Page 56 of Forever Wild

I shake my head, holding up my palm.

“Pass. Talking won’t help the situation any. You’ve made your decision. And I don’t want to stand in the way of you chasing your dreams. You were right—this was always casual, a friends-with-benefits sort of thing. So let’s just leave it at that. I’ll see you downstairs.”

I spin and hurry toward the door, my heart hammering double-time, tears pricking at my lids. The last thing I want is for Colt to see me cry. I’m already embarrassed that I put allmy cards out on the table, only to be rejected. No need to make things worse.

“Trix—wait!” He calls after me, but I jog down the stairs, pretending not to hear. Right now, I want to be alone.

I don’t want to spend one more minute staring at his stupid handsome face, knowing that what I want is just beyond my reach.

CHAPTER 27

COLT

Ididn’t want things to go down like this. I’m not sure what I expected, exactly. But it sure as hell wasn’t this.

The way she looked at me with wide, sad eyes. Like I betrayed her, stabbed her in the chest and twisted the knife for fun.

We had an agreement. If she would have stuck to it, everything would still be fine.

That’s complete bullshit and you know it.

Dammit. Why did things have to get complicated? Danny was right—I shouldn’t have messed with Trix. I had no right to kiss her, touch her, fuck her. Even with all our talk about keeping things casual, I still did the thing I promised myself I wouldn’t do.

I caught feelings for Trixie Lovell.

And I’m pretty certain those feelings are mutual and now we’re both fucked. Because my life’s in L.A. and hers is here. I’m a good-time guy and she’s wife material. She’ll be a great mom and no one even trusts me to dog sit.

We’ll never work long-term, no matter how great the sex is or how easy the conversation flows. How we get each other on a deep level. A level no one’s tried to reach before Trix.

I rev my bike, the vibrations rumbling the leather seat. It’s been a while since I’ve been at the homestead, out here on the trails with my bike. One of the greatest things about my childhood was all the space I had. Space to explore, to run free. That’s how I learned to take calculated risks, which led to my stunt career.

But I’m out of practice after the accident. I need to make sure I can still ride, perform the moves before I fly all the way out to Cali.

Staring through the helmet lens, I visualize the stunt.

Race down the dirt path, cut right, cut left, like an enemy’s chasing me on a bike. He’s gaining speed, so I need to speed up too. Gun it up the ramp and let it rip. Fly up and across, landing on the back wheel and speeding off into the distance. Bad guy loses, good guy wins.

As far as stunts go, this one’s basic. But I have to start somewhere, ease my way back into the gig. My knee aches as I bend and flex, bend and flex, getting ready for my run.

Visualize. Focus. Go.

I kick off, racing down the dirt path. Dust swirls around the bike and I have tunnel vision, ignoring the blur of trees around me as I speed toward the ramp. Leaning to the right, I swerve and cut hard to the side. I execute perfectly, moving back to upright.

Goal one—check.

Continuing straight, I throttle down and cut to the left, streamlining my body with the bike as if I were dodging a bullet.

Goal two—check.

So far, so good. Now for the final leg of the stunt, the jump. I shouldn’t be nervous about jumping the ramp. I’ve done it thousands of times since I was a kid.

But a tiny bit of doubt creeps in, like a weed growing up through the crack in the sidewalk. I busted my knee when I crashed off a bike.

It could happen again. You’re not invincible.

I shove the thought away, pushing it down hard. There’s no room in the stunting business for doubt.

None.

---