Chapter 6: Cracks in the Armor

Thursday morning broke over the track with a haze of heat and tension. Tessa arrived at 6:45 AM, her pickup kicking up dust as she parked. The article still gnawed at her—Stunt Girl or Liability?—a splinter she couldn't pull out. She'd spent the night scrolling X, reading the comments: Reckless. Amateur. Voss's desperation pick. Each one was a jab, but she'd faced worse. She'd prove them wrong on the track, not online. Still, the weight clung to her as she hauled her gear toward the pit.Julian was already there, pacing near the bikes, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low, clipped—angry in a way she hadn't heard before. "Fix it, Claire. I don't care how. No more leaks." He hung up as Tessa approached, his green eyes flicking to her, then away. He looked tired—shadows under his eyes, jaw unshaven—but he straightened, masking it fast."Rough night?" she asked, dropping her bag. She kept her tone light, testing the water."Something like that," he replied, grabbing a clipboard. "You?""Peachy," she lied, pulling on her gloves. "What's the plan today?""Endurance," he said, nodding at the track. "Long runs, full fuel load. See how you hold up under pressure."She smirked, strapping on her helmet. "Pressure's my middle name.""Good," he shot back. "You'll need it."The morning was a grind. Tessa rode for hours, the ZX-10R heavy with a full tank, her body screaming by lap thirty. Julian shadowed her on his own bike, setting a relentless pace—120 miles of turns and straights, no breaks. Sweat soaked her gear, her hands cramping around the grips, but she didn't falter. She couldn't—not with the article out there, not with Elliot's smirk in her head, not with Julian watching.They pulled into the pit at noon, both breathing hard. Tessa yanked off her helmet, her braid unraveling completely, hair sticking to her face. "How'd I do?" she asked, voice rough."1:50 average," he said, checking his stopwatch. "Solid. You're tougher than you look.""Gee, thanks," she muttered, but a grin tugged at her lips. She grabbed a water, chugging it while he scribbled notes. The pit was empty—riders off for lunch, mechanics tinkering elsewhere—and the quiet felt intimate, dangerous.He set the clipboard down, leaning against the workbench. "You see the article?"Her stomach tightened, but she nodded. "Yeah. Bunch of keyboard warriors calling me a fluke.""They're wrong," he said, simple and firm. "You're no fluke."She met his gaze, caught off guard by the certainty in it. "You don't know that. One crash, and they're right.""I know enough," he replied, stepping closer. "I've seen you ride. You've got heart—more than most pros I've met. That's not luck."Her throat tightened, and she looked away, fiddling with her water bottle. "Heart doesn't win races. Skill does.""Bullshit," he said, soft but sharp. "Skill gets you in the game. Heart gets you across the line."She didn't have a comeback, not with him standing there, all intensity and faith she didn't know how to handle. She shrugged, deflecting. "Whatever. Let's just keep going."He studied her a beat longer, then nodded. "After lunch. You've earned it."They ended up at a food truck parked near the track—a greasy taco joint with picnic tables under a tarp. Tessa ordered carnitas, extra salsa, and Julian got the same, surprising her. They sat across from each other, the sun beating down, and for a minute, it was just them—no bikes, no team, no pressure."You eat like this all the time?" she asked, nodding at his taco. "Thought suits lived on kale and protein shakes."He smirked, wiping salsa from his chin. "Not this suit. Grew up on gas station burritos. This is luxury."She laughed, a real one, and it felt good. "Gas station burritos? What, no silver spoon?""Nope," he said, his smile fading. "Dad blew every dime we had at the tables. Mom left when I was eight. I ate what I could scrounge 'til I figured out how to make my own way."Tessa paused, taco halfway to her mouth. She hadn't expected that—Julian Voss, penthouse king, scraping by like she had. "Sounds rough.""It was," he said, eyes on his food. "Taught me control. You don't lose what you don't gamble."She chewed slowly, processing. "My dad was a gambler too. Not cards—booze and fists. Lost everything that way. Mom got me out, though. Taught me to ride, to fight."He looked up, their gazes locking. "She sounds like a hell of a woman.""She was," Tessa said, voice catching. She cleared her throat, pushing it down. "Died five years ago. Cancer. Left me the bike and a pile of bills."Julian nodded, no pity in his eyes—just understanding. "Mine's still out there somewhere. Haven't seen him since I was sixteen. Probably drunk in a ditch.""Better than mine," she said dryly. "He's six feet under. Liver gave out."A beat passed, heavy but not awkward. They'd cracked open something—shared scars, jagged edges—and it shifted the air between them. Not softer, just… realer.The afternoon brought trouble. They were back on the track, running tandem laps, when a black SUV rolled into the lot. Tessa spotted it mid-turn, a flicker of unease cutting through her focus. Julian saw it too—his posture stiffened, and he signaled her to pull in.Elliot Grayson stepped out, flanked by the same two goons from yesterday. He wore a white linen suit today, smug as ever, and waved like they were old friends. "Voss! Got a minute?"Julian dismounted, helmet off, his face a mask of cold fury. "I told you to stay off my track.""Public property 'til race day," Elliot said, grinning. "Thought I'd check on your star." His eyes slid to Tessa, who'd pulled up beside Julian, her own helmet dangling from her hand. "How's the liability doing?""Better than your last investment," she fired back, stepping forward. "Heard it tanked. What was it—crypto scam?"Elliot's grin faltered, but he recovered fast. "Cute. Keep talking, sweetheart. Won't help when you crash again.""Enough," Julian snapped, voice like steel. "You've got no business here. Leave."Elliot raised his hands, mock surrender. "Just a friendly visit. Oh, and a heads-up—heard your sponsors are wobbling. Might want to tighten the leash on your pit crew. Leaks are messy." He winked at Tessa, then sauntered back to the SUV, his goons trailing.Tessa's fists clenched. "He's baiting you.""He's been baiting me for years," Julian said, low and tight. "Ignore him.""Hard to ignore a snake," she muttered, but she let it drop. For now.The day ended late, the sun dipping low as they packed up. Tessa lingered by her bike, wiping it down, her mind churning—Elliot, the leak, Julian's past spilling out over tacos. He was still there too, checking something on his phone, and the quiet stretched until she broke it."Why's he got it out for you?" she asked, not looking up.Julian sighed, pocketing the phone. "Old grudge. We were partners once—started Voss Enterprises together. He wanted fast cash, I wanted stability. Split when I bought him out. He's been nipping at my heels ever since."She nodded, pieces clicking. "So this race—it's personal.""Everything's personal with him," he said, meeting her eyes. "But it's my win, not his."She smirked, tossing the rag aside. "Ours, you mean. I'm the one riding."He stepped closer, a half-smile breaking through. "Yeah. Ours."The word hung there, heavy with something neither named. She turned away, heart thudding, and grabbed her bag. "See you tomorrow.""Bright and early," he called after her, and she felt his gaze on her back all the way to her truck.That night, Tessa sat on her fire escape, the city buzzing below. Julian's story echoed hers—broken homes, hard climbs—and it made him less a suit, more a man. She didn't want that. Didn't want the pull she felt, the way his faith in her chipped at her walls. But it was there, undeniable, and she didn't know what to do with it.Julian, in his penthouse, stared at the skyline, Elliot's words looping in his head. Tighten the leash. Someone was talking—someone close—and it threatened everything. Tessa most of all. He couldn't let her fall, not after today, not after seeing the steel in her, the echo of his own fight. She was his risk, his shot, and maybe—maybe—something more.