Page 6 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

Alaina

The mirror is too clean.

I don’t even have to lean over the sink to see my cracked skin, the bruise under my jaw, or the exhaustion that rims my eyes with something brittle I don’t have a name for anymore.

My hair is still caked with dried mud, sweat, and whatever dignity I lost in the aftermath of what went down in the gondola, and all I want is to stand under the hot spray until it melts everything off me.

Wash away the crash, the hospital, the panic in Dane’s voice, the hurt in Mason’s eyes, the way Finn’s lips tasted, and the way his fingers felt.

Beside s other things.

But instead, I’m here, ass freezing, trying to stretch medical-grade plastic over a limb that doesn’t cooperate.

The stupid crinkly shit they gave me at the hospital to slip over my cast and keep it dry is simple enough in theory, but with only one good hand, it’s turned into my first nemesis of the day.

“Fuck,” I hiss, trying again, nearly knocking over a glass jar of cotton pads in the process .

I won’t ask Dane for help, not again. We’ve done this before, me broken and bleeding, him picking up the pieces. I’ve taken enough from him, and I won’t ask him to be my nurse again. I don’t want to be some tragic responsibility that never asked to be born but still landed in his lap anyway.

I tug harder, getting the plastic halfway on before it slips and pops off with a snap. My head drops with a thud against the cool tile of the wall.

Fuck!

The strong painkillers they gave me make everything feel far away. The ache in my hip is a whisper now, a memory dulled to a gentle hum. If I could feel this way all the time, numb but functional, I might actually start to believe life could be livable again, like Dane promised.

But nausea is curling low in my stomach, a bitter reminder that long-term use of this shit is already carving out pieces of me, and I know the road painkillers lead down. I’ve been skating the edge of it since the first surgery.

A thought of Mason’s mom flashes through my mind.

The overdose. The quiet, easy way out that I once told myself would be mine too. But now, the thought makes my stomach churn harder because I remember the way Mason looked when he told me, how his voice cracked, and his hands trembled.

Shit.

Now, even imagining doing the same thing feels like betraying him. And fuck if I haven’t done enough of that already.

Standing naked in the en suite bathroom of one of the guest rooms in Luc’s mom’s house, I grip the sink with my good hand and try to process how I got here.

élise Delacroix walked into the hospital yesterday like she was the goddamn queen of France and announced to us that as soon as I was released, we’d be coming home with her.

I don’t know what Luc told her, or how much he told her, but she didn’t even blink when Dane called me Alaina.

Dane tried to argue that we’d go back to the bus, but élise looked at him once, and he folded like a cheap derailleur, and maybe it was because I was still high from the medication, but I just didn’t have the strength to say no.

So I let it happen.

Like I apparently let everything happen to me now.

The crash. Losing my V-card. The disaster that followed—my secret cracking wide open for everyone to see. It all hit at once, and now the fracture lines are spiraling in every direction. I’m the epicenter of it all, but I don’t even remember the quake, just the rubble it left behind.

We were supposed to drive to Val di Sole and spend the short break until the next race in the mountains there, filling our time with pasta, pizza, and naps between training sessions. Breathe. Prepare for the final stretch of the season, the final few weeks of my life.

But now, I’m here, in a house that’s more like a chateau, because the towels are fluffier than anything I’ve ever owned, and the tiles are warm.

Maybe there’s heating under the floor? I got out of a bed that didn’t dip from a busted spring or hum with the distant rattle of the bus engine, and whether we leave tomorrow or the day after is just one more decision I don’t have to make yet.

Piper and Otis, who Dane let in on the secret when we arrived at the house, are here, crashing with Luc for the break, but Finn is not.

He’s in a nearby hotel, even though I told Dane he could stay here, too, but Dane said Finn wanted it that way.

It would’ve been fine, because honestly, we’ve had enough practice pretending the other doesn’t exist the last few weeks .

My gaze flicks back to the mirror, and I wipe my finger across it, smudging the reflection right at my eyeline with a squeak.

I don’t know whether he chose to stay elsewhere because I asked for space, or because Finn actually wants it. Maybe he’s glad to be gone. Glad to be away from me . And that thought, that maybe he’s relieved to be rid of me, hurts more than anything I can name.

God.

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 hurt everybody .

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. Too soon. 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 the silence 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. Actually squeak.

He nudges the door shut behind him with his foot and continues toward me. “I knocked.”

“And I said just a minute! ” I hiss. “We’ve talked about this. You’re supposed to ask if you can come in, not just stroll into a room like some overconfident?—”

“You okay?” He cuts me off when he comes to a stop in front of me, head tilted.

“I’m naked , 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 is not the appropriate response to ‘I’m naked.’ ”

“It’s the only response to you’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.

“Thank you,” I mutter, caught somewhere between breathless and embarrassed.

He gives me that lazy, infuriating grin that makes my pulse trip over itself before he reaches out, with just a finger at first, to graze my temple.

His touch drifts down the side of my face, over my cheekbone, then traces the line of my neck until he finds the place where my shoulder meets it and lingers there.

“I love these little freckles.” He presses a kiss over them, and goose bumps ripple in the wake of his lips, making me shudder .

I try for sarcasm, but it comes out as more of a panting plea. “No biting?”

Luc huffs a laugh close to my ear. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

Oh, I like it. Way too much.

“Aren’t you mad at me?”

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” he says seriously, and my insides twist with dread. “But no, ma Petite ,” he adds, softer now. “I’m not mad.”

His gaze dips to my chest, and that cocky smirk that should come with a public warning comes back with a vengeance. “I could never be mad about them. ”