Into the Churn

by Hayley Reese Chow

Foster’s face crinkled in a rare full smile Ezren couldn’t help but return. He kissed her again, light and teasing, sending a pulse of electricity tingling across Ezren’s lips. She wanted nothing more than to bottle that moment and save it for her stormiest days.

Foster sat in the back of the storm truck exhausted, sore, and, oddly, smiling.

But with the hot weight of a warming blanket draped across his lap and Ezren curled against his side, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He’d thought Ezren had been fast in the first race, but that didn’t at all compare to her now, after two months of regimented training and nutrition—she was a machine. And she was with him. He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her hair, and she looked up at him with a tired smile, her eyes tight with worry.

The spectators soaked it up with another clamorous roar. This was what they loved about the royales. Not the running, not the driving, not even the brawls. They loved the last-minute, out-of-the-blue scraps that could hit you at any moment.

It was a part of the race she had yet to experience, and if he was being honest, he was glad he’d get another month or two to prepare her for it. She was strong, no doubt, but she didn’t have that viciousness, that necessary paranoia to keep looking over her shoulder.

Alone in the small metal compartment, Foster looked at Ezren, her dark eyes round and uncertain. “You still with me?” Her gaze sharpened, as if coming out of a daze, and she turned toward him with one of her wide smiles. “Definitely.” Leaning down, he kissed her softly just to be sure, wishing they had time for more. Suns, he would definitely be doing that a lot more often now.

“How could you be so stupid? Holy chaff, I almost tore my hair out because of you two! And I chaffing love my hair.”

The air went out of Foster’s lungs. Did she really mean that? Hadn’t they been a good team? Wasn’t this something she wanted to do together?

How did that lie of a relationship still seep into every part of his life? Nothing that girl ever did was real. He could barely fodding stand her for suns’ sake.

Fury boiled in Foster’s stomach. What. The. Fod. Grady was doing this to get back at him for Vieve. But why in the chaff was Ezren going along with it? Hadn’t she just kissed him in the storm truck? Hadn’t that meant something?

“That was such a load of chaff.” “Not really. You’re just thinking with your pants,” Bex said. Foster flinched away. “I am not.”

“Ezren and I were a good team, Bex. We just didn’t get a chance to prove it.”

Grady and Hart have similar styles. They both like to go fast. Not like us.” “Not like us?” Bex’s thin smile widened. “No, we like to kick ass.”

Was that right? Were Grady and Ezren really the better fit? Foster pressed his lips together, trying to shake the sinking feeling that Ezren had just abandoned him somehow. Or that he’d abandoned her. How could he protect her if she wasn’t his partner? Either way, he couldn’t let her go just yet, so he’d have to keep moving forward and figure it out as they went.

Even after she’d changed partners to revive the team’s VSoc cred and cover Sam’s bills and do what was best for Belethea. Now Foster was gone, and everything was still crashing down on her.

She tried not to think about Foster and Bex moving seamlessly through the pack of racers—a near-perfect team.

She touched her lips, the water tracing the groove of her mouth. But what about that kiss…?

It really was easier just to forget about the storm den. But that kiss…

He offered her a real, perfectly symmetrical smile, and even if she wasn’t actually interested in him, she could admit it was rather dazzling.

“Vieve was never one for labels, and she would never have done anything to hurt her royale chances. But I always thought we were… something.” “So that’s why you and Foster are…” “Sterling should’ve been there for her,” he said, his voice rough and raw. Ezren recognized the pain cracking his words—the shrapnel of guilt buried in a survivor.

“I still wonder why I didn’t hold his hand tighter though.” Simon nodded, his eyes drifting down to the water. “I should’ve held her hand tighter too.”

“We hold on as tight as we can.” But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. She’d let go of Foster, and now he was gone.

Foster sagged with a flood of relief. Even after two months, Ezren was still… well, Ezren. And maybe she’d even missed him.

“Jetracers? Are you serious, Syl? Those things have practically no armor. Where are they racing?”

