Chapter 9: Breaking Point

Sunday morning crept in slow and heavy, the desert sky bruised with clouds that refused to break. Tessa pulled into the track at 6:45 AM, her pickup's engine rattling like her nerves. The star keychain sat in her jacket pocket, a small weight she couldn't ignore. She'd barely slept—dreams of skidding tires and Julian's voice tangling with the reality of cut brake lines and faceless enemies. Today felt different, like the air itself was holding its breath.The pit was quieter than usual, a skeleton crew milling around—most riders off for the weekend, leaving just the diehards. Her ZX-10R gleamed under the canopy, locked tight, and Pete gave her a nervous nod as she approached. Julian was there too, leaning against a workbench, his black jacket swapped for a gray hoodie that made him look younger, less guarded. He was on the phone, voice low and sharp, but he hung up when he saw her, his green eyes locking on hers."You're early," he said, pushing off the bench. "Couldn't sleep?""Something like that," she replied, dropping her bag. She pulled the keychain out, tossing it onto the bench between them. "Kept me up. You?"He glanced at it, then back at her, a flicker of something—surprise, maybe—crossing his face. "Same. Sponsors are meeting again today. Want a progress report."She snorted, pulling on her gloves. "What, they need a babysitter now?""They need reassurance," he said, grabbing his clipboard. "You're giving it to 'em. Full run today—race sim, start to finish. Show me 1:42 again.""Bossy," she muttered, but a smirk tugged at her lips. She strapped on her helmet, the familiar weight settling her. "Let's do it."The track was hers alone, a rare solitude that let her breathe. Tessa tore through the laps, the ZX-10R a live wire under her hands. The wind howled, the asphalt blurred, and she hit 1:42 on the third run—then 1:41 on the fifth. Her body ached, her focus razor-sharp, and every turn was a middle finger to the doubters, the saboteurs, the shadows. Julian's voice stayed with her, steady in her earpiece: "Perfect line, Kane. Keep it tight." She did, pushing past exhaustion, and by the tenth lap, she was flying.She rolled into the pit at 11:30, sweat-soaked and grinning, her helmet dangling from her hand. Julian was there, stopwatch in one hand, a rare spark in his eyes. "1:41 consistent," he said, voice low but alive. "You're unreal.""Damn right," she replied, chugging water. Her legs shook, but the high drowned it out. She caught him staring—not at her time, at her—and it hit her like a spark. "What?"He stepped closer, close enough she could smell the faint cedar on him. "You're not just good, Tessa. You're the best I've seen. And I've seen a lot."Her breath hitched, his use of her first name a jolt. "Don't get soft on me, Voss," she said, but her voice was softer too, betraying her."Too late," he murmured, and the air shifted—charged, heavy, a line they'd been toeing all week. She didn't move, didn't blink, and neither did he.Pete's cough broke it, the mechanic shuffling over with a wrench. "Uh, boss—sponsors are here. Early again."Julian's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Give us a minute." Pete scurried off, and Julian turned back to her. "They'll see this. They'll know."She smirked, masking the heat in her chest. "Better hope they brought their checkbooks."The sponsors—Tom Hargrove and his polo-clad posse—watched from the stands as Tessa ran another sim. She hit 1:41 again, then 1:40 on the final lap, the bike screaming under her. The crowd was small but vocal—mechanics cheering, Pete whooping—and when she pulled in, Tom approached, his expression grudgingly impressed."Alright, Voss," he said, clapping Julian on the shoulder. "She's got it. But we're still watching. No more screw-ups.""No more needed," Julian replied, his tone cool but firm. "She's your winner."Tom nodded, the group dispersing, and Tessa let out a breath. "That it? I'm in?""You're in," Julian said, turning to her. "Told you they'd see it."She grinned, real and unguarded. "Guess you're not full of shit after all.""Not about you," he said, and there it was again—that look, that pull. She shoved it down, grabbing her towel.The afternoon was lighter—tune-ups, cooldown laps—but the energy lingered. Tessa stayed late, tweaking her bike with Pete, while Julian handled calls nearby. The sun dipped low, painting the track gold, and she caught herself watching him—his focus, his quiet strength. It was dangerous, how easy he was to be around now, how he fit into her rhythm.He found her at dusk, leaning against her bike, the keychain back in her hand. "You kept it," he said, nodding at it."Figured it's good for something," she replied, twirling it. "Luck or not."He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "You don't need luck, Tessa. You've got everything else."Her pulse kicked up, his nearness a live wire. "Yeah? Like what?""Guts," he said, eyes locked on hers. "Fire. A hell of a fight. Stuff I—" He stopped, exhaling hard. "Stuff I don't see often."She swallowed, the air thick between them. "You're not so bad yourself," she admitted, low and rough. "For a suit."He laughed, a sound that broke the tension but didn't erase it. "High praise."They stood there, inches apart, the desert wind tugging at her hair. She could've stepped back, could've shut it down, but she didn't. Neither did he. Then his radio crackled—Marcus, barking about a meeting—and the moment snapped."Tomorrow," he said, stepping away. "7 AM. Don't be late.""Never am," she lied, and he smirked, walking off.That night, Tessa hit the bar again, but it wasn't enough. She climbed to her fire escape, the city sprawling below, and gripped the keychain like a lifeline. Julian was in her head—his words, his faith, the way he'd said her name. Tessa. Not Kane, not rider—just her. It scared her, how much she liked it, how much she wanted to lean into it. She'd built her life alone, but he was carving a space she hadn't meant to leave open.Julian didn't go home either. He stayed at the track, running laps under the floodlights, the black ZX-10R a shadow against the night. Tessa was everywhere—her grin, her fire, the way she'd looked at him, unguarded for once. He'd meant to keep her a partner, a piece of his plan, but she was more now—too much, too fast. He'd given her the keychain on impulse, a crack in his control, and she'd kept it. That meant something, and it terrified him.He stopped, helmet off, staring at the empty stands. His father's voice crept in—You'll lose it all, kid. Always do. He'd fought that ghost for years, built an empire to silence it. Tessa was his risk, his shot, and now—damn it—his weakness. He couldn't pull back, not with the race five weeks out, not with her burning through his walls.Tessa didn't sleep well again. She woke at 4 AM, the keychain in her fist, and paced her apartment. The sabotage, the sponsors, Julian—they swirled in her head, a storm she couldn't outrun. She didn't need him, didn't need anyone—but she wanted him there, and that was a breaking point she hadn't seen coming.At the same time, Julian stood on his balcony, the city glittering below. Tessa Kane was his wildcard, his fire, and he was falling—hard, fast, against every rule he'd set. The race was his legacy, but she was his heart, and he didn't know how to hold both without breaking.