Page 31 of Twisted Trails
“I don’t know, maybe because you saw the crash, ranoff like a maniac after him, even forgot about the podium, and then came back looking like someone spat in your cereal.”
“It’s not about Crews. It doesn’t fucking matter.”
He shrugs, unconvinced. “You said he had two broken fingers, right? The pinky and ring on the left?”
“Yeah.”
“Then he’ll race.”
I blink. “What?”
“He’ll race,” he repeats like it’s obvious. “That boy’s so stubborn he’d tape his hand to the handlebars and go anyway. You’ll see him again, so stop worrying about it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then whatisthe point?”
The point is that the ‘boy’ is a woman.
“I can’t tell you.”
He glances at me, mouth twitching. “Did he reject you?”
I jerk back like he slapped me. “What?”
“You told him you’re into him, and he rejected you? Is it that?”
“I’mnotinto Mini Crews!” I yell so loudly that even I flinch at the volume.
“Okay, okay,Jesus,” Dad mutters before huffing a laugh. “Then what’s the big deal? I thought you could tell me everything.”
“I do.”
But do I really?
Can I tell him a secret that isn’t mine to share?
One that still stings like betrayal every time I think about it?
We fall into silence, thick with everything I don’t say, until the van slows and pulls off the highway into a rest area somewhere just past Milan, while the sun is dropping fast.
I sit up straighter, confused. “What are we doing?”
He doesn’t answer as he parks, hops out, and walks around the van. I stare after him like he’s lost his mind. Then my door swings open, and he crouches down just enough to bring his eyes level with mine.
“Mase.” His voice is low now. Serious. “What’s going on?” I don’t look at him, making him sigh and curl his hand around the edge of the doorframe. “You’re starting to worry me, kid.”
Something in me stutters, so I meet his eyes, and they’re just open. No judgment. No pressure. Justthere, waiting, like he’s been doing my whole damn life.
I stare at him for a long second, then say, “You can’t tell anyone, okay?”
He scoffs. “Who would I tell? It’s just you and me. Only people I talk to are you, that cranky tire tech, and the cat behind the petrol station back home.”
I blow out a shaky breath and glance past him, like the words might come easier if I’m not looking at him.
“Allen Crews is notAllenCrews.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Okay, what does that mean?”
