Song: FEEL NOTHING - The Plot In You

The bar was just as busy as I predicted, but as always, our spot near the fireplace had remained vacant. Dallas nursed his beer. The fire behind roaring with heat.

For a moment, we sat with nothing but the sound of the flatscreen hung on the wall a few feet from us and the chatter of this evening's customers. I welcomed it like a warm embrace. The cab ride over was awkward enough as it was. I said nothing the entire way, and neither did Dallas.

I did my best not to look at him or the screen, knowing Baker's race was coming up soon. The bar always streamed the event, so those who wanted to drink and not freeze in the stands could watch. They kept their gazes fixed on the screen, hardly noticing Dallas and me as we slipped inside.

I wanted to be there in the stands. Or with my camera along the sidelines. I missed it so much—the adrenaline rush. The lighthearted laughter Baker and I shared with the boys. I wanted to see Baker off. To tell him that everything was going to be okay. He had the skills. All he needed to do was shake the nerves.

My heart hurt, shouldering my ribcage. It told me to go. To leave Dallas here at the bar and tend to Baker, but I wouldn't push. If he said he didn't want me there, I wouldn't force it. I could only pray for a safe race.

Dallas didn't take his eyes off me. I could feel it as I stared at my lemon-speckled water when they mentioned Baker's name.

The bar roared, breaking into cheers and heavy claps as the announcer and his cohost mentioned last year's accident and how they were eager to see him return.

My hands shook, and I took my phone from the pouch pocket of the sweater I'd changed into earlier, wondering if I should send him a text. But that thought retreated quickly when Dallas apologized, "I'm sorry."

I scoffed, lifting my water to my lips. "You're only sorry because you got caught."

He soured his face. "You know you weren't exactly honest with me either."

Baker's photo came on the tv—his bright whiskey-coloured eyes crinkled in smile.

"I had every intention of telling you about Baker," I snarled in the protective pocket of the crowd.

"When?" he asked. "On the way to the airport? Or were you waiting to surprise me with all of this?"

I hated that tone almost as much as Baker's. "Baker's a part of my family," I stated firmly, not about to explain his history.

"And how do you think that makes me look, Hadley?" he snapped, speaking in hushed tones so those distracted with the upcoming race, their food and beer couldn't hear. "You expect me to compete with the ex your parents adore?"

The crowd chanted his name, and Dallas's sour expression bloomed to full-on annoyance.

Snow slayer. Snow slayer. Snow slayer.

Snocross might not be as big as hockey where Dallas was from, but here it was life, and Baker was a legend given his skills. Something Dallas didn't seem to appreciate.

"I didn't expect you to compete with him at all," I snapped back. "I expected you to be loyal. Not to use your name and screw every fangirl who came across your path."

"It was one."

"And that makes it alright?"

"No, I... alright, I fucked up, but you were never around."

"Are you kidding me? Dallas, I practically lived with you. I spent nearly every night at your house while you and your teammates gamed out. I went to every party. Every one of your games—"

"Because you were required to be there," he interjected.

I propped elbows on the gleaming tabletop, combing frustrated fingers through my hair. "It doesn't matter what I say," I said more to myself than the man across from me, "it doesn't matter what I do. I'll always be the bad guy."

I lifted my head, noting his puzzlement.

The crowd roared their approvals as the camera angled in on those pulling up to the line.

I'd been there for Dallas. I'd been there for Baker. I'd been there for my brothers. And none of it mattered. In the end, I was left alone. To pick myself up off the floor.

I leaned over, searching for my bag.

"What are you doing?" Dallas asked, blue eyes darting over me.

"Going home," I replied. The last place I wanted to be was here watching Baker. If he crashed, I couldn't get to him. I'd be here, helplessly staring at the screen.

Dallas snarled, "And what am I supposed to do?"

I set my bag in my lap, scooting my seat back and tucking my coat into my arm. "You found your way here. I'm sure you can make your way back home."

"So that's it? You're done?"

Yes, I was. I was done with Dallas, done with Baker, done with everything. "You cheated."

"And I apologized."

"After you got caught. Suppose those pictures weren't sent to me? Would you have gone on lying?"

It was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway. "I was planning on breaking it off."

"That sounds like bullshit. And the fact," I added, lifting a hand and creating a sour face, "that it had been going on long enough that you had to 'break it off' is very telling."

I rose, about to leave and call a cab, a uber—Luke, when Dallas snapped up, leaning across the table. "How do you think you got the paper job, Hadley?"

I stilled as the racers readied on the track. Partially confused, but deep down, I knew what he was insinuating and ice-cold dread consumed.

"It wasn't because of your skills," Dallas went on, folding arms before him. "It was because I asked for you. Because I put in a good word and refused photos from anyone else."

I stared in disbelief. "I got that job, Dallas. I worked my ass off for that position."

He chuckled. "Please tell me you're not that naive, Hadley."

The ire broiled. Hotter than the fireplace and the congestion of too many bodies stuffed in my mother's bar. "I don't believe you."

"Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant. The only way you got that job was because of me. And I can request someone else just as easily."

Undiluted rage poured through my veins. "I earned that spot."

