static, but sleep, or even calm, won’t come.

Today was just too much, but honestly, I think it would’ve been way worse if Élise hadn’t taken me to her therapist. She even came into the room with me when I hesitated to go in alone, then just sat there quietly and held my hand. I didn’t want her there at first, didn’t want anyone hearing the mess in my head, but then we got there, and my chest started to close up, and suddenly her hand was the only thing keeping me tethered.

She didn’t flinch at anything I said or let go of my hand, not even once, and the therapist, God, she was so nice. She spoke English just as well as Élise and Luc do, and she had that kind of presence that makes it feel okay to breathe again.

We didn’t get to everything, of course, not even close. One hour couldn’t undo the pile of shit I’ve buried over the years, but for the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to hide my pain.

She gave me medication, just a starter dose, nothing heavy, but enough to maybe help. She said it’s okay to use painkillers responsibly, that being in pain all the time isn’t strength, it’s survival mode, and that I deserve more than that.

I checked, and both the now-stronger painkillers from my broken fingers and the antidepressants won’t trigger the doping screens, so I’m okay with taking them for a while.

We’re going to do video sessions three times a week for now, but she said we’ll cut back when I start feeling stronger.

When, not if. That mattered.

What stuck with me the most, though, is that she told me to give Dane my promise when I told her about it.

She said sometimes, when things are really bad and someone is standing too close to the edge, therapists make what they call a safety contract. It’s not legally binding, and it’s not magic, but it’s a promise, a commitment to stay. To survive the night, the week, the month, and to call for help when the dark closes in. It’s something to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s slipping.

My promise to Dane could act the same way—be a vow to give life a real shot. To try surgery, keep showing up to therapy, take the medications, and talk, let people in, even when it hurts, especially when it hurts.

And maybe I couldn’t say yes to him the night he asked a week ago, because I didn’t have the strength to look him in the eye and promise it out loud.

But I whisper it now, even though it’s only to myself. “Okay, Dane. I’ll try.”

My eyes keep drifting back to the lavender print across the room, the one that’s slightly crooked and probably always has been, but now it feels symbolic. Tilted. Off. A little like me.

There’s a knock at the door, and I guess it might be Luc checking on me again, or Dane, maybe back from wherever he went to cool down after breaking Finn’s face.

My voice feels thick when I say, “Come in.”

The door creaks open, and there’s the sound of footsteps, then a pair of black jeans stops just inches from my face, my upside-down gaze tracing the seams of them like they might spell out a name.

They don’t have to.

I know.

Startled, I look up, and Mason is staring down at me, his expression unreadable at first, but then he tilts his head, and there’s the barest tug at the corner of his lips that might, in another life, be called a smile.