Page 1 of Lucky's Trouble

PROLOGUE

TINLEIGH

Three years ago. . .

“I’d like to bury my testimony. I know the church is true.” The little girl at the podium pulls her lower lip down with a finger and twists it from side to side as she recites the same damn thing as every other five-year-old who steps onto the stage on Fast Sunday.

Myla glances over at me, and we snicker under our breaths. All kids around that age mix up the word “bury” with “bear,” and it never gets less funny. Sacrament meetings are boring, and we have to get our entertainment somewhere.

The women of the congregation coo adoringly at the little girl as she says, “Amen,” and steps off the stage. It’s silent in the room as we wait to see if anyone else’s spirit is urging them to step up and give a sanctimonious speech. My eyes dart over the pews, praying there are no takers, but then David Bee stands and walks to the stage.

I roll my eyes, knowing whatever he spews will be utter nonsense. Last night, this motherfucker took me on an R-rated date. He said we were going to the middle of the Utah desert to look at the stars, when all he really wanted to do was clumsily finger me while attempting to suck my lips off my face.

Now he’s dressed in his Sunday best, weeks away from leaving on a mission to Spain, expressing how strong his testimony is to the entire congregation. I’ll give it to him, though—he has them all fooled. In their eyes, he’s everything a young man should be: a priesthood holder, chaste, Christ-like, and arguably the most important, practices blind obedience.

“Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.”

Barf.

“Didn’t he do a keg stand last weekend at Hannah’s party?” Myla whispers.

“I let him touch my boobs last night,” I whisper back, causing my twin to gasp way too loudly.

“Girls,” Mom admonishes, holding a finger to her lips.

When David is done, I watch as parent after parent pats the knee of their soon-to-be missionary, encouraging them to also bear their testimony. Typical. It’s all about appearances, and heaven forbid your son doesn’t go up after someone else’s did. What would everyone think?

Two tedious hours later, the closing prayer is said, and we’re free to leave. I dig my keys out of my Lulu crossbody and grab my sister’s hand, ready to drag her out of here. While no one would stop to talk to me, since everyone here thinks I’m a lost cause, Myla is seen as the good twin. It’s not true. She breaks all the same commandments I do; she’s just better at hiding it.

“I want you both home this afternoon. We’re hosting the missionaries for dinner,” Mom says, stopping us before we can clear the pew.

“Seriously?” I whine.

Myla nudges my shoulder with hers. “It won’t be so bad.”

“Says the girl no one looks at like she has devil horns sprouting from her head,” I mutter.

“I’ll be your buffer.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes and turn to Mom with a fake-ass smile. “What time is dinner?”

“Three. Don’t be late.”

“We won’t.” Myla waves to our parents as I pull her to the exit.

Fast Sundays are bullshit. We’re required to skip two meals and then donate the money we would’ve spent on food to the church. Later today, a little boy will knock on our door to collect our fast offering that’s supposed to go to the needy. However, for a church worth billions of dollars, it’s odd there are still members who don’t have money to feed their kids.

“Where are we going?” Myla asks as she climbs into the passenger seat of our shared Toyota Tacoma.

“Pioneer Park.”

“Why?”

I grin. “I have an idea.”

Blasting our favorite Spotify mix, we sing along and vibe as we ride up the mountain. Our small town in southern Utah has grown a lot since we were little girls, but our favorite spot to hang out hasn’t changed. Since it’s Sunday and most of the population is the same religion that believes today is a day of rest, we’re mostly alone when we park.

I reach for the vape in a secret pocket under my seat that I hand-sewed into the fabric and hop out of the truck. Letting down the tailgate, I grab the duffel bag I packed before church and dig out two pairs of Converse and changes of clothes, handing one set of items to Myla.

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