Page 19 of Twisted Trails
I watch as the reflection of my lips pulls into a grimace when I remember the shit I said while half out of it. My stomach twists, embarrassment climbing up my throat like acid, and then guilt hits right after with a one-two punch that leaves me gripping the sink harder, swaying where I stand.
I hurt Mason, and he left, furious at me.
I hurteverybody.
I told Dane it would happen, that this friendship, this delicate, fucked-up, beautiful thing I built with them would crack the second they found out who I really was. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon.Toosoon. On top of it all, I’m left wondering if they’ll rat me out to the UCI.
Luc probably won’t, based on his letting us stay here. He helped me to this room when the hospital kicked me out yesterday evening, but didn’t say much, only smiling at me when he caught me looking at him for answers.
But would Mason tell them? He never even went to the UCI when his career was hanging in the balance. Would he turn me in now, out of spite?Out of hurt?
Even though the pills they gave me dulled everything until I barely remembered I had bones at all, I couldn’t sleep last night. Not one fucking wink. I lay there staring at the ceiling, arms crossed over my chest, listening to thesilence as my thoughts crawled all over me like bugs under my skin.
Just as they are right now.
I’m still just standing here naked, in this house that doesn’t feel like mine, near people who don’t quite feel like mine either, and I don’t know how to move forward without shattering something else, without bleeding on someone who didn’t ask for it.
So, yeah. My reflection looks like shit, but at least it’s honest.
I drop my chin to my chest, closing my eyes.
Breathe, Alaina.
This is fine.
Just for today, I’ll let myself stay, let myself heal. I’ll drink Élise’s tea and pretend I know how to exist in a place with soft rugs and softer people.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out who’s still on my side.
If anyone.
A knock comes from the door to my room. The en suite door is open, so I yell, “Just a minute!”
I fumble for a towel, the plastic still hanging limp and pathetic around my wrist, but then the door swings open, and Luc steps into the room. He’s framed in the doorway like a goddamn oil painting, dark curls damp from his own shower. His eyes trail down my body with an ease that makes heat bloom across my chest before I remember to yank the towel up to cover myself, clutching it to me like a shield.
“Luc!” I squeak. Actuallysqueak.
He nudges the door shut behind him with his foot and continues toward me. “I knocked.”
“And I saidjust a minute!” I hiss. “We’vetalkedabout this. You’re supposed toaskif you can come in, not just stroll into a room like some overconfident?—”
“Youokay?” He cuts me off when he comes to a stop in front of me, head tilted.
“I’mnaked, Luc,” I snap, gesturing to the towel. “Because I’m trying to take a shower.”
“Okay,” he says, completely unfazed. “I can help.”
“You what? That isnotthe appropriate response to ‘I’m naked.’ ”
“It’s the only response toyou’re struggling to shower one-handed,and I happen to be excellent at multitasking.”
“What? No, Luc—” But he pushes into the bathroom, glancing down at my sad excuse for a waterproof cover and then over to the counter. “Let me,” he says, grabbing the roll of medical tape.
I hesitate for a breath—one long second where pride wants to slap his hand away—but then I sigh and extend my arm. The towel slips, and I squeak again as I tug it back up, which only makes the girls lift with it, presenting themselves front and center like they’re volunteering.
Luc doesn’t even look up from his task of securing the plastic, only smiles to himself as his fingers brush my skin in ways that make my knees threaten to buckle.
“Voilà,” he says, looking entirely pleased with his work.
