Page 9 of Twisted Trails
Dane chuckles. “There are no races for six-year-olds.”
I pout again, my lower lip sticking out on purpose now.
He laughs and pats my helmet. “I’ll get you on my team. Dad already promised me that when I make it to elite, he’ll get me one. Crews Racing.”
“It’ll be our team,” I say proudly.
“Only if you’re good enough,” he teases, bumping my bike with his knee.
“Then watch this.” I grin and push off hard, pedaling down the sidewalk with one hand in the air. “No hands!” I yell, even though technically one is still there.
Dane claps behind me. “Good job!”
But I’m not done.
“I’m gonna be the best racer you’ve ever seen!” I shout, and then I just do it. I lift both hands, laughing as I roll forward.
“Alaina, no…wait! You can’t go over the speed…”
The speed bump launches me into the air before I hit the ground hard, and pain shoots through my arm so fast, I don’t even have time to scream.
It looks wrong when I sit up, like my arm is shaped weirdly.
Dane is running toward me in seconds, eyes wide. “Shit. Shit, no… fuck.”
I want to tell him that Sabine doesn’t like him using those words, but my arm hurts too badly.
He drops to his knees beside me. “Let me see.” He looks at my arm and curses again, his face going a little pale. “It’s broken. Okay.Okay, you’re okay.”
I start crying then—not just because it hurts, which it does—but because I was flying a second ago, and now I’m broken. And because Dane is leaving, and I can’t go with him, and this whole summer is already ruined.
“Hold on tight, okay?” His arms come around me, lifting me with him when he stands. “I’ve got you.”
I’m crying too hard to see, and my arm feels like it’s on fire, so I tuck my face into Dane’s collarbone and sob into his shirt, but he’s right, even if everything hurts and I did something stupid and he’s leaving soon?—
I know Dane has got me.
He always does.
I blink down at my left hand, at the cast that triggered the memory.
Two fingers—my pinky and ring—are taped together in said neat little cast, like they’re besties. Apparently, I broke them. Which… cool. Another stamp on the frequent flyer card of my medical record.
I crashed into the treehand first, trying to stop the damn fall, before my head joined the party and slammed into the trunk too.Thank fuck I was wearing a helmet.
But yeah, trees?
We’re done.
Tree-huggers don’t know shit. I’m officially a tree-hater. A bark-phobe. A foliage foe. If I see one more pine needle, I’mgoing toscream.
I lean my head back against the pillow and sigh when my vision swims.
God, what the hell did they give me?
Everything is so woozy, but I feelincredible.
This is next-level, no-pain, floating-on-a-dream kind of good. My fingers don’t hurt, my hip doesn’t hurt, hell, mysouldoesn’t even hurt, and let’s be real, I was in amoodbefore I hit the damn tree.
