Page 99 of Twisted Trails
I look up to find Dane’s eyes wide and worried.
Fuck. I only manage to worry him.
“I can’t do it, Dane.”
He wraps his arms around me, his warm hoodie brushing my cold skin. “It’s just too early, Speedbump. You can’tyet. You just managed to walk again without crutches. Give yourself time.”
“I don’t have time.” I shake my head hard, tears blurring everything. “I don’t have any fucking time, Dane.”
“That’s not true,” he says, gripping my shoulders. “We have all the time, okay? I already told you, it’ll takeyears.Years to get you back and on this level, but that’s okay. We can do it.”
“It’s not even just me. I don’t… I don’t trust it. I don’t trust the bike anymore.”
“Okay.” His hand moves to my back, while he’s looking down the trail where the bike’s still lying. “Should we get you a new one?”
“No, it’s not… it’s just… who touched that bike last?”
“I don’t know. Probably your mechanic or you. Or me, pushing it up here.”
“But you don’tknow.”
“No,” he admits. “I don’t know for certain. Should I callyour mechanic? I can. I’m not sure if he’s gotten a new job yet. We could offer him something permanent. He could stay here with us. Make sure your bike’s fit. Every day.”
I shake my head again. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s a fucking dream job. I’m sure he’d say yes, and Dad would pay him if I asked him to.”
“I don’t know if I can trust him anymore,” I say, and the words taste like rust because my mechanic never failed me, and I know it was Isaac’s doing and not his, but still.
Dane frowns, nodding slowly. “Okay. What aboutmyold mechanic? He’d jump on it in a heartbeat.”
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t… I don’t think?—”
“We can hire a new one,” he says quickly. “Someone who was never on our team before.”
I lift my eyes and will him to understand with my gaze. “I don’t trustanybodybut you and me anymore, Dane.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then he nods once, with that quiet certainty he’s always had.
“Well, then we know what we have to do.”
He lets go of me and disappears down the trail. A few moments later, he’s back, my bike rolling beside him, brake lever crooked from when it landed. When he reaches me, he slips his free arm around my shoulders again, guiding me back toward the house.
“Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.”
I lean into him, exhausted, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and Dane, something that’s always meant safety.
When we’re almost at the garage, I ask, “And what is it we have to do?”
His gaze stays forward. “Watch a fuckton of YouTube videos on how to be your own mechanic.”
I glance up at him, and there’s a tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Warmth blooms in my chest, chasing away the despair that lived there minutes ago.
“We’re so screwed,” I murmur.
He nudges me. “Perfect. Screws are half the job.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
