Page 23 of Beautiful Collide

In an instant, the fire returns to her eyes, and she’s back to her snarky self.

Molly leans a hip against a locker, her brows pulled together in mock concern. “I mean, I’m sure the team will totally understand. It’s not like you have a history of this or anything.”

I let out a sharp breath, running a hand through my hair. “You really live for this, don’t you?”

“What can I say?” She tilts her head, shrugging. “You’re easy to mess with.”

I shake my head and turn my back on her. I have no interest in dealing with her after the day I’ve had. Instead, I head out the door, determined to beeline straight to my car.

“Drive safe, Wilde,” she calls after me, her words echoing in the empty room.

With my luck, Hex just cursed me, and I’ll end up in the middle of a ten-car pileup by the end of the night.

Molly stays behind. She can lock up. Or maybe someone from the cleaning crew will.

Not my problem.

I storm into the parking lot, shoving my bag into the Mustang’s trunk with more force than necessary. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I place the key in the ignition and turn.

Nothing happens.

No big deal.

This happens.

It’s an older Mustang. A classic. My first purchase after I signed with the team.

The only problem with it? Sometimes the ignition is temperamental. Like most beautiful girls in my life, she came with a temper.

“Come on,” I mutter, love tapping the steering wheel.

I turn the key again, and the engine doesn’t so much as sputter this time. It’s obvious something is wrong, and my biggest fear comes true.

The battery is dead, and so am I.

I slam my hands against the steering wheel, leaning back against the headrest as my frustration boils over. Of course, the battery’s dead. Because why wouldn’t it be?

I’m fucked.

Unless . . .

Nope.

That’s off the table. Never in a million years.

I palm my phone, debating whether to call someone for help. But who? I don’t know anyone in Redville. Everyone Idoknow is on that flight, halfway to the next city, and I’d rather eat my stick shift than run back into the arena and beg Molly for a favor.

But I need to get to the game, and the flights are booked. I checked on my way here. Shit. Maybe I can rent a car in time. The hotel is not that far, only five and a half hours away. Close enough that Coach won’t even miss me. As long as I’m there tomorrow . . .

I check all the rentals in the area. Nothing is available. Fuck.

In my periphery, I spot Molly strolling to her car, her key swinging around her finger on a chain.

With a groan, I drop my head back against the seat.

This day can’t possibly get any worse.

But knowing my luck? It probably will.

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