I took the bike. Something was up with Simon. He seemed . . . annoyed. Testy. So not like his usual chill self. “Where’s Jamie?”

“He’s up ahead. We got split up.”

Simon stopped and looked at me, frustration creasing his eyebrows. “I know he’s competitive, but he left you behind on the trail?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I stopped to help this girl, and we didn’t both need to be there. I told him to go ahead.”

“Just because you told him to doesn’t mean he should have.” His shoulders were tense, the veins in his arms standing out as he crouched down and wrestled the new tube into the tire. He literally looked like he wanted to break something. “I mean, there’s friendly competition and then there’s downright rudeness. Sometimes I wonder where Jamie actually falls.”

Something big was going on inside Simon’s brain. That much was perfectly clear. I’d never seen him so perturbed. I reached out and touched his arm. “Simon.”

He stilled under my touch, his jaw clenched.

“What’s wrong?”

He sank back onto his heels, stewing in silence for a long moment before finally shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Forget what I said, all right?”

“I don’t care about what you said. I want to know if you’re okay.”

He kept his eyes down as he continued to work on the bike. “It doesn’t matter.” He pulled out a CO2 compressor and filled the replacement bike tube, then shoved everything back into the repair kit. “There.” His words were sharp, each syllable punching the air with its own tiny burst of force. “Now it’s fixed, and you and Jamie can ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.” The disdain in his voice was almost tangible.

“Simon. Stop and tell me what’s wrong.”

He turned his back, running his hands over his face before resting them on his hips. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath, his entire body rigid with anger I had no way of explaining. Finally, he gave his head another weary shake, turning only enough for me to hear his voice. “I’m sorry, Lane. This isn’t your fault. Just . . . bad timing. Please forget I said anything. Your bike is good to go.”

I took a step forward, wanting to reach out, touch him again, do something to ease the tension in his face. I wanted to fix him. Make him feel better. Make whatever was wrecking his insides disappear as quickly as humanly possible. But Simon wasn’t mine to fix, and remembering as much gave me pause.

I stopped in my tracks, wrapping my arms around myself, my hands tucked under my arms—my only defense against any errant touching. “I’m not leaving you like this. Not unless you tell me what’s going on.”