“Immediate disqualification, but there has to be proof.”

“Hmm,” Bria says, nodding thoughtfully. “I thought you might say that. What about this?”

Bria turns her phone to show us the screen.

A video of the race at the fifth corner plays in slow motion, as clear as if it were taken on a racetrack. I go by first and Alvarez is in second, Wilson in a close third. And then it happens. Indisputable proof. Wilson kicks out, Alvarez swerves, and Wilson surges into second place.

Alvarez and Beth whoop in astonished triumph. Simon glares at his friend and tells him to pack it up for risking lives. Wilson yells a string of obscenities and tries to argue with Simon. And Bria? Well, she just smirks. My little demon, always ten steps ahead.

“You fucking cunt,” Wilson growls. He pushes past Simon and swings to knock Bria’s phone from her hand.

My fist meets his face before he can ever make contact.

In a single breath I’ve got him trapped beneath me on the pavement. My vision narrows to a pin of rage. All I see is my knuckles slamming into Wilson’s face, over and over. His cheek tears open and blood spatters across the asphalt. The scent of hot leather and splitting skin lifts from the ground. My heartbeat dampens the sounds of pain from Wilson as I pummel him with blows. I get in two final hits before Simon and Alvarez manage to pull me off, but I struggle against them. I want to fucking kill him. I want to wrap my fingers around his throat and feel him choke beneath my hands.

“Don’t you fucking look at her,” I seethe as Wilson spits out a broken tooth. “I’ll fucking kill you, you sonofabitch.”

When they’ve dragged me back far enough, Simon and Alvarez let me go and I turn, my wild gaze colliding with Bria’s calm, unflustered expression. She lifts her hands to my cheeks and her gentle smile sweeps away the rage still burning in my veins. I push her back a few steps, wanting to get her further from Wilson before I shift stray strands of hair from her face. Something about the sight of my bloody knuckles next to her unblemished skin is deeply satisfying.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my heart still hammering through quick breaths.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

I nod, closing my eyes and pressing my sweat-slicked forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, beating the shit out of Wilson?”

“No,” I say with a heavy sigh. I’m not actually sorry for that at all, and I push aside what that could mean as my hand flows down Bria’s back. “I’m sorry if I brought up any memories that you wanted to keep in the past.”

“Eli, no,” she whispers as she wraps her arms around my neck and draws me into her embrace. I inhale her light scent, resting my head on her shoulder. “That’s not how it works for me.”

I pull back to kiss her, to tell her I love her, but the blare of a warning horn stops me.

“Police incoming!” Simon shouts. “Pack it up!”

Bria’s eyes go wide as I grab her hand. “Come on, Pancake. Time to go.”

We pull our helmets on as and Bria slits her phone into the mount with a route to Lake McDonald. We weave through rushing spectators and revving bikes as we take off up the road in the direction I just raced. We speed through curves and pass other bikes and Bria follows every leaning movement. We never hear the sirens, but we ride as though they’re right behind us. An hour and two near misses with deer later, we’re rolling down a secluded gravel driveway that opens to a massive log cabin on the shore.

The sun is setting when I park next to the stairs leading to the wraparound porch. It’s another impressive structure, with no decorations on the walls and sleek details mixed with the rustic warmth of the wood. Bria heads for the kitchen with its polished granite countertops and shining steel appliances, and pulls a first aid kit from a drawer next to the gas range.

“We’d better stay here tonight,” Bria says as I text Fletch to see if she can take Duke out. She replies almost immediately with a thumbs up.

“Yeah. When’s your first class tomorrow?”

“Not until one. You?”

“Eleven.”

Bria nods and gestures for me to sit on one of the stools at the island. She pours two glasses of bourbon before sitting next to me. I watch the precise work of her delicate fingers as she prepares bandages with antibiotic cream and unpackages a gauze pad, soaking it in rubbing alcohol.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have taken you there,” I say. She presses the saturated pad to my bloody knuckles and wipes away the dried blood, the biting sting seeping into the wounds.

“If I didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t have gone,” she replies with a nonplussed shrug.

“And I’m sorry for my reaction to Wilson. I wouldn’t blame you if you felt less of me.”

The motion of Bria’s hand slows and she blinks at me. “Why would I think less of you?”

“Violence? Breaking a man’s teeth, maybe?”

Bria huffs a laugh and resumes her work. “I don’t think less of you.” She’s silent for a long while, and she does something I’ve never seen her do. She starts chewing at her lip, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Would you think less of me? If I was…violent…with someone?”

“No, Bria.”

“I have been.”

“It still doesn’t change how I feel.”

Bria nods. She keeps nodding, an almost imperceptible, metronomic bobbing of her head. She goes back to gnawing at her bottom lip, the crease between her brows deepening. I feel like she’s on the edge of something, some question or feeling she can’t contain. But I don’t ask. I just wait, hoping she’ll get there on her own.

“What if I said I’d done worse?” she finally asks.

“Define ‘worse.’” I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t. Her face smooths of all expression as whatever this is sinks beneath the surface. “Are we talking kicking puppies here?”

“No,” Bria replies with a momentary look of disgust. The silence descends once more as she bandages my split knuckles. When she’s done, she repackages the unused contents of the first aid kit and gathers the garbage in a tight fist. She starts to stand as I fold my fingers around her wrist.

“Hey,” I say. Bria tenses as though she’s ready to pull away, but she doesn’t. “It wouldn’t change how I feel. I love you, Bria. I get you’ve been through some shit. I understand you aren’t ready to share. But when you are, I’ll still love you.”

The way Bria watches me, I know I just got so close and then fucked it up. I never should have asked her to qualify ‘worse.’ In truth, her answer wouldn’t have mattered. I love her. I envision a life with her, and that picture gets clearer with every second that passes.

Bria gives me a faint smile and pulls away. I promise myself that next time, I won’t make the same mistake.

OceanofPDF.com

26

OceanofPDF.com

BRIA

The week following the failed Autumn Adder event, I’m at Mosaic Nail Salon, changing my color from deep crimson to black, waiting for Cynthia Nordstrom to make an appearance. If I’ve timed it right, she should show up just as I’m leaving. I keep my eyes from drifting too frequently to the door, because Neriah isn’t waiting for anyone. In her Melancholy Moneyed Lamb chop world, this is merely a coincidence.

My nails are finished and I’m paying at the reception desk when Cynthia walks in with her Bulgari shades and Gucci trench, as polished and poised as ever. She sees me and a bright smile claims her face.

“Neriah! It’s so good to see you. It’s a shame we won’t be station buddies this time,” she says.

“It is. I have to thank you again for inviting me to the women’s group meeting the other night. It was really inspiring.” Lies. All lies.