AFTER OUR STUDY SESSION IN the quad, I sulked in my room for the better part of the evening. Some of it was because of Baker and the fact that she genuinely despised me. The other part was the dinner my father insisted I attend.

Battery-powered tea lights flickered from onyx cages in the center of the table I chose upon arrival, the others around us full of men in business suits.

I arrived on time, sporting a crisp white button-down I left unbuttoned at the collar—my long chain and iron pendant tucked safely inside—and a pair of slacks.

He wasn't in the city often, but when he was, my dad always took the opportunity to flaunt his only son around. Not out of pride, but for show. He sported me like one of his many vintage cars. To prove just how great we were.

Light jazz slithered through bodies and over tables where clinking glasses and utensils on plates caught my ear. I sipped my scotch, wanting to down the drink, but I could feel my father studying me from an adjacent table. Likely curious about my sour mood.

I expected the hatred from Baker's father, from Lily and the other members of her team, but Joy...

"It's good to see you, Levi," an older man I recognized from childhood greeted.

I pressed a fine-lined smile, dipping my chin in acknowledgement as he passed by, but I couldn't shake the twisting feeling in my gut.

I liked school, mostly because I escaped the ever-watchful eye of my father, but there were other reasons, the main one being no one knew me as Hunt, the spoiled rich kid. If they did, they recognized me as a racer on an even playing field. Sure they knew about the feud between my father and Baker's, but they weren't biased like the people back home were.

The minutes turned to an hour, and the dull conversations about work and family life soon turned to full bouts of laughter and roaring chatter.

I wanted to go home. I was over faking smiles and pretending to care about the markets and new business ventures. I had an early start with a woman who hated me. A woman I thought I could befriend. How wrong I was.

I checked the time on my phone, about to leave, when the man I'd called dad pulled up next to me. "I won't be at your race this weekend."

I almost scoffed at his whispered greeting. He rarely showed, but he sure as hell made sure I won them.

He took a drink of his scotch, crinkling the edges of his brown eyes in acknowledgment to a man I didn't recognize and his young wife, who seemed to be ogling me most of the night.

My dad took notice and released a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Warren's going to have his hands full with that one," he muttered into his glass as they walked on by. "Poor bastard's ex-wife took the kids and half his money when she left him."

There was no remorse in my dad's words, just cold truth strung together with a humorous edge as if he expected nothing less. Most of the men here were workaholics corrupted by greed. Some cheated on their wives because they could. Other spouses chose to leave willingly because money wasn't enough to warm their lonely lives.

Warren's new wife glanced over her bare shoulder, giving me a coy grin as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. I wasn't interested in the blonde or ruining a marriage. Growing up, couples I knew didn't stay together for very long. Many of my friends'families—outside the racing community—had torn apart due to divorce. Some were just plain miserable because their parents hated one another but stayed for the convenience of it. I never saw a functional, loving relationship. Aside from my parents and even that didn't last very long. 

They disappeared into the crowd, the woman seeming slightly disappointed when I didn't return her smile.

The smell of my drink hit my nose as my dad adjusted. "I've heard rumours," he murmured, "about your antics last weekend."

"What rumours?" I asked. There was always something new being said about me, and it was getting old. I learned to slough it off, but it didn't stop the lies from scratching the surface of my skin.

He sipped his scotch, his dark suit exuding wealth and chestnut-coloured hair combed back, void of any grey. "That you and Nadine Baker were caught together at the music festival."

I said nothing. Not right away. Answering too quickly would have tipped him off, and not saying anything meant I was guilty. "Well, that's a new one."

He eyed me suspiciously. "I don't need to remind you what kind of people they are, do I?"

Nicolas Baker took everything from me. I'd heard it so many times over the years, more so after my mother got sick. My dad loathed the Baker's for an accidental hit that cost him the loyalty of our town. One he used to his advantage when the Snocross legend jumped back on the track.

After reviewing the tape repeatedly, the race director deemed it an accident—everyone was driving recklessly that day, including Nick Baker. He wasn't in the right headspace, they argued, not after he buried his mother. My dad argued he'd been just as aggressive, but it didn't matter. All anyone saw was the controversial hit and drew their conclusions—cementing the assumption that my dad would have done anything for a win, a belief that had tailed me since my career started.

Jeopardizing his career was his biggest regret, he claimed. And he made sure I was careful on the track as a result because, after that hit, my dad was watched and eventually lost everything because of it.

I felt him assess me, and I hated it. It was like he could read my thoughts in every expression. Every turn of phrase and dry remark.

"They'll use you to get ahead, Levi," he warned. "That girl took an entire season off–"

"To care for her grandmother," I interjected before he could finish that sentence. "To care for Linda." The same woman who gave my mom a job when she first moved to town and brought hot meals to the house for my dad and me when she was sick. The woman who included me whenever she volunteered at the school, seating me right next to her granddaughter, who was extremely talkative and loud, but also punched Bobby Ross in the nose one day when he snatched the hospital blanket my mother put in my pack during lunch.

I might've smiled had my dad not given me a look that should have pulverized me. "Are you defying me?"

I dipped my chin. Quick to concede.

"You know what they did," he growled, inches from the side of my face. "I had it all. Sponsorships, endorsement deals."

I turned my head away. Not about to say something in front of everyone at the bar. Not that I would've if we were at home. My dad's word was law, and I'd be an idiot not to follow it.

He calmed, but the tension in his shoulders remained. "Look, I don't care who you bang. Just be smart about it. Her dad will do anything to ensure you lose this season."

Because after years of silence, their rivalry ignited and took center stage when I became old enough to race and Jace signed on with team Baker.

"Jace is the kind of guy he wants for his daughter," he continued. "Not you."

Something in me splintered, but I wouldn't let on. Like Nick Baker, Jace Wynters came from humble origins, meaning Baker's father had a soft spot for the asshole from the start. "Jace thinks Nadine and I are dating," I explained. "I'm hoping it'll throw off his game."

The words were like glass in my mouth, but I'd say anything to deter him and stop the conversation because there was no arguing with Taylor Hunt.

He grinned with malicious intent. "And what brought that on?"

I reluctantly explained the situation with Baker and our agreement.

"So you're using Nick Baker's daughter to get ahead." He shook his head with a grin, downing his drink. "Baker's not going to like that."

I'd never hated myself more than at that moment. I liked Nadine, even if she despised me.

"We're two wins away from another victory before Snocross begins," he reminded, setting his empty glass on the table. "I expect you home early Friday to prepare."

That all depended on Baker, but I wouldn't say as much. 

He patted my shoulder. "I look forward to another win, son," he finished, rising out of his seat.

I did too, if only to keep him off my back.

I watched him make his way to another table with a broad, plastic grin plastered on his face.

He wasn't always like he was now. In fact, I didn't remember him caring much about his racing career at all when I was young. Or mine. He was an asshole that everyone feared, yes, but when he was with my mom...

I slipped away with nothing but regret and the wire-twisting guilt plaguing my gut.

A/N: Thank you so much reading! Hunt posted to his stories 👇🏼