Because he threw his stuff down in the mudroom, he always exited through the back door and walked around the garage to his parking spot on the street. She’d been so fixated on Sebastian that she hadn’t heard him.
“You were switched at birth?” Dylan asked.
No. She didn’t want him to know! Until now, she’d been so careful to shield him.
“Dylan,” she began. Her voice sounded unnatural, rattled. “Let’s go inside and talk about this—”
“Were you switched at birth?” he asked, angry now.
She pursed her lips and sought for an escape route that would enable her to give anything other than a direct answer. “Let’s go inside.”
“I don’t want to go inside!” He gestured sharply. The keys made a jangling sound. “It’s a simple question.”
“Watch it,” Sebastian warned Dylan in a low tone.
“Were ... you ... switched ... at ... birth?” Dylan asked her, as if she were hard of hearing.
She looked at him pleadingly. “Yes.”
“I’m not your brother?”
“You most definitely are my broth—”
“But I’m not, by blood?”
“There are more important things than blood—”
With a guttural sound of frustration, he stormed down the driveway toward his truck.
“Come back!” she ordered.
He didn’t slow.
“Dylan,” Sebastian called.
He didn’t slow.
She jogged downhill, but her brother was pulling away when she reached the road. He peeled out and sped away.
Anguish slid down the back of her legs, weakening them. “Slowdown!” He was upset and driving much too fast.“Slow down!”she yelled.
His truck disappeared around the bend.
“Dylan!” she couldn’t stop herself from screaming, even though she knew he couldn’t hear.
His engine growled. A horn blared. Brakes screeched. Then she heard the sickening noise of crunching metal.
Quiet.
She opened her mouth, but no voice or breath emerged. To the bottom of her soul there was nothing,nothingbut immobilizing fear.
Sebastian was beside her, hurrying her to his car. She was in the passenger seat. He was driving them around the curve. Dylan’s blue truck had rammed into a tree. Another car, a sedan, had pulled onto the opposite side of the road.
Leah was out of Sebastian’s Mercedes before it had come to a stop and running the way she always did in her anxiety dreams many times before. Leaden legs. Too slow.
The grandfatherly driver of the sedan was also rushing toward Dylan, but Leah dashed past the older man and got there first. Dylan’s window was down.
He looked fine. No blood. Unharmed.
