Page 112 of Broken Breath
Luc and I follow him without a word, and soon we’re walking down the track next to each other.
Not ten minutes in, my boot slips on a patch of loose dirt, and Mason’s hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my elbow to steady me. His eyes flick to mine, checking in without a word. I nod, a quickyeah, I’m fine.
He doesn’t release me immediately, which is apparently a problem, because Luc veers closer and bumps Mason’s shoulder. “Must be wild, watching everyone pass you by. First the teams, now the rookies.”
Mason doesn’t even blink, and I’m surprised he even bothers with an answer when he quips, “Says the guy who got beat by said rookie last weekend.”
Luc stops walking and turns, already stepping into Mason’s space with fists clenched and jaw tight. “You’re lucky my child is on you right now.”
I throw an arm out between them. “Officials. Are.Everywhere,” I hiss out. “Can we not get disqualified before we’ve even made it to race day?”
“Haven’t I told you to stop fucking fighting my battles for me?” Mason doesn’t take his eyes off Luc when he’s answering me.
“Right.” Luc grins his shitty little grin. “Let the Pretty Boy fight me. We’ve got years of practice.”
“Guys!” I shove between them harder this time. “If you two want to lose again, go for it. But I’m not. I’m not going to fucking lose to Raine.”
That lands.
Because just ahead, a little farther down the trail, Isaac Raine is squatting near a set of roots, one hand pointing, his line spotter nodding beside him. He’s smiling smugly like he already owns the podium. As if he feels my eyes burning holes in him, he looks our way and smirks.
God,I want to punch him.
And now that Mason has shown me how to actually throw one, I’m one smug smirk away from testing my form on Isaac’s face.
Luc goes silent, and Mason’s mouth sets into a grim line. I can practically feel the shift that just happened. We fall into step again, quieter this time, focused, because for all the shit between us, none of us is willing to hand Raine another win.
We’ve got a mountain to conquer.
And a fucking score to settle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Alaina
The cold shower doesn’t soothe the agony.
It never really does, but I keep hoping the next shower will be the magic one—the miracle rinse that resets my system, eases the ache clawing up my spine, and doesn’t feel like I’m being waterboarded by my own choices.
No such luck.
By the time I step out, my skin is clammy, my teeth are chattering, and the stabbing pain in my hip has invited a few new friends to the party,including my lower back and the lower left quadrant of my entire goddamn life. It’s like my body is trying to stage a mutiny one vertebra at a time.
I mechanically dry off and go through the motions of putting on boxers, socks rolled and stuffed where they need to be, and the binder cinched tight. I pull on a clean hoodie and the softest pair of sweatpants I own. They hang low on my hips, which helps, but also makes me feel weirdly exposed.
Pushing open the bathroom door, I step out with a pained groan.
“You all right? You’re all… white.”
I squint at Dane, trying to work out if I heard that right. “Rich, coming from you.”
He looks like a ghost who lost a fight against germs. He’s still coughing and sniffling, but sitting up now, which is an improvement from the human pile of blankets he was yesterday. His hair is a mess, eyes red-rimmed and bleary.
“I’m worried.”
I roll my eyes and brush past him toward the kitchenette, every step a battle. “Yeah, I know. You’re worried all the fucking time.”
Another stab of pain spears through my lower abdomen, and I grab the counter for support, holding my breath until it passes.
