Page 282 of Rogue Riders Duet

The UCI social media guy. Of course it is.

Fuck.

His eyes flick to Mason but don’t linger, like he’s not important. Fucker. “We were all wondering if you’re coming back for the race.”

“Yeah,” I say flatly, already annoyed. “I’m back.”

“Perfect.” He grins wider, still filming. “Can you tell us a bit about what happened and how you’re planning to come back to this race?”

I glance at Mason, who shrugs like it’s your call.

“I’m going to race as usual.”

The guy laughs like I told a joke, then lowers the phone, stopping the recording. “No, my guy. I know you’re a privateer, so you’re not media trained, but we can’t go with that.”

“We can’t?”

“No.” He clucks his tongue. “DH lives off the fans. Fans live on social media. We gotta hype this up. You crashing like that while being so high in rank, and now coming back? It’s a story, and we need it.”

“It’s not a story. It’s my life,” I bite out, the good mood from earlier cracking even more at the edges.

“Exactly,” he says, like I’m agreeing with him. “The story of your life.”

Mason snorts beside me.

I sigh. “Fine. What do you want me to say?”

He brightens. “Dramatic flair, baby. Say you didn’t think you could come back, but now you’re here, broken fingers and all. Those are broken, right?”

I lift my hand without answering.

“Perfect. Hold them up to the camera and say you’re trying to grab that title anyway. Even if it kills you.”

That knocks the breath out of my chest.

Because I have thought that, over and over, but hearing it out loud, pitched like a trailer for a movie, it sounds deranged.

My breaths become uneven, but then I remember what my therapist said. Breathe through it.

I close my eyes and breathe.

“Is he okay?” the guy asks, like I’m a broken doll that stopped responding.

When I feel up to it, I open my eyes, but all I see is Mason’s back. He’s standing in front of me like a fucking wall. “He’s not in the headspace for an interview. Go make content with somebody else.”

“But we need a story about him,” the guy snaps.

“And he’s not up for it right now,” Mason repeats, sharper this time.

“Who even asked you, fucking scum?”

“Didn’t you hear him?” I lean over to look past Mason and the social media guy and find Luc standing behind him like a pink shadow with teeth. “He said non.”

The guy pivots, suddenly excited. “Delacroix! Perfect. Stand with Crews and say something like you’re gonna show no mercy even if he’s broken⁠—”

“Fuck off,” Luc says flatly, cutting him off.

Everything goes still. Luc never talks like this to the media, and I prepare to step in.