Page 107 of Twisted Trails
Mason snorts beside me.
I sigh. “Fine. What do you want me to say?”
He brightens. “Dramatic flair, baby. Say you didn’t think you could come back, but now you’re here, broken fingers and all. Those are broken, right?”
I lift my hand without answering.
“Perfect. Hold them up to the camera and say you’re trying to grab that title anyway. Even if it kills you.”
That knocks the breath out of my chest.
Because Ihavethought that, over and over, but hearingit out loud, pitched like a trailer for a movie, it sounds deranged.
My breaths become uneven, but then I remember what my therapist said.Breathe through it.
I close my eyes and breathe.
“Is he okay?” the guy asks, like I’m a broken doll that stopped responding.
When I feel up to it, I open my eyes, but all I see is Mason’s back. He’s standing in front of me like a fucking wall. “He’s not in the headspace for an interview. Go make content with somebody else.”
“But we need a story abouthim,” the guy snaps.
“And he’s not up for it right now,” Mason repeats, sharper this time.
“Who even askedyou, fucking scum?”
“Didn’t you hear him?” I lean over to look past Mason and the social media guy and find Luc standing behind him like a pink shadow with teeth. “He saidnon.”
The guy pivots, suddenly excited. “Delacroix! Perfect. Stand with Crews and say something like you’re gonna show no mercy even if he’s broken?—”
“Fuck off,” Luc says flatly, cutting him off.
Everything goes still. Lucnevertalks like this to the media, and I prepare to step in.
I can’t have him ruin his reputation for me.
“What?” the guy says, like Luc just betrayed some sacred code. “Delacroix, come on. This is the game. You know how to play it.”
Luc folds his tattooed arms across his chest, andJesus,if they don’t call me by my government name.
“You were rude to my friends. So I’m rude to you.Leave.”
The guy blinks. “Yourfriends?”
He can’t compute that Luc, the star of the circuit, isstanding up for his so-called rivals—a rookie and a scandal-stained has-been, who are both privateers.
“Yeah.My friends.Problem with that?” Luc asks, close to snapping.
“Luc,” I whisper, hoping to calm him becauseholy shit.
“Not a good look, Delacroix,” the social media guy mutters, retreating. “Not a good look.”
“How about you make a story about how the UCI plays favorites?” Luc calls after the guy, his voice cool as hell.
“Goddammit, Luc,” Mason mutters, grabbing his forearm. He’s probably bracing to hold Luc back in case the dude says one more wrong thing and gets himself flattened, but Luc doesn’t even twitch toward him. He just watches the guy walk off like he’s already deleted him from existence.
When the coast is clear, Luc glances at us and shrugs when he sees how we’re both gaping at him. “What?”