“Did anyone check her suit before she went?” Sylvia wrinkled her brow, the answer plain on her face. “Well, I—” Foster was already moving her out of the way as he got behind the wheel, switching from auto to manual. “Seriously, no one checked it?” He floored the gas. “What time did the race start?”

“Yes!” Sylvia’s bright smile nearly blinded Foster in his agitation.

“They do look cozy.” Bex projected a holo of a Belethea royaler news update with Grady carrying a laughing Ezren on his back, and the blood drained from Foster’s face.

“You are the coach, Sylvia. Not Harland. Fodding stand up for us, or we might as well not have a coach at all.”

“Shaft, I can’t believe she actually won.” Bex’s brows rose and an almost smile tugged at her mouth.

And then Ezren’s arms were around his neck, her mouth was on his, and his hands were on her waist pulling her closer, closer, closer… “Suns, I missed you,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. And after months of awful and the day from hell, everything was somehow blime once again. “I missed you too, Ezren.”

She’d actually never seen Sylvia sleeping before. The woman seemed to run on VSoc cred and willpower. But if anyone deserved some rest, it was definitely her.

So he was there. Did that mean she’d really kissed him? Her cheeks heated as she frantically tried to sort out the tumult of emotions storming through her. Harland had been very clear that they were supposed to stay away from each other… So where did that leave them? Only one way to find out.

“Wow, Foster, you must’ve been working on this all day.” She looked at him, his mussed waves falling across his brow, close enough now that she could reach out and run her fingers through them.

Ezren tapped her fingers on the table, trying to stifle the urge to take his hand. She didn’t want Grady to look at her suit. She wanted Foster. And he was leaving tomorrow.

Foster winced, and his hand spasmed, the syringe flying from his grip. “Mother suns.” Ezren grabbed his fingers, kneading them with her practiced hands, just like she had done so many times with Sammy’s legs.

His broad hand stilled in her grasp, but she didn’t meet his gaze as she continued to massage his long fingers, the tremors smoothing under her thumbs. “There’s only one person who I want to see knocking on my door in the morning, who I want to train with for fifteen-hour days and then sneak out with at night.”

“Ezren.” Then his hands slid around her cheeks, tilting her mouth to his, and he was kissing her. Kissing her. Kissing her. And she responded, her lips parting and their mouths moving together in a heated dance. He pulled her to him, folding her in his arms.

“You’re more than good enough, Ezren,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck. “Winning or losing or doing nothing at all. I want to be with you.”

“So I changed the flights to come back early because I had to see you.” Her heart swelled, and she kissed him again. His fingers danced along the hem of her sweater, teasing the bare skin of her back as her fingers tangled in his hair. “Suns, I missed you,” she breathed.

But this—she laced her fingers with Foster’s—was something real. Something she should have a say in. And something she wanted more than anything to hold onto.

“Foster and I are together.” She glanced up at him, his hair mussed and a grin spreading across his face. “And we want to race together.”

Sylvia straightened, rising to her full, completely average, height. “You let me take care of that.” She looked at Foster, her eyes strangely hard. “I’m the coach. It’s my job to take care of the athletes.”

She and Foster could do it together.

But he’d already closed the gap, pressing his lips to hers one more time before whispering in her ear. “I’ll be at your door in the morning.” And Ezren wasn’t sure if she’d ever looked forward to waking up so much.

“I don’t know.” Bex adjusted her gloves’ straps. “You think you’re good enough to race with Sterling?” Ezren swallowed, her face heating. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.” “I’ll tell you what.” Bex grabbed a set of sparring pads from a nearby bench and threw them at Ezren. “If you can knock me down, I’ll tell Harland you’re a good match.”

There was no way she could say no to this. If she was going to race with Foster, she wanted the team behind her. But that was an approval she had to earn.

Bex might be stronger than her, but Ezren could outlast her. And more importantly, she wanted it more.

Each time Bex threw her over her shoulder, Ezren got up slower and slower, her body stiffening with each new bruise. But nothing was broken. She wasn’t broken.

But you learned the wheels.” “And you’ve got the fight,” Bex added. “And you’ve always had the legs.”