Too quiet.
I’m bent over my bike, my hands covered in grease, the smell of oil and metal filling my lungs.
It’s the only place I feel like myself anymore.
The only place where everything makes sense.
The engine hums beneath my fingers, and I lose myself in the rhythm of fixing something broken.
But I can’t focus.
My mind keeps drifting back to Aitana.
To the way she’s been fading these past few weeks.
To the way her eyes have lost their fire.
I’m tightening a bolt when I hear footsteps behind me.
Soft and light.
I stop what I’m doing and turn around.
It’s Aitana.
She’s carrying some scraps and a leather piece, her dark curls pulled back in a messy bun.
Her blue eyes are tired, hollow.
She doesn’t even look at me.
She just walks to her bike and starts working, like I’m not even here.
I feel something twist in my chest.
She’s been avoiding me.
Ever since her new family moved in, she’s been pulling away from everyone.
Especially me.
I wipe my hands on a rag and walk toward her.
I want to annoy her.
I want to push her buttons.
I want to see some fire in those eyes, anything that proves she’s still in there.
“Hey, chunk chunk,” I say, forcing a grin.
“You look like someone ran over your cat.
What’s wrong?
Too much princess work?” She doesn’t look up.
She just keeps working.
“Not now, Leo,” she mutters.
“Come on,” I press, stepping closer.
“You’re never this quiet.
It’s creepy.
At least tell me what’s wrong so I can make fun of you for it.” She finally looks at me, and I see something flicker in her eyes.
Anger.
Frustration.
The fire I’ve been looking for.
“Can you just leave me alone?” she snaps.
“For once in your life?” I grin.
There she is.
That’s the Aitana I know.
“See?
That wasn’t so hard,” I say.
“Now you’re back to your annoying self.” She rolls her eyes and turns back to her bike.
But I see the corner of her mouth twitch.
Almost a smile.
“Go away, Leo.” “Make me.” She’s about to say something when I hear footsteps again.
Lighter this time.
Daintier.
A sweet voice floats through the air, soft and innocent.
“Hi, Leo.” I don’t have to turn around.
I know who it is.
Elena.
I hear Aitana sigh beside me, and I feel her shoulders tense.
Elena walks into the garage, her wild curly hair bouncing with every step.
She’s wearing paint-stained jeans and a loose shirt, like she’s been creating something beautiful again.
Her hazel green eyes are wide and innocent, watching me like I’m something she wants to study.
“Elena,” I say, my voice flat.
“What are you doing down here?” She smiles, sweet and harmless.
“I was hoping I could talk to you both.
I have a question.” I glance at Aitana.
She’s staring at Elena, her expression unreadable.
“What kind of question?” I ask.
Elena steps closer, her eyes flickering between me and Aitana.
She seems nervous, fidgeting with her hands.
“I want to learn how to ride,” she says.
“I want to race.
And I was hoping Aitana could teach me.” I stare at her.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“You want to race?” I repeat, my voice flat.
“You, who has never been on a bike in her life, want to race?” She nods, her eyes bright and determined.
“Yes.
I know it’s crazy.
I know I have no experience.
But I want to try.
I want to feel what it’s like.
And Aitana is the best rider I know.” I look at Aitana.
She’s staring at Elena with a strange expression.
Surprise.
Curiosity.
Maybe even a little flattery.
“She’s your step-sister,” I say, turning back to Elena.
“She’s been riding since she could walk.
She’s won races, trained with the best.
You can’t just walk in and expect to keep up with her.” Elena’s smile falters for a moment, but she recovers quickly.
“I know.
That’s why I want her to teach me.
I don’t expect to be as good as her.
I just want to try.” I open my mouth to argue, but Aitana speaks first.
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice calm.
“If she really wants to race, I’ll teach her.” I turn to her, surprised.
“Aitana, are you sure?
She’s never ridden before.
She could get hurt.” “I said it’s fine,” she repeats.
“It’s just a simple race.
She’ll learn the basics.
It’ll be fun.” I look at her, and I see something in her eyes.
Something I haven’t seen in weeks.
A flicker of life.
A glimmer of the girl she used to be.
