HOLDEN

I pulled my bike to a stop, just outside the garage. The roar of the engine died as I clicked off the ignition. Sweat dripped down my face, matting my hair beneath the helmet as the scorching heat of the track clung to me. I ripped off my helmet, letting the heavy air hit my flushed skin. My eyes flickered up to the team's monitor, scanning the leaderboard. Second.

I sighed, more out of frustration than disappointment. Second place wasn't the issue - it was the name above mine. Weston Garcia. The name that always seemed to come out on top when it mattered. We'd been locked in a personal battle for as long as I could remember, each of us driven by a relentless need to outperform the other. He was always the guy I wanted, needed, to beat. My crew patted my back as I made my way to the back of the garage. 

“Good job.” They said, but I barely registered it. 

My mind was still on Weston, the rivalry boiling beneath the surface. I unzipped my race suit halfway, letting it hang around my waist as I reached for my water bottle. The cold water was a relief as I gulped it through the straw, trying to cool my overheated body. 

Jason sauntered up, an ice pack resting on the back of his neck. 

“Bloody heat's unbearable.” He said, wiping sweat off his brow. 

I nodded in agreement, catching my breath. We exchanged a few words about the session, mostly talking about the conditions and tyre choices, before Jason got called away by a member of the crew. 

As soon as Jason left, I leaned back in my seat, tipping my head against the wall and letting my eyes wander. That's when I spotted her. Harmony. She stood a few feet away, deep in conversation with one of the mechanics. My gaze lingered, tracing the lines of her legs, the same ones that were wrapped around my waist last night, and admired the way her skirt hugged her figure just right. A smirk tugged at my lips. She was something else, and after last night's exchange, I couldn't help but be drawn to her even more. 

As if sensing eyes on her, she turned, her gaze snapping directly to me. I raised a hand, giving her a slow wave with just my fingers, the smirk never leaving my face. She rolled her eyes, as if unimpressed, but I didn't miss the flush creeping across her cheeks. Even from a distance, I could see the way her blush betrayed her. I chuckled to myself, watching as she turned back to the conversation. I didn't mind, more than willing to see how long she could pretend she wasn't interested. 

I strode toward the garage, the familiar buzz of the paddock surrounding me. Before I could make it through, the media swarmed in, cutting off my path. Microphones and cameras were thrust in my face, reporters firing off rapid questions about the upcoming sprint race. I sighed, forcing a smile as I gave short responses. Sprint races were a constant thorn in my side. They didn't suit my riding style, and had cost me valuable points in the championship. But I needed to focus today, more than ever. Between the flashing cameras, my eyes drifted, and that's when I saw her. Harmony. But she wasn't alone. Standing next to her, too close for comfort, was Weston Garcia. They were deep in conversation, his expression serious, and my stomach tightened. What the fuck is she doing talking to him?

I signed a few things for the fans, offering them a strained smile, before excusing myself from the press. My eyes stayed on Harmony and Weston as I slipped into the paddock, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in my chest. I dropped into my seat with a frustrated sigh. Running my fingers through my hair, I closed my eyes in an attempt to shake off the growing irritation. Jason walked past, and I was grateful for the distraction. 

“Are you ready for today?” He asked. 

I shrugged, never happy for a sprint race, especially with the question hanging on the tip of my tongue. 

“I saw your sister talking to Weston.” 

Jason's brows pulled together before realization hit him. He shifted his weight to his left foot, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That's because he's her ex.” 

I felt blood rush to my head, my jaw clenching as the words sank in. Ex. I gripped the edge of my seat, angry at the thought of her with him of all people. Jason shrugged, unaware of the storm brewing in my mind, before he left to prepare for the race. 

This wasn't just about racing anymore. 

My lips curved into a smirk as a plan began to form. This was something I could use to get under his skin. I leaned back in my seat, a new kind of fire burning inside me. This race wasn't just about points anymore - it was personal. 

I sat on my bike, heart pounding as we settled into our positions on the starting grid. Twelfth. I cursed under my breath, eyes flicking up to the front of the grid where Weston sat in first. I fucked up my qualifying. My gloved hand rubbed the side of my bike - a habit for good luck - before I leaned down and revved the engine, feeling the machine roar beneath me. My heart raced in tandem with the throbbing hum.

The world around me shrank, the noise of the crowd, the other bikes, everything faded as I focused on the lights ahead. Seconds dragged, my pulse loud in my ears. Then finally, the lights turned green. 

We all shot forward, the deafening sound of engines roaring to life as we tore down the track. I surged ahead, weaving through the chaos of the pack, trying not to collide with anyone. I pushed harder, managing to claw my way up a few positions by the first corner. My lips twisted into a grin beneath my helmet - I was getting closer to Weston. 

Lap after lap, I narrowed the gap. Each time we'd hit the straights, I'd inch closer, the temptation of overtaking as Weston's bike gleamed before me. But every time I tried to catch some slipstream, Weston blocked me. My frustration grew with each failed attempt, my anger bubbling beneath the surface. 

On the final lap, I saw an opening. I dove into the turn, pushing past Weston with every ounce of aggression I could muster. For a moment, I got the upper hand, but the celebration was short lived. I went wide, too wide, and before I could correct it, he slipped through the gap, reclaiming the lead. And there was only one corner left. I cursed violently as he crossed the checkered flag first, slamming my fist against the side of my bike. My breath came hard and fast as I slowed my bike down. 

I waved at the crowd as I made my way to parc fermé, knowing I had to keep up appearances despite the disappointment gnawing at me. Second place wasn't terrible, considering I started twelfth, but it wasn't enough. I had to win tomorrow.