average human’s Reviews > Twisted Trails > Status Update

I’m locked on the sharp line of Mason’s jaw and the way his hand flexes like he’s fighting the urge to punch something or someone.
Not to mention his scent.
I’m standing so close to him that every breath tastes like him.
Pine.
Not some artificial air-freshener scent, either. Real pine, like a forest after rain, or earth, sweat, stubbornness, and something unfairly comforting.
And yeah, maybe I’m staring too. Sue me.
His deep brown gaze slides to me, and my stupid heart skips a beat like I’ve been caught with one hand in the cookie jar and the other down my pants.
I glance away so fast my neck almost snaps, my eyes going back to Alaina, who’s lounging next to Dane and smirking at me.
Did she just catch me checking out Mason?
Fuck.
It’s both infuriating and wildly arousing, and I don’t know whether I want to shake her or kiss her senseless.
My brain flashes back to last night, to the way my gut twisted when Mason didn’t come out of her room after saying that he “needed to talk to her first.” He was in there long enough for my paranoia to grow claws and start scratching at the inside of my skull.
So, I checked on them. I opened the door, expecting, hell, I don’t even know what, but I found them lying on her bed, side by side like two halves of the saddest yin-yang I’ve ever seen, each with a hand under their cheek like they’d been whispering secrets and fell asleep mid-confession.
No touching or cuddling, and no clothes on the floor.
Regardless, my heart did this awful, searing thing as it lit itself on fire, and then laughed at me while it burned to ash. Not with jealousy, not really, or not just jealousy but with longing. I wanted to be between them. I wanted to slither in the middle and pull them both close, bury my face in her neck, press my back to his chest, and fucking drown in their warmth.
Instead, I stood there like a moron while the two people I want most in the world dreamed without me.
“So that’s why we’re here. Because of Raine,” Dane says, drawing me back to the room as he finishes his explanation.
Almost everyone is here. Otis and Piper were given the chance to back out before they made themself complicit in whatever this is. Maman, Mason’s dad, Mason, Dane, all of them here for Alaina.
Except Greer.
I’ve texted him twice but only got the lovely blue bubbles of silence in return. He’s probably still pissed, or avoiding Dane, or both. Either way, I’m trying to do the adult thing, give him space, let the air clear, and let the storm settle before I inevitably show up to bully him back into some fucking sense.
Because like hell will I let him leave things like this. Not with Alaina, not with Dane. Not with us.
Even with how distracted I’ve been by Mason, my head still spins with all that Dane said. Now that everything is out in the open—the disguise, the plan, the why—fuck, it all makes so much sense. Her fury, her silence, the pain she carried like a backpack full of bricks, and the way she threw herself into racing like she had nothing left to lose.
Because she didn’t.
And it only makes her hotter. I tear my gaze from where it has wandered to Mason again and rake it over Alaina.
Yep.
So much hotter.
She’s a fighter, a survivor, a goddamn phoenix with scraped knees and a wicked mouth.
She’s smiling to herself, like the sun is a little closer, and the weight is a little lighter. Maman told me the hour with her therapist went well, and maybe that’s why the tangle of grief and rage in her chest isn’t choking her quite as tightly today. I know what it took to earn that smile, and she’s even more beautiful when she lets herself be soft.
Or maybe it’s just because Mason finally pulled his head out of his ass and stopped being a complete dickhead.
Whatever it is, I want to protect it at all costs.
I barely finish my thought when Otis pipes up from the couch.
“Wait, are we sure it was him?” he asks, frowning. “I mean, I hate the guy, too, don’t get me wrong. Isaac once joked I must be fast because I grew up running from stuff. Isla thought it was hilarious and repeated it in three interviews. Guess who got labeled the ‘wild card with a troubled past’ before I ever qualified?”
“Fuckers,” Alaina mutters, and I agree wholeheartedly.
“But if there’s no real evidence…” Otis continues. “Maybe we’re screwing him over for nothing, and it was just mechanical. Bikes fail sometimes.”
“Haven’t you noticed how he’s fucked with every top rider?” Dane asks, crossing his arms.
Otis balks. “What?”
Dane’s expression turns grim. “He stole Finn’s fiancée. He made Alaina crash, knowing that would take me out too. He provokes Luc constantly⁠—”
“That doesn’t take much,” I cut in. “But yeah.”
Mason snorts beside me, and my skin fucking tingles.
“And let’s not forget the biggest one.” Dane’s eyes flick to Mason. “He made his sister lie about Payne. Ruined his reputation and almost killed his career.”
The room goes silent, and all eyes turn to Mason.
“Lie?” Otis looks stunned. “You didn’t do it?”
Mason’s muscles go tight, and I step in front of him without thinking and cross my arms over my chest to shield him from their stares, their judgment, their questions.
“No,” I answer for him. “He didn’t fucking do it.”
