Girl on Track

49| Public brawl

The first few days of training with Sam go surprisingly well. I'd expected him to be abrasive or hard for me to stand, but if anything he's the opposite. There is no emotion in his training style, no trying to protect me from risk. He just offers advice, his only motivation for me to be better, and it works.

Still, I can't help but feel that by training with Sam, I'm somehow betraying Tyler. Not that he cares – he just turns up at the track every night to ride the circuit, then disappears into the night. Each time he appears – and pretends I don't exist– feels like a knife to the chest, but I channel that pain into riding. I might be broken inside, but at least when the tournament comes, I'll be ready.

"One more lap," Sam says when I'm finished. He's just checked the timer and from the look on his face, is clearly unimpressed by my record. "You've got the technique, you just need to push for speed."

I frown and think back to something Tyler had said during one of our sessions. Control is the difference between a good rider and a reckless rider. Any faster and you risk sacrificing control – that's the last thing you want when your life is on the line.

"If I go any faster, I'll end up sacrificing control," I say.

"Too much control is holding you back," he says. "A champion knows how to balance both. Tyler's goal was to keep you safe, but riding isn't a safe sport, Roxy. Playing it too safe means you sacrifice speed. If you don't find a middle ground, you're not going to win the tournament. These next few weeks, you need to push yourself harder than you ever have before."

I turn to face the track again, fingers gripping the handlebars, and give myself to the track. It hurts at first, a tightness in my legs and thighs that travels through my stomach, but the more I get used to the speed, the more my muscles relax. I battle the wind, the slight brush of rain that litters my helmet, and push myself further, shedding the fear that threatens to hold me back. Not all of it – fear in the face of danger means survival – but enough to give me an edge.

Enough to beat my record.

"There you go, a new record," Sam says when I get to him, but his voice lacks the pride that Tyler's would have whenever I achieved something. My heart pangs, a sudden reminder of the hole in my chest. I've gotten so good at ignoring his absence that it feels like a shock to the system.

"Now go and hit the steam room," he says. "Your legs will thank you for it tomorrow."

Relieved, I turn to leave just as Tyler walks over, but he doesn't look at me, it's Sam his eyes are focused on. Sam smirks a little – the kind that would send anyone over the edge – and crosses his arms. "Can we help you, Wakeford?"

Tyler's eyes darken before he takes a step closer. "You're pushing her too hard."

Hearing the hardness of his voice surprises me. Not because he's wrong, but because I'd started to think he no longer cares. And yet right now, towering over Sam like he's about to start a fistfight, he most certainly looks like he does.

Sam's face lines with amusement. He's almost seemed normal our last few sessions, focused only on what I need to do to improve, but now the real him is back with a vengeance. "Maybe you weren't pushing hard enough."

The blow of his words is instant. Tyler stills, eyes narrowed as the muscles in his jaw contract. Briefly, he drops his gaze to look at me, the hurt behind his eyes unmistakable. "Training with him is a mistake, sirenita."

A shiver runs through me. I can't take being called sirenita right now, not when things are like this between us. We're standing so close, but we couldn't feel further apart. I open my mouth to say something back, then hesitate, because what I really want to say is that his quitting as my trainer was a mistake. His choosing to walk away was a mistake. His hot and cold attitude ever since was a mistake.