I fling open the side door to the garage more forcefully than I should. It rebounds off the Hardy plank with a loudcrackand slams shut as soon as I walk inside. Going straight for my car, I make sure the extra key fob is in the glove compartment box, then start the engine.
The passenger door suddenly opens just as the garage door lifts, and Jayson drops into the seat.
I don’t even look at him. “Get out.”
He pulls the door closed, locks it, and secures the seat belt over his chest. “Not happening.”
“Suit yourself.” I resist the urge to wheelspin out of the garage, my annoyance urging me to take out my frustrations by driving reckless and fast. I catch Knox and Tate’s perplexed looks through the window glass when I pass them.
Jayson’s fast breaths fill the interior. He must have sprinted after me soon after I stormed off. “Are you?—”
“Don’t talk,” I snap.
As soon as I get to the front driveway, my damn phone rings, and Marcus’s name pops up on my dashboard’s screen.
Pressing the button on the steering wheel, I put on a bright, cheery voice. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Why are you leaving the party? Did something happen?”
I detest lying, especially to my children. “I’m just heading to the store real quick.”
“It’s past nine. They’re closed.”
“Convenience store. We’re running low on bagged ice and drinks. I won’t be gone long.”
“I would’ve done that.”
The centrifugal force slams Jayson against the side of the door when I come into the curve too fast.
“I’ve got it. Go dance with Hannah.”
Through the anger, a smile sneaks its way in when he grumbles, “I’m never bringing another girl to the house.”
“Love you.” I disconnect and focus on the road ahead.
The headlights cut through the darkness as I drive with no particular destination in mind. Just the open road and my muddled thoughts.
“How long have you known? Did Ryder tell you?”
Jayson turns in his seat. “Does it matter?”
Not really. I’m still going to be upset with whatever he says. “Humor me.”
Jayson props his elbow on the side of the door and stares out the window. “Remember that shitty PI we hired?”
I remember them telling me that they hired one. “Yeah.”
“Ran into him a few months ago at one of my AA meetings. Apparently, he moved to San Francisco for the fresh air.”
“And?”
“And it turns out there was a bunch of stuff he never told us.”
Slowing down, I pull off onto a dirt road that leads to an old retaining pond. “And he somehow remembered everything when he saw you?”
Jayson drums his fingers on the sill. “Dying has a habit of forcing deep confessions.” When all I can do is gape at him, he says, “Pancreatic cancer.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.” The average five-year survival rate for that form of cancer is very low.
