When I finish my conversation with Heath and hang up the phone, Locke speaks.
“You’re going to wait it out?”
His back is straightened again, expression stoic and serious. He resembles the stereotype I afforded him these years, but I know better now. Behind that demeanor is a guy who has too much superhero knowledge and loves to gossip.
I nod. “Yeah. What else can I do?”
“Something dramatic and cool.”
There it is. The boyish glint in his eye.
Laughing, I turn my body to his. “Do you have any ideas?”
“Let’s go get the USB.”
I cackle, clapping my hands at his ridiculous suggestion. He’s joking.
“Yeah, because it’s possible for me to get to Pittsburgh and back in the next 12 hours.”
His own laughter doesn’t come. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and smirks. “How fast can you get to the Boston airport?”
“For what?”
“It’s crazy. Dad is going to kill me.” His smirk grows and he waves his phone back and forth. “But I’m an authorized user for his private jet.”
My jaw unhinges. It’s insane. First, that my father has a private jet. Second, that we would secretly use it to fly to another state for my girlfriend’s homework assignment.
The most insane part of it is Locke suggesting it in the first place, despite how angry our father will be with him. He’s told me the things Keller has done the rare times Locke steps out of line—cutting him off for months, berating him in front of employees, and going as far as to spread rumors about his own son to the public.
I won’t question anymore why Locke does his bidding. I question why he’s willing to test him now.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble for this. Who knows how Keller will react?”
“Yeah.” He bobs his head, but the amused expression doesn’t fall. “But we’re together, right? That counts for something. Fuck it.”
A smirk similar to his, identical, even, spreads onto my face.
“Yeah. Fuck it.”
In record time, I’m starting up the engine and Locke is buckling himself into the passenger seat. We’re barely thirty seconds onto the road when he’s tapping away on his phone.
“Dad has a membership with a private jet charter. That’s where I’m authorized.”
“How much is something like that?”
“The one he has? A lot. He’s going to be pissed.”
I quickly glance at his face to make sure he’s not backing out. If he did, I would understand, and there’d be no push back.
Locke is smiling though, and I do, too.
“Thanks for doing this, dude.”
“Of course. I got you.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens, hope and warmth invading my senses. Locke doesn’t ask for anything in return. Hethrows me a thumbs up when someone on the other end of his phone call answers, and he spits out the McCarthy name.
For the first time in a long time, the name doesn’t strike anger or resentment in me. Just faith.