"Keep telling yourself that," he said, easing back in the cushioned seat and taking a swig of his beer. "The only way you earned that spot was by sleeping with me. Because you were my girlfriend."

I wanted to slap him. To lash out and rage, but even if I wanted, I couldn't. Not as bleakness settled in like a dark gray snow cloud. The world I'd created for myself crumbled in the span of a few syllables. "Why?" I asked.

"I knew what I wanted," he said simply. As if the spot were nothing more than a second thought when it meant everything to me. "And you were much prettier than Joel."

"Anyone could take pictures," he said in an argument when I tried to explain the importance of meeting a deadline. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to now.

Dallas took another sip. A trophy, that's what I was to the all-star. A girl he could dangle on his arm like the latest phone or accessory. A piece of his outfit he wore that was designed to make him look good and bring the topic of conversation to him, not me.

I knew it wasn't true, but that didn't stop my head from spinning. He might have got me the spot, but I'd retained it. They kept me in that position because I was good at what I did, but was that true?

He waited, a slight smirk of triumph quirking. The same deceiving smile I'd seen him flash Baker when we left the track.

I'd heard rumours of how difficult Dallas was to work with. But he was always good with me and the reporter that accompanied me. If he didn't like a photo, he was sure to tell me, and I'd fix it. I made reels and promoted him through my account. I...

Reality hit. "You used me?"

It was no secret I garnered quite the following. First with the boys, then with the sports teams. Exposure was vital when it came to being recognized. I knew that firsthand working with Bell Racing. In a world full of competition, sponsors wanted to see how you stood out. What made you different than all the rest.

"Please, Hadley," Dallas mocked. "I hardly need the exposure."

His arrogance had my blood boiling.

"But you did manage to provide free publicity."

Tears pulled in my eyes. "You bastard."

Dallas shrugged, looking me up and down. "Without me, no one would have taken you seriously. I got you that job. My position on the team got you that job."

I wanted to cry. To lash out. I knew what he said couldn't be true, but it didn't matter. He'd planted the seed of doubt, and it had sewn and spread through me like a thicket of thorns.

My heart cracked—the tears pricking. I made to leave when Dallas snatched my wrist. "If it weren't for me, you'd be taking family photos for peanuts."

I glared, hot tears lining my eyes. "Let. Go. Of. Me," I warned.

His grip crushed, shooting pain up my arm, but I didn't dare give him the satisfaction of knowing it hurt. "If you walk away from me, I'll ruin you," he growled. "You'll never take another photo on campus again. You'll lose your spot at The Gateway and never get anywhere in your career."

"And here comes Nathan Bell," the announcer stated, drawing my attention.

"His brother is out for the season, isn't he, Dan?"

They went on, and despite the vicelike grip Dallas had on my wrist, I couldn't help the warmth that blossomed beneath my skin.

"Here comes Max "Sunshine" Teller, pulling up beside number 44 Nick Baker."

"Look at the crowd, Steve," the second announcer boomed. "Bell Racing has really earned the heart of this town given its humble origin."

Dallas waited, and I dipped, coming face to face with him. "I build careers, Dallas," I murmured ominously, gesturing to the television mounted above us. And I had. I might not have trained the boys or provided the money needed to fuel the team, but I had a hand in making Bell Racing what it was. In making the boys who they were. "And I can take them away just as easily."

His eyes flicked to my hand. To the phone I'd grabbed to call Luke. The same phone that had the pictures of him with jersey girl. The texts. The proof of his ill-treatment of me. I never considered using any of it and likely wouldn't. No one gave a shit about the players' girlfriends, but if it meant loosening his grip, I'd use it. But my threat seemed to have the opposite effect of what I intended.

I ripped from his grip. Not realizing how quickly he rose.

He grabbed the scruff of my neck, jerking me so hard I stumbled. "If you fuck up my chance for the draft, Hadley—"

"What?" I dared.

The neckline of my sweater burned my skin. My heart pounded in my throat. I was in no position to make threats. Not with the crowd's eyes on the race. No one noticed us, and I didn't know what Dallas might do. I'd never seen him so angry.

The horn blared—my only indication the race had started. The crowds roaring chants followed, blanketing my next words. "Don't underestimate me, Dallas."

His eyes flared, and I waited, not knowing what he'd do, when Luke raced toward us, cutting between bodies when he caught sight of Dallas and me.

My brother shoved himself between us, creating space so I could breathe, but Janelle was on me in an instant.

She pulled the sweater from my neck to assess the burn—her widening eyes my only indication of how bad it was. She lifted the arm of my sleeve as if she'd seen him grab me, noting the red and purplish hue of his hand already beginning to form.

She whirled. Anger red hot. "I'd kiss your spot on the team goodbye."

Dallas scoffed a laugh, and Janelle shoved him before a raging Luke could do anything. He fell into a group of locals. The three took their eyes off the tv for only a moment to assess what was going on. "You alright, Luke?"

Dallas snapped up, anger searing, but he wouldn't react. He was clearly outnumbered.

My brother made to advance—his knuckles bone white, but I hooked my arm in his before he had a chance to move. "Let's go, Luke. He's not worth it."

A/N: Janelle should've slapped him, that's all I'm saying. But she is a law student and she's not stupid...

Dallas might be in a little bit of trouble.