Renea’s car slows down in front of the porch steps.
Chris scratches the back of his head and lets out a heavy breath. “I’m just going to skip over the part where you’re intoRileybecause I can’t even…” He blinks like someone who’s been blinded by a camera flash. “But why keep it a secret? You two are both adults. It’s not like you’re breaking the law.”
“I wanted to tell you.” Bouncing ideas off of Chance, Kinsey and Renthrow was great and I look up to those guys, but Chris has known me since middle school. “But what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Chris. How’s Nicole? By the way, I met this amazing girl. She’s funny, smart, passionate, sexy?—”
Chris makes a disgusted face.
“—and by the way she’s your sister.’ See? Your face is exactly why I couldn’t say anything.”
“Give me a sec. I’m about to throw up in my mouth.”
Renea’s car door slams shut and she approaches us, arms folded over her chest. “Looks like we came at a bad time. I should have called.”
“No, I’m glad to see you. Both of you. Make yourselves at home. Chris, you can hit the couch. Renea, the guest room’s all yours.”
“Thanks, Nat.” Renea’s smile trembles.
Chris grips my shoulder and gives me a serious look. “Did Riley leave her job to follow you around in Lucky Falls?”
“She was in Lucky Falls before we met.”
“Was she transferred? Are they building an airport out here in,” he gestures, “the middle of nowhere?”
“No, she’s a mechanic now.”
“A mechanic? Like for cars?”
I nod.
“Since when? She’s been obsessed with planes since she was fifteen.”
I lift both my shoulders. “She hasn’t mentioned why, but that’s what she’s doing now.”
I wish I’d been more inquisitive about the secret she’s protecting from her family. At least then, I’d know the best ways to back her up.
“This is crazy,” Chris mutters under his breath. “Let me text my uncle. Maybe he knows why Riley switched trades.”
As I watch Chris light up his family group chat with the news, I get a sinking feeling that this investigation into her past is exactly what Riley was trying to avoid.
Chapter Forty-Three
RILEY
The next morning, I stand outside Nat’s front door and take a few, deep breaths. From the porch, I can hear laughter and the mumble of conversation.
“So you two poured two gallons of cooking oil on the driveway and rode your bikes on it?”A woman says.
Must be Renea.
“We thought we could build a turbo-track to make our bikes go faster, but it worked too well. We both crashed our bikes and had to be driven to the hospital,”Chris says.
Booming laughter reverberates through the house. I’d recognize that sound anywhere.
It’s Nat. And he’s happy. Truly happy.
That’s a good sign.
Last night, Chris caught us red-handed and my brain short-circuited.
