I nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. It was so unfair how different our lives were, that we were in this position where I could potentially have everything I’d ever dreamed of, but at the cost of leaving my best friend. Would it be worth it? But how could I split my heart in two, my soul?
“Koa,” my aunt snapped quietly, “Coach Faulkner was speaking to you.”
I blinked rapidly, remembering where I was. “Oh, sorry. What did you say?”
Aunt Leilani sighed in annoyance, but the coach smiled warmly. “It’s okay, son. I just asked what you thought about all this?”
I didn’t even know what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter because my decision had already been made, regardless of what they said.
Chapter 1
Riot
Seven Years Later:
“Riot,can you sign my permission slip?”
I eyed Wynter as I flipped the eggs in the pan. The toaster popped before I could answer. Hawk’s waffle was ready. I grabbed his blue plate, the only one he’d use right now, and tossed it on there.
“What permission slip?” I was usually good at keeping track of all the kids’ stuff, but I was a little distracted today. I had gotten a big commission for a piece and I was already planning it out.
Wynter rolled her eyes, her lips pursed in annoyance. She was thirteen and full of attitude. I tried to remember if I’d been so . . . emotional at thirteen, but I’d been too busy caring for an infant—her—and a toddler—Knox—to have time to give in to my feelings. At times like this, I had to remember this was what I wanted: the kids to have a chance to be kids.
“For the art museum, remember? Today is the last day I can bring it in. Oh, and I need thirty bucks for it.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. Of course she did. There’d been a time that would have sent me into a spiral of panic, but, well, things were okay now. Better than okay. Good even. Or at least getting there. The only worry now was having cash on hand.
“You should’ve asked Koa before he left. He usually has cash on him.”
Wynter just shrugged.
I scooped up Hawk as he ran past, holding his favorite airplane toy, and popped him in his booster seat. At four, he was starting to outgrow it, but I was going to keep him strapped in for meals for as long as possible. I pushed him in and then placed his plate in front of him.
“Here you go, bud.”
He looked at his waffle, which was plain because it was the only way he ate it, and then did the sign for milk. “Sure thing. You want your airplane cup?”
He nodded but still wouldn’t look at me. “Coming right up.”
Wynter was standing at the edge of the kitchen, her hands on her hips. The eggs were burning, but of course she didn’t bother to do anything about that.
“You could help, you know,” I told her sarcastically as I grabbed the spatula and placed the fried eggs onto a plate.
“Permission slip, Riot. I don’t want to miss this.”
I didn’t want her to miss it either. Art was the one thing Wynter and I had in common these days. I sighed. “Bring it to me. You have to ask Knox if he has cash. Or, you know, give me more notice than . . .” I glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes before you leave.”
As if on cue, Knox came down the hallway holding our eighteen-month-old brother, Storm, in his arms. Storm was still wearing his pajamas, a onesie with little cows on it, and was sucking furiously on his binkie.
“Cash for what? Who needs cash these days?”
I took Storm from him, kissing the baby’s cheek noisily, enjoying his giggles. I wished I could say I’d been surprised when I’d gotten a call nearly two years ago telling me Mom was pregnant, back in jail, and asking if I could take the baby when he was born, but I hadn’t been. Storm was the first one of my siblings I had gotten custody of at birth, but he wasn’t the only one who’d come to me in the last seven years. It’d become something of a running joke.
“Your sister. For a class trip. And today is the last day she can pay, apparently.”
Knox huffed before walking into the kitchen. He grabbed three bowls out of the cabinet and the cereal, getting breakfast ready for himself and the twins. “Sorry. I got nothing. Did you ask Koa?”
“He’s at therapy with Cruz. I’ll text him. Maybe he can swing by the middle school after dropping him off.” I grabbed Hawk’s favorite cup and poured his milk into it. Hawk signed, “Thank you,” putting down his waffle and grabbing the handles.
