Page 35 of Twisted Trails
Ididsleep in it and am still wearing it. I only took it off to shower, because it’s warm and it feels weirdly safe, and I hate how much Idon’twant to take it off. Dad gave me a look when I came back in it from the hospital, but didn’t say anything to me, just arched a brow and muttered something about“interesting color choices”before going back to his coffee.
Am I being flirted with?
Or is this just Delacroix’s natural level of French chaos?
Fuck it, I’ll just ask him.
Do you always flirt with people you threaten to murder?
Luc
Only the ones who look good in pink.
Goddammit.
My face goes hot, and I tug the hood tighter like that’s going to protect me from the sheerLuc-nessof that reply, but before I can even think of a comeback, another message comes in.
Luc
Come over. She’s staying with me, and we have plenty of guest rooms. You and your dad can crash here. We’ll talk and sort shit out.
Then a follow-up, with a location pin. Bonneville, France.
I stare at the map for a second, processing.
Then look over at my dad. “Okay. She’s at Luc’s place in France, more or less where we just came from. He says she’s in one of the guest rooms. And, uh… he invited us to stay too.”
Dad shrugs. “It’d be nice to grab a shower in a real bathroom and sleep on something that doesn’t feel like a wooden plank.” He stretches and yawns. “But it’s late. Let’s stay here tonight. I’ll drive back in the morning.”
“Yeah. That’s fair.”
I shoot Luc another text.
Thanks. We’ll drive out tomorrow, we’re already in Italy. Guest room sounds good.
His reply is immediate.
Luc
However long you want to stay, Pretty Boy.
I’ve got space for you, and other things, if you’re good.
I stare at the text, then the hoodie sleeves half-covering my hands, and exhale slowly.
What the fuck is my life right now?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Finn
I didn’t think I’d ever find myself here.
In front of Luc Delacroix’s door, with my knuckles hovering, too scared to knock. My forehead is pressed to it, and I’m breathing in the scent of pine and something faintly floral drifting from the garden.
How the hell do I come back from this?
There’s no apology big enough, no words good enough to carve out the regret lodged in my chest, but I still have to say it, even if she never forgives me or lets me close again. I let my shame drown the one good thing I’ve had in years.