Mason’s arm brushes against mine as he steps out from behind me. He gives me this look, equal parts gratitude and don’t speak for me, but he keeps close.
“No.” His voice is steady despite the subtle tremor in his hands. “I did not rape her.”
“She lied,” Mason’s dad says, speaking up for the first time. “We always thought it was for clout, but now…” He glances at Alaina, then Dane. “Now we know why.”
“But why didn’t you say anything?” Piper asks, her gaze fixed on Mason. “Why let her ruin you?”
Mason swallows roughly. “I did, at first. I told everyone it was a lie, but it only made things worse, since no one believed me, and then…” He shrugs, but everything about him is tight, coiled to snap. “I just stopped. I realized that fighting it didn’t matter, and defending myself made me look worse. I didn’t want to be the reason people stopped believing real victims. So I just let it happen.”
His voice cracks on the last word, and Jim comes to Mason’s side and puts a hand on Mason’s shoulder, but Mason shrugs it off like the comfort burns. He turns his head from the room, blinking too fast. His eyes, glistening with tears, flick to mine, and then widen in panic.
He’s going to bolt.
This time, I follow him.
By the time he turns toward the exit, I’m already at his side, catching his elbow before he can escape. He doesn’t fight me as I steer him down the hall and pull him into my room.
He’s breathing hard when the door shuts behind us, sounding on the brink of a panic attack.
“Hey.” I’m still holding his elbow, squeezing gently before letting go. “Hey, look at me.”
He does, and his eyes are glassy, his bottom lip trembling.
Fuck. I want to bite that lip, just a little, but now is not the time, because what I really want to do is punch a wall and then kiss him better.
“It’s fine,” I murmur. “It’s just me. You can let it out.”
He shakes his head once, stubborn to the end, but the tear escapes anyway, rolling down that sharp cheekbone like it’s running from something.
Fuck, that’s the last straw.
I grab his arms and pull him into me, banding my arms around him tightly.
He’s stiff as a board, but I don’t let go, just wrap him up tighter, locking him against me like I can physically hold him together.
Slowly, so fucking slowly, he gives in, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his face perfectly into the crook of my neck.
He fits there as if that spot was made for him.
His sobs are silent at first, almost choked, before his whole body starts to shake. I just hold him tighter, murmuring comforting words I’m not even sure are in English, while my hands stroke his back. I press my cheek to the top of his head and thread my fingers through his hair, petting him and taking a deep breath while his tears soak into me.
Pine, pain, and Mason-fucking-Payne.
I hate this, hate how bad it hurts knowing what he’s been carrying. Knowing I added weight to that pile. I laughed with the rest of them, shunned him when he needed someone.
Merde.
This is torture.
And I deserve it.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into his ear, my lips brushing his skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
He shakes his head, voice muffled in my neck. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
I grin and keep petting him. “True, but I’ve always been one. And you like it.”
“There’s a difference,” he mutters, his breath so hot against my throat it makes a shiver run through me, so hard it rattles my spine.
A moment later, he pulls away and wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, eyes red, puffy, and unfairly gorgeous.
“What the fuck am I even doing here?” he mutters, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.
“It’s fine. Guys cry, too, and I think you needed that.” I grab his hand, determined not to let him back away this time. “I’m sorry I said all those mean things to you.”
“You already said that.”
“Yeah, but I’ll say it another five thousand times if I have to because you deserve better, and I was an asshole.”
His hand twitches in mine. “Well, you said you were mad at me, and you were already a dick when you weren’t mad.”
“Yeah,” I admit, giving a sheepish little shrug. “It was dumb, really, but without you rubbing me so hard, winning wasn’t as easy anymore.”
Mason lifts his gaze. “Rubbing you?”
Fuck.
My mind goes to places, and my dick twitches, because of course it does. My dick has zero sense of timing and distinguished taste. It wants who it wants, which is apparently a girl in disguise and a boy who scowls like sin.
“Fuck you,” I mutter, trying to adjust my hard-on subtly. “English is not my first language. You know what I mean.”
He glances down at my very obvious semi with that smirk.
Sin, I tell you.
“That’s a bit too big for you to pretend it’s not hard.”
Cocky little shit. Just like Petite.
“Yeah? And you’re probably small,” I fire back weakly.
He just smiles, which screams big dick energy, and yep. Now I’m fully hard.
“Do you feel better?” I ask, before this train wreck can get any more off the rails.
“No.” Mason exhales, lifting his chin. “Do I look like I’ve cried?”
He does. Totally.
“You look good, Pretty Boy.”
He groans and rubs his eyes with his hand. “Can you stop with that bullshit?”
I smirk. “I’ll stop when you stop being pretty.”
My hand is still wrapped around his, and I don’t want to let go, but then a soft rattling cuts through the tension.
Toulouse.
The little traitor is hanging off the side of his open cage like that was his cue for a dramatic entrance.