I want to argue.
I want to tell her this is a bad idea.
But I don’t.
I just nod and step back.
“Fine,” I say.
“But if she crashes, don’t come crying to me.” — Aitana’s Point of View — I’ve been so bored lately.
So lonely.
My days have blurred into a haze of sadness and isolation.
My father barely looks at me anymore.
My friends seem distant, always laughing with Elena.
I feel like I’m disappearing, like I’m becoming invisible.
So when Elena asked me to teach her how to ride, something inside me woke up.
Maybe it was the prospect of doing something fun.
Maybe it was the chance to feel useful again.
Maybe it was just the distraction I desperately needed.
“Alright,” I say, walking to my bike.
“I’ll teach you the basics.
But don’t expect to be racing like a pro in one day.” Elena grins, her eyes bright.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” We start with the basics.
How to stand, how to balance, how to hold the handlebars.
She’s clumsy at first, her movements awkward and uncertain.
She almost drops the bike twice.
But she doesn’t give up.
Slowly, she starts to get the hang of it.
She finds her balance.
She stops wobbling.
She even manages to ride in a straight line.
“Good,” I say, trying to hide my surprise.
“You’re a fast learner.” She beams at me.
“Really?
You think so?” “Yeah,” I say.
“You’re still terrible, but less terrible than before.” She laughs, and for a moment, I almost forget how much I’ve been hurting.
“Let’s race,” she says, her voice full of excitement.
“Race?” I raise an eyebrow.
“You’ve only been riding for an hour.
You’re not ready to race.” “Please?” she begs, her eyes wide and pleading.
“Just once.
Just to see what it feels like.” I hesitate.
I know it’s a bad idea.
But I see the hope in her eyes, and I remember what it was like to be new and excited and full of dreams.
“Fine,” I say.
“But we’re going slow.
And you stay close to me.” She nods vigorously.
“Okay.
Okay, I will.” We get on our bikes and line up.
She’s on a small, stable bike I borrowed from the garage.
I’m on La Venganza, my masterpiece.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready!” she says, her voice shaking with excitement.
We take off.
I go easy on her, letting her set the pace.
She’s wobbly but determined, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
I almost smile.
This feels good.
This feels like the old days.
We ride for a while, and she’s actually keeping up.
I’m proud of her.
“Not bad!” I call out.
“You’re—” “Let’s switch bikes,” she interrupts, her voice breathless.
“I want to try yours.
Please, Aitana?” I feel my stomach drop.
La Venganza is mine.
My mother gave it to me when I was five.
It was her gift, her love, her memory.
I’ve never let anyone else ride it.
Not even Leo.
“Elena,” I say, my voice tight.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Please?” she begs, her hazel eyes wide and imploring.
“Just once.
Just for a second.
I promise I’ll be careful.” I hesitate.
I’m about to say no.
I’m about to tell her to drop it.
But then I see her face.
The hope in her eyes.
The way she’s practically glowing.
It’s just a bike, I tell myself.
It’s just metal and rubber.
It’s not like she’s going to crash it.
“Fine,” I say, my voice resigned.
“But be careful.” She practically squeals with excitement.
We pull over and switch bikes.
I climb onto her small bike, and it feels wrong.
Awkward.
It’s not mine.
It’s not my mother’s.
Elena straddles La Venganza, her hands gripping the handlebars.
She looks so small on it, so uncertain.
She revs the engine, and the sound is familiar and strange at the same time.
“Alright,” she says, her voice trembling.
“Let’s go!” She takes off, faster than I expected.
Her form is sloppy, her movements jerky and unsteady.
“Slow down!” I shout, but the wind carries my words away.
I watch in horror as she loses control.
The bike wobbles.
She tries to correct it.
She overcorrects.
And then she crashes.
The bike skids across the asphalt, sparks flying.
Elena is thrown off, tumbling across the ground like a discarded doll.
She lands in a heap, unmoving.
“ELENA!” I scream, running toward her.
My heart is pounding.
My hands are shaking.
I’m terrified, horrified, praying she’s alive.
I reach her and fall to my knees.
She’s on her side, her eyes closed.
