Page 397 of Rogue Riders Duet

This team.

These people.

This family.

The Rogue Riders.

The speaker barely manages to cut through the roar of cowbells, cheers, and what I’m pretty sure is someone sobbing into a vuvuzela.

“Alaina Crews wins the men’s elite overall in Snowshoe by two-tenths of a second for the Rogue Riders, followed by Luc Delacroix and Mason Payne in third!”

A fresh wave of sound crashes over us like a damn tsunami as the crowd erupts.

I gasp as my head snaps toward the big screen again to see the numbers confirm it.

0.2 seconds. That’s all it was.

But wait.

Mason is third?

He is, and also just 0.3 seconds behind Luc.

I throw my head back and howl with laughter, then glance down at Mason, who’s still gripping my thigh like it’s the only thing tethering him to this plane of existence. He’s smiling, technically, but his eyes are pure panic, and he’s looking a little green around the nose. Luc, meanwhile, is losing his mind, laughing so hard I can feel him shaking under me.

“What’s so funny, Delacroix?” Finn calls over the noise of the crowd.

Luc doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you know, mon ami. Some people race for glory, some for pride, and some race very hard to avoid losing their ass virginity.”

Mason lets out a wounded groan, burying his face in my leg, and I nearly collapse from laughing.

We’re soaked in sweat, champagne, and someone’s tears—possibly mine, definitely Mason’s—but none of that matters.

This matters.

This chaos.

This joy.

This win.

This life.

My lungs still forget how to breathe sometimes.

When the crowd roars.

When the dirt hits just right.

When the past sneaks in and tries to steal the moment.

But I find my breath again.

Every damn time.

None of them fixed me. I’m not something to fix, but they stayed through the blood, rage, wreckage, and through every version of me I had to become just to survive.

Even when that meant falling in love with a guy who had socks for a dick.