[**ON HIATUS**]
Noah Wood is a Mercedes driver. Scrappy, charming, and far too handsome, Noah is one of the best drivers on the grid. But a newcomer is threatening to steal his seat, and Noah must win this year's Grand Prix - or risk being booted ou...
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Noah hadn't expected the day to go like this.
When Matthew and Cedro had suggested white-water rafting in Quebec, he'd pictured playing bad pop music through a tinny phone speaker. Snapping pictures of moose. Maybe stopping for a burger at Macca's on the way back to the hotel.
What Noah hadn't pictured was Amelia Cartwell exploding out of a raft like a cork from a shaken champagne bottle.
She flew through the air, landing squarely in Peter's raft. Her eldest brother looked at her in astonishment. "What the hell, Ammie?"
Amelia ignored him. "Wood, you're with Joe."
She looked at him. And Noah — who had spent the last ten minutes neck-deep in freezing cold water, his hands white on the side of the inflatable raft — decided this was not the time to argue. He swam for Joe's boat.
"Hi." He rolled into the front of the boat. "I'm Noah."
The other boy nodded. "Joe."
"Cool tattoo," Noah said, nodding at the bicycle on his shoulder.
Unsurprisingly, Joe said nothing. Noah picked up the abandoned paddle, pushing them further down the stream. Ahead, Matthew was pelting an annoyed-looking Cedro with what appeared to be animal crackers. At least Matthew had ended the Instagram live, Noah thought wryly. Small mercies.
"It's for Mum," Joe said.
Noah blinked. "Sorry?"
"The tattoo." Joe dipped the paddle in the water. "She used to cycle."
His voice was calm, as if his older brother hadn't just tried to drown Noah in a river. Noah shifted his paddle.
"Oh," Noah said. "Well, I like it."
"Amelia has one, too," Joe said. "Just here." He tapped his neck. "Six birds."
"One for each of you?" Noah surmised.
Joe nodded. "They're robins. That was Mum's name."
He followed Joe's gaze to where Amelia was frowning at Peter, one hand rubbing absently at her neck. Noah thought about that night in the hotel, the way the moonlight coloured Amelia's face in white-and-black slats. Mum died when I was little, she'd said. Cycling accident. Her voice had been so casual. So unbothered.
Then again, it was Amelia.
She didn't give out pieces of her heart. You had to excavate for them. And even then, Noah thought, it was like digging through a cement block with an industrial-grade drill.
"Joe?" Noah asked.
Joe looked at him, one eyebrow raised, but didn't say anything. Noah pushed a branch aside with his paddle.
"Is this the part where you threaten me?" he asked.