Blood trickles down her forehead.
Her arm is bent at an unnatural angle.
“Someone help!” I scream.
“HELP!” The world dissolves into chaos.
People come running, shouting, screaming.
My father pushes through the crowd, his face pale with shock and anger.
He sees Elena on the ground.
He sees La Venganza, crumpled and broken.
And then he looks at me.
His face twists into something I’ve never seen before.
Rage.
Disappointment.
Disgust.
“What did you do?” he roars, his voice echoing in my ears.
“I-I didn’t—” I stammer.
“She wanted to switch, I didn’t think—” “You didn’t think?” he yells, his face red with fury.
“You let her ride your bike, and now she’s lying in a pool of blood!
Are you trying to destroy this family?
Are you trying to destroy everything I’ve built?” I can’t breathe.
I can’t speak.
I just stare at him, my eyes wide and wet with tears.
Everyone is watching.
My childhood friends.
The club members.
Leo.
My father never yells at me.
He’s never spoken to me like this.
And now he’s doing it in front of everyone.
“Get out of my sight,” he hisses.
“I don’t want to see your face right now.” I feel like I’ve been slapped.
I stumble backward, my legs weak and trembling.
I look at my friends.
Diego is staring at the ground.
Sofia’s eyes are filled with pity.
Carmen looks torn, like she wants to defend me but can’t find the words.
And Leo.
He’s watching me, his jaw tight.
His eyes are filled with something I can’t read.
Say something, I beg him silently.
Defend me.
Please.
Someone defend me.
But he says nothing.
He just stands there, frozen, like a coward.
I feel my heart shatter into a thousand pieces.
I turn and run.
I run out of the garage, out of the clubhouse, out into the street.
I don’t know where I’m going.
I don’t care.
I just need to get away from all of them.
The tears are streaming down my face, hot and fast and uncontrollable.
I should have known better.
I should have trusted my instincts.
But I didn’t.
And now I’m paying the price.
— Leo’s — I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
I stand there, frozen, watching Aitana run away.
Her cries echo in my ears, and I want to chase after her.
I want to hold her.
I want to tell her it’s not her fault.
But I don’t move.
I can’t.
My legs are rooted to the ground, my voice locked in my throat.
I see Rafael scolding her, shouting at her like she’s a criminal.
I see her face crumble, her eyes fill with tears.
I see her look at me, begging for help, for defense, for anything.
And I say nothing.
I stand there like a statue, watching her break, watching her run, watching her disappear.
Why didn’t I say something?
I think my mind is racing.
Why didn’t I defend her?
But I know why.
My father’s voice echoes in my head, cold and sharp.
“Weakness is a disease, Leo.
It eats you from the inside out until you’re nothing.
Don’t show weakness.
Don’t show emotion.
That’s how they get you.” I was taught to stay silent.
I was taught to hide my feelings.
I was taught that caring makes you weak.
And so I stayed silent.
I watch Rafael help Elena to her feet.
Her arm is broken, her forehead bleeding, but she’s alive.
She’s crying, whimpering in pain.
“Get her to the hospital,” Rafael barks.
“Now.” The crowd disperses, and I’m left standing in the middle of the garage, surrounded by the smell of oil and blood.
I look at the bike.
La Venganza.
Aitana’s bike.
It’s crumpled and broken, like her spirit.
She trusted Elena, I think.
She was trying to be nice.
She was trying to be a good sister.
And I did nothing to protect her.
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
The anger rises inside me, hot and bitter.
I should have defended her.
I should have told Rafael that it wasn’t her fault.
I should have told him that Elena begged to switch bikes, that Aitana was just trying to be kind.
But I didn’t.
I stayed silent.
And silence, I learned, is a coward’s only weapon.
I walk to my bike and stare at it.
The engine hums beneath my hands, and I think about Aitana.
About the fire in her eyes.
About the way she used to fight back.
I think about the look on her face when I didn’t speak.
The betrayal.
The hurt.
I think about how I failed her.
I’m sorry, Aitana, I whisper into the empty garage.
I’m so sorry.
But she’s not there to hear me.
And I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.