Mason glances over at him. “Hey, buddy.”
The lightness when Mason looks at Toulouse has me crossing the room, scooping him up, and handing him over.
Mason cradles him like he’s precious and strokes his head as he whispers, “You’re so damn cute.”
That’s when I know.
I’m stupid for Mason Payne.
Just as stupid as I am for Petite.
And that should be a problem, because I’ve never been stupid for anyone before, and now it’s two people. But she said she’s stupid for Greer too. So maybe it’s okay to be stupid for two people?
Maybe love doesn’t have to pick sides.
Maybe she won’t mind if I don’t either.
If Mason wants that.
I watch him loving on Toulouse so closely that I see the moment his chest swells again, too fast. He’s still hurting and trying to hold it all in, and now he’s sniffling, and I’ve had enough.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, taking my son from Mason’s hands and setting him back in his cage.
“Wha—”
I scoop him up before he can finish, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. He startles, but doesn’t pull away, letting me carry him, even though he’s still all tense limbs and that unfairly gorgeous face.
He bounces softly in my arms when I sit on the bed, and I shift until his legs drape over mine, then curl my arms around his calves.
“Why are you about to cry again?” I ask, holding him tight and scanning his face.
“I don’t know. It’s just… it’s too much. I don’t know how to handle everything.”
My stomach sinks at his admission. I want to fix it all and wrap him in bubble wrap.
“Then let’s handle everything together,” I offer, meaning every word. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “That’s one of the things that’s hard to handle.”
“What is?”
His lashes lift just enough to meet my eyes, and I have to stop myself from counting every little beauty mark like I’m trying to memorize a map of him. “You. You are difficult to handle, Luc.”
“That’s nothing new, but I’m willing to change. I’m willing to try⁠—”
He cuts me off with a chuckle. “You don’t get it.” I swear my heart skips a beat as his fingertips brush my chin. He holds my face, thumb stroking across the stubble, and butterflies explode under my ribs. “Handling you was hard when you were an asshole, but handling you while you’re being nice?” He leans in, breath ghosting my cheek. “It’s even harder.”
Everything in me stills as his lips brush my jaw and then explodes when I realize that he’s kissing me.
He presses another kiss to my skin, closer to my ear this time, and whispers, “Is that okay?”
God, I want to scream my answer. Yes, kiss me, ruin me, make me yours.
But then my brain flashes with dark hair and sharp eyes—Petite—and the promise I need to make.
“Mason. Not yet.”
He startles, eyes widening with something that looks a lot like hurt. I shake my head and cup the back of his neck, then press our foreheads together. “I just have to take care of a few things first, okay? Give me some time to do that. Then, nothing will hold me back. You’re so damn kissable.” I kiss his cheek, then whisper against his skin, “So damn hot and fuckable.”
He vibrates against me, and I’m scared he’s going to cry again, but then I pull back to see him smirking.
“I’m a top, Luc.”
My jaw drops, but before I can even process the onslaught of ideas that gives me, there’s a knock, and the door creaks open.
Alaina peeks in, and her eyes go wide when she sees us. Mason is half in my lap, my hand still on his neck, both of us flushed, rumpled, too close, too intimate.
My heart leaps straight into my throat.
Fuck.
For a split second, something flickers in her expression, but then she just smiles sheepishly.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to check if you’re okay, but it looks like Luc has, umm… everything under control.”
“No.” I shake my head. “He needs both of us. Come here, Petite.” I pat the spot beside Mason, ignoring the way he’s stiffened again. “He needs an emotional support hug from both sides.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking to Mason, waiting for permission. They look at each other for several moments, and he relaxes against me before giving her one of those small, tired smiles that’s somehow still stupidly sweet, and my heart combusts.
She steps in and closes the door before crawling onto the bed with timid movements, like she’s afraid she’ll shift the balance just by being too much.
She has no idea that she is the balance.
We’re still sitting awkwardly, so I tug Mason with me as I lie back against the pillows. He follows without protest, his body warm and pliant against mine.
Alaina hovers, like she’s not sure how to fold into us, so I grasp her hip, and she follows my guidance to lie down behind Mason. She curls into him slowly, letting her taped fingers slip over his side and her other hand rest near mine on his chest. Taking her wrist, I tug her closer until we’re all wrapped up in one long, messy line.
Somehow, even with all the bruises and cracks and unfinished conversations between us, we fit.
No one speaks for a long moment, but then Alaina whispers to Mason, “You okay?”
He exhales slowly. “I am now.”
“Are we okay?” She swallows, and I feel her pulse jump beneath my fingers.
He nods. “Yeah, Bambi, we’re good.”
“We’re all gonna be fine,” I promise, tightening my hold around Mason and squeezing Alaina’s wrist. “I’ll make sure of it.”
And maybe it’s a lie. Maybe I can’t protect them from everything.
But I’ll bleed trying.