Into the Fading Twilight (Starlight Grove, #2) (35)

The article flashed in my mind. Nova Monroe Seeks Solace with Fellow Victims. Photos of me splashed across a stupid blog and the website for a paper out of Redding.

Energy hummed through me, though not the good kind. The kind that made me feel like I wanted to claw my skin off. I’d gone cliff jumping right after seeing it, but it hadn’t worked.

My face—still a little too pale. My cheeks—still a little too hollow. My eyes—still far too haunted.

It was as if the photo Reese Gatlin had snapped told the truth while I was living a lie. So when I went to jump off the cliff the way I always did, it didn’t do the job like it normally would. There was no relief. No certainty that I was alive, that I was breathing.

I needed more.

The second figure, in a flame-printed shirt, coasted over a part of the trail that sent his bike practically sideways. I had no clue how he didn’t fall straight on his head.

This was probably a mistake. Stupid. But I was desperate. And if I didn’t get some sort of release, I wasn’t sure I would make it through the day without breaking.

“Supernova?”

I jolted at the sound of my nickname, twisting on the bike that, while it could be considered fit for mountain trails, had seen far better days. As I turned, surprise flared as I took in Maverick. He was fully kitted out, looking like some ninja biker.

He wore an all-black material that skimmed over his form. Skulls decorated his gloves, and sunglasses in a metallic orange covered half his face.

He tipped those glasses up and took me in as if needing to make sure it was really me. “What are you doing out here?”

My shoulders instantly stiffened, as if I were about to be reported to the teacher. “I wanted to try mountain biking.”

Mav’s jaw slackened slightly. “You wanted to try mountain biking,” he parroted.

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?” I snapped.

“Not a damn thing. But you’re sitting at the top of an advanced trail that’s going to dump you on your ass for sure.”

My chin jutted out in defiance, but I caught a rider out of the corner of my eye going through a harrowing series of obstacles, and that defiance slid out of me, leaving behind nothing but defeat—defeat and that anxious, muscle-twitching energy that needed an outlet. “I need something.”

Maverick frowned. “What do you mean?”

A wave of dizziness hit, telling me the anxiety was getting worse. “I need to breathe,” I croaked.

It only took a second for understanding to dawn for Mav. “Follow me,” he clipped.

He was already stepping down on one pedal, riding back toward the parking lot as I followed him. But instead of going there, he made a sharp left turn into some trees and onto another path. He stopped just shy of a different trail’s start.

I hadn’t seen this one right off, since it was protected by the trees. But it looked like one of those terrifying water slides that shot you straight down, then spat you out.

“This is called ‘the Slingshot,’” Mav informed me.

“How is it better than the other one?” I choked out, my muscles still tight around my throat.

“This is a straight shot, and there’s a long, flat tail at the end for you to slow. It’ll give you the dose of adrenaline you need, but it’s a hell of a lot safer than the Gauntlet because there’s not as much to navigate.”

I nodded slowly, adjusting my helmet. “What do I need to do?”

“Bent knees, bent elbows so you can adjust your weight forward or back. But mostly, you’ll want to stay centered over your bike. Do not slam on your brakes. You’ll go flying. Feathering touches to slow down. Take your time at the bottom. I’ll follow behind you.”

I played Maverick’s instructions over and over in my head. Bent knees. Bent elbows. Centered weight. Feather the brakes.

I was sure Mav expected me to ask more, to see if it was okay to go. But I didn’t. The anxiety was riding me too hard. So I simply shoved off.

It only took three pedal pumps to send me tipping over the top of the hill. For a second, I hung there, as if my body had no weight at all. And then, I flew.

The wind whipped against me as I hovered over the bike seat. It was like a harsh slap and a brutal wake-up call all at once. And it was everything.

The wind and the shock forced the air from my lungs. Forced me to breathe. But more, I felt my heartbeat. The rushing thrum of my pulse. And it all led to one simple piece of knowledge.

I was alive.

I held on to it with a vicious force. And suddenly, I could hear Kol’s voice in my head again.

“You’re alive. You’re breathing.”

I let it play over and over as I flew down the slope. It was beauty and force and living out loud.

Hitting the bottom of the incline, my bike shot out down the path, giving me a whole new understanding of why the trail was called the Slingshot. But it wasn’t long before I started to slow. I feathered the brakes, just as Maverick had instructed, until I came to a stop.

And I was still breathing.

I pulled my bike over to the side, watching as Mav guided his bike far more smoothly than I had. He came to a stop in a move that sent dirt flying and grinned at me. “How’d it feel?”

“Amazing,” I told him honestly.

“Hell yeah. Nothing like a little adrenaline dump to get the day started.”