Lola POV
I watched him go.
I watched the way his back straightened the second he hit the dirt, the way his arms moved as he gripped the handlebars like it was second nature. The way the corners of his mouth lifted in a way I’d never seen before—not on the court, not even when he made the winning serve, not even when he beat me.
Here, on this track, Jace Reyes looked… happy.
Really happy.
Like nothing else mattered but the wind in his face and the dirt flying beneath his tires.
I would never have guessed this about him. Never in a million years would I think he, the cocky, mysterious, enemy-I-kissed Jace, was a motocross racer. That this was what made him come alive. That this was where he really belonged.
He didn’t need to tell me. It was written all over his face.
I found an old, wobbly chair on the edge of the track and sat down, my hoodie wrapped tightly around me. It creaked under my weight, but I didn’t care. My eyes never left him. I just… watched.
And for once, I didn’t think about regionals. Or Cassian. Or the pressure. Or the scholarship. It was just Jace, in his element, and me, watching something I wasn’t supposed to see.
When he finally pulled over, his bike slowed with a satisfying rumble and stopped right in front of me. He pulled off his helmet, his hair a mess of sweat and wind, and grinned.
“So,” he said, panting slightly, “what do you think?”
“You’re a professional,” I said without hesitation, my voice filled with something close to awe. “Seriously, you’re… amazing. And you love it, don’t you?”
“A lot,” he said quietly, turning the switch and shutting off the engine. The silence that followed felt heavier than the sound.
“More than volleyball?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Yup.”
My eyebrows rose. “Really?”
He nodded once. “Yup.”
“Then why the hell are you still playing volleyball instead of this?”
He leaned on the bike and smirked. “So I can steal that scholarship right from under your nose, Sinclair.”
I let out a scoff, scrunching my face. “Please. We both know who’s getting that scholarship. And her name starts with an S.”
He laughed, a soft, deep chuckle that made my stomach twist in a dangerous way.
He stepped off the bike and ran a hand through his hair. “There’s a motocross competition coming up. In a few weeks. Big one. I’d love to race in it.”
“So do it,” I said instantly. “You should. You’re so good at it.”
He looked down, jaw tight. “I’m not sure I can.”
“What do you mean?”
He met my eyes. “My dad would kill me.”
That made me freeze. I tilted my head. “Your dad?”
It was the first time he’d ever mentioned his family. I realized, all at once, that I didn’t know anything about his world. Not really. He knew everything about mine—about Cassian, about my parents, about why volleyball mattered to me. But Jace? Jace kept his world locked up tighter than a bank vault.
“He’s not really fond of the whole racer thing,” Jace said, his voice light, but his face heavy.
“Why not?” I asked gently. “He should be. You’re incredible out there. Has he ever even come to watch you?”
“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “And he probably never will. He thinks motocross is a waste of time. Dangerous. Stupid. Everything he doesn’t want his son doing.”
My heart squeezed. “But volleyball…?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “That’s his dream. Not mine.”
I blinked at him. This boy who I thought I had figured out. Who always seemed so composed, so in control. But now, I saw something else. A different Jace. One who was still trying to earn love he should’ve had without trying.
I touched his arm lightly. “Jace… you should do what you love. Not what he wants. You don’t owe him your happiness. Don’t be such a people pleaser.”
He gave me a sideways glance, the edge of a smirk forming. “Coming from the girl who literally carries her entire team on her back to make her dead parents proud.”
That hit harder than I expected.
I looked away, biting my lip.
“I actually love volleyball,” I told him after a moment. “It makes me feel closer to them. Every time I hit the ball, I feel like they’re with me.”
Jace didn’t say anything right away. He just nodded slowly, like he understood in ways he didn’t want to admit.
Then, without warning, he stuck his hand out toward me. “Come on. You wanna go for a drive? On the track?”
I looked at his hand. Looked at the dirt. Looked back at him.
Then I smiled.
“Show me the best you got, Reyes.”