Page 59 of Fallen Crown

I shake my head, and I’m so tempted to let loose with exactly how much training Tucker has been doing with me that none of them know anything about. Doing that would betray her trust, I’m sure of it. If she wanted them to know, she’d have told one of them by now. With the way Wren is looking at me, I wonder if she does know.

“She’s a competitor,” I say. “She could do it. You both know that.”

“She was…” Wren purses her lips and glances in Riker’s direction. “It’s taken her a long time to recover from the accident she had during the last competition. She’s said she no longer wants to race.”

That doesn’t feel honest or truthful. It’s possible that racing again scares her, but I find it hard to believe she’d never want to race again. To me, she seems happiest when she’s training, and racing is a natural extension of that.

“Has anyone asked her what she wants?” Even uttering that question makes me feel like a hypocrite because I’ve been pursuing her, whether or not I’ve called it that, for months.

“She’s told us,” Riker says. “Asking her puts pressure on her to go against what she wants, especially in this situation.”

I sink into one of the waiting room chairs. For the last six months, I’ve been training, attending fundraisers, doing interviews, putting my life with my father on blast to drum up money for the Alzheimer’s Society. In the last few weeks, one of the only things keeping me going has been the training. This goal—finish the race, prove to Maren and everyone else that putting me on the team was a win for everyone—has been a beacon of light. All the money we’d have raised during the show to find a cure, slow down the process, or discover earlier interventions will never materialize.

To get this far and throw in the towel because they’re afraid Tucker can’t take a little pressure is beyond ridiculous. They might think they know her, but I know her too.

She’s capable of saying no to me. She’s been doing it in one way or another for months.

“You don’t know the full story,” Wren says to me. “Don’t ask her. I know what you’re thinking, and don’t do it.”

That’s where she’s wrong. I do know the whole story. The accident. The miscarriage. The antidepressants. The missing husband. All the terrible things that came out of one mistake.

But I also know about her drive and her determination. I understand that when things get hard for Tucker, she finds some well to tap into that allows her to keep going, even when other people would give up or give in.

To allow one mistake, a mistake she made with good intentions, to steer the course of the rest of her life doesn’t feel like a Tucker-level decision. It feels like a knee-jerk one, a choice made under duress or when she was at her lowest. She’s not there anymore, or I don’t think she is.

Whatever Wren might think, asking Tucker the question is the right thing to do.

Tucker returns through the door that leads to the curtained emergency room cubicles, and she’s pale. “Definitely his ACL,” she says. “He’s out. I’ll call the race committee and InterFlix to let them know we won’t be competing.”

I rise to my feet, and when I open my mouth, Wren shoots me a glare. Riker rises with me, and for the first time in a long time, I’m sure neither of them is on my side. It’s a strange feeling to be on the outside for the second time in months after being treated as an equal.

Fine. They don’t want me to say anything, I won’t. Not here. But I’m not letting this go.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Maren

In my apartment, I stare out at the dark ocean, lit only by the streetlights along the boardwalk, and I toy with my bottle of antidepressants. A few months ago, I scaled back my dose with my doctor. Lately, I’ve been thinking of weaning myself off them completely. My doctor said I could, but she recommended we not do that until after I get back from Fiji. At the time, she thought I was going as a crew member. There’s a huge difference between being the one traveling to each base camp, keeping track of equipment and clothes, and being on the racecourse. She thought the atmosphere of the race might trigger me and cause a backslide. I can’t decide if everyone else is right to be worried or if they’re overreacting.

The only thing I’m certain of is that I can’t slide into those feelings again. I’m not sure I’d survive it a second time.

But I think I’ll be okay, at least on the racecourse. You only get the news I received once in a lifetime, and I’ve started to accept what my future will hold. Or not hold.

The knock on my door so late at night startles me out of my thoughts, and I set the pills on the coffee table. There are only a few people who’d dare come to my apartment so late, and when I check the peephole, my heart kicks.

I draw the door open, but I lean against the frame, not giving Brice access to my apartment. Jag stands a little distance behind him.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“You could, if you wanted to. Depends on who I’m talking to. Is it just Maren home or is Tucker here too?”

“You’re insufferable,” I say.

“Sounds like Maren.” He tries to peer around me. “Tucker has to be in there somewhere.”

“Come search for yourself.” I step back and let him enter the apartment. “Perhaps you can dig her up.”

“You’ve buried her, have you?” Brice cocks his eyebrows, but as soon as he’s in, he goes to the window to stare out at the dark view.