[18+]
College student Hadley Bell is eager to return home for the holidays, but there's a problem. Her ex-no. 44 Nick Baker, Professional Snocross Racer and member of the Bell Race Team, still resides under her parent's roof.
Tensions run high, and...
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My nerves were shot. So badly shaken, I fucking second-guessed every god damned decision I was making.
I cut right, taking the inside lane just before the triple, spraying snow and leaving Hunt to go wide.
He was taunting. Refusing to creep into first, not that I'd let him. The only thing keeping me steady was the fact that I'd won the holeshot and kept the lead.
Wind ripped at my face as I flew through the dark, the fluorescent lights lighting up the track. My legs burned as I fought to stay afloat, my heart racing as thoughts of my last race came to mind.
The fall. The snow. And the searing pain before everything went black.
I blinked the images away, leaned and made to take the inside again when my heart leapt out of my chest.
Hunt cut me off.
Rage raced through me. Snow blinding as he dusted me out and took the lead.
Fuck!
Face full of snow, I gunned it. My anger raging. I veered left and cut past Max, taking the Polaris turn too fast, and banged into Hunt.
I couldn't think past the screaming sleds and the roaring wind. The adrenaline pounding in my ears. I wasn't happy and neither was he.
Elbows up, Hunt pushed against my side. I fought, grating my teeth and leaned against him. Doing everything I could to stay on the track when–
Hunt pinned it, and my sled tipped, ripping me from my seat in one aggressive jerk and sent me flying across the track.
△
"It's not as bad as it looks," I assured Janelle as she fussed over my neck.
The cold compress from the kitchen freezer provided much-needed relief against the rope-like burn. My hair up in a high knot thanks to Janelle, who busied herself if only to escape the anxiousness I felt emanating from her.
Luke stopped his pacing in my parent's living room, his uneven steps coming to a firm halt. "He put hands on you, Hadley," he snapped, chopping the edge of his hand into the palm of the other. "You need to press charges."
Janelle didn't disagree. The future lawyer already compiled a list of names of all the witnesses at the bar, thanks to Luke, who rifled them off one by one in the truck. He claimed he saw the entire thing and would gladly take the stand.
Janelle took a dozen photos of my neck and the bruise on my wrist as Luke drove, cursing every two seconds as he mulled over whether he was going to turn around and head straight back to the bar.
It hurt, and it wasn't acceptable, but I smiled regardless. Luke wasn't a fighter. He was soft-hearted and kind, but when it came to the people he loved, he'd gladly take a punch. Or throw one, as he demonstrated with Nate earlier today.
