Page 27 of Twisted Trails
Fuck.
I’ve seen him maybe three times over FaceTime in the last seven years, and once in person when everything fell apart, and I came home in pieces. And even then, he didn’t stay long.
If someone saw us on the street together, they wouldn’t even guess we were related. Dane and I both inherited our mother’s dark features, brown hair, and brown eyes, but Ambrose Crews is pale with light features.
His gaze stops on where Luc is still holding my hand, and I almost pull away out of old instinct, but Luc squeezes gently. I tear my gaze away from my father and glance up at Luc, only to find him smiling reassuringly at me, like there’s nothing to fear in this room at all.
But I know better.
“What happened to your hair, Alaina?”
That’s the first thing out of my father’s mouth.
Not hi. Not how are you. Just that.
The questiondigs under my skin in a way I hate, and my bad hand twitches like it wants to hide behind my back. Instead, I lift it and run my fingers through the choppy strands. “I cut it.”
“I can see that,” he replies flatly.
Luc steps in, utterly unbothered by the glacial air. “Isn’t it beautiful? I love her haircut.”
I grin up at him because he says it like it’s the truth. Like it’s obvious.
Dane shifts slightly in front of me and glares at our father. “She was just in the hospital after a bad crash. She broke her fingers and got knocked out cold, and your first question is about her hair?”
Dad straightens. “Apparently, I don’t get informed about such things anymore. Or your whereabouts. No, I had to hear it from hospital staff. I was in a meeting in Frankfurt when they called me. And that was only because I’m still your emergency contact, Alaina.” His gaze lands back on me, eyes sharp.
My stomach twists. “Oh.”
“Oh indeed.” Dad folds his arms, expression flat. “And let me tell you my surprise when they told me you were in a hospital in France after a bike accident. A quick Google search told me that the World Cup was taking place yesterday in Les Gets, which happens to be just a stone’s throw from that hospital. So…” He tilts his head. “You’re racing again?”
I glance at Dane, confused. “Yeah? I mean, you knew that. I’ve been on the circuit this season as a privateer.” Dane makes a sound, almost a groan, and I narrow my gaze at him. “Heknows that,right?”
Luc lets go of my hand, but only so he can move behind me and slip his arms around my waist. His body presses into me warm and steady, like he knows this is about to hurt.
Dad’s gaze doesn’t budge. “Do I, Dane?”
Dane exhales sharply. “No. He doesn’t.”
“What?How could we do this then? You said he gave us the money to?—”
“It was my money, okay?” Dane cuts me off, moving his gaze from Dad to me. His eyes flicker with a look I know too well. That silent, stubborn glint that says,later. Not in front of him.I clench my jaw and nod, even though I want to hurt him a little for lying to me.
What the fuck, Dane?
Why would he feel the need to lie to me, and why the hell would he give all his prize money for my vendetta?
I wouldn’t have let him. I?—
Oh.
“Okay,” I whisper, too much clicking into place.
“You were always so easily persuaded by him,” Dad scoffs. “To throw your life away. Once, apparently twice.”
Luc lets out a breath like a gasp behind me, and I reach up to stroke his forearm that is still around my waist, trying to reassure him.
This is nothing new to me.
