Page 124 of Twisted Trails
“Right.” Isla surveys me like I’m a particularly unimpressive trail feature.
“I’m sorry,” I add quickly. “Do you… want to hang out sometime?”
“No.”
Ouch.
Her eyes trail down to my bandaged fingers, then back up.
“You had your chance,rookie.”
She flicks her perfect blonde hair over her shoulder and keeps walking.
Isaac lingers just long enough to give me the full effect of his smirk. “Damn, rookie, I would be so embarrassed if I were you right now.” Then he whistles lowly and follows her.
And I’m left standing there. Fist clenched, face burning, and heart pounding like a fucking idiot.
Perfect.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alaina
I can’t fucking ride with these fingers.
That truth is undeniable as I trudge back to the bus after bailing on a run before I even made it halfway down the mountain.
I had to make up some bullshit about my brakes before I hauled ass out of practice.
It’s not the pain, for once. It’s the grip. My hands shook when I hit the brakes too hard and gave out at the worst goddamn moment.
I’m not just off,I’m dangerous.
To myself, to the run, to the goal I’ve been bleeding toward for years.
No one should be at the bus, which is why I’m going there. Dane is still with Piper. Mason and Luc are probably still throwing themselves down the practice runs with their usual lack of self-preservation.
I haven’t seen Finn since track walk, and I’m not looking for him either.
Dragging my bike to the back of the bus, I shove itinside and lock it up harder than necessary before stalking back to the door and through the narrow aisle inside. Helmet off. The one glove I managed to wear flung somewhere. Jersey yanked over my head.
When I hit the shower stall, I lose my binder and padded shorts, only for Pierre to flop onto the floor.
I stare at him like he’s responsible for my shitty mood.
“Don’t look at me like that!”
He doesn’t respond. Obviously.
Useless piece of silicone.
Whatever.
The water is cold, but I can’t even enjoy the sting properly because I have to hold my damn hand out of the spray.
When it’s over, I’m dripping and no less furious, my towel wrapped around me like it can shield me from the spiral clawing at my ribs. My hair is wet. My pride is in shreds. I’ve got nothing left but stubbornness and a desire to punch a wall with the one hand I’ve still got working.
A knock echoes through the bus door, and I grit my teeth. “Ugh, fuck off, Finn.”
