Page 6 of Tulips and Lost Time

“That’s pretty shitty.” I take another bite and bide my time until I can race. “The kids didn’t get hurt?”

“Nope.” His shoulders bounce as his car jumps a ravine and slams back on the road with sparks flying out the back. “The boy, Marcus, he’s twelve, too. He grabbed his sister and hid in the closet till they left.”

“And the robbers just…” I widen my eyes and picture the scene in my mind. Of course, a pre-teen’s imagination, coupled with a Gran Turismo game, makes what I see all the more dramatic. Flying bullets, fighting men. A little ninja karate, maybe. Nunchucks, too. “The robbers left them alone?”

“Didn’t even know the kids were there,” X inserts. “Or didn’t care. Dad reckons they didn’t expect anyone to be home at all. Like the Macchios were supposed to be on vacation or something.” He hisses in the back of his throat when Sam’s car zooms up and smashes him from behind. “So when they got in the house and were busted by the parents, shit was already pretty noisy. They shot and ran. Didn’t even go upstairs.”

“So it was all over pretty quick, then?” I flop my leg over the side of the couch and kick X’s elbow, earning a snarl that turns more severe when I grin. “Walk in, get busted, walk out, and the kids are off to the orphanage?”

“It’s not like they’re being adopted or anything.” Sam cuts left and overtakes his older brother. “And not quick. The parents died at, like, midnight or something. Dad didn’t find the kids until the next morning.”

“Your dad found them? Like,” I shoot forward on my chair and try to catch my friend’s blue stare. “Him, personally?”

“Yeah, he was on duty when the call came in, but their house was all the way over on the other side of town. Marcus went to the other school.” His tongue comes forward past his lips as he concentrates. It’s funny because that’s the face he makes when he’s writing a song, too. And playing guitar. It’s his concentration face. “I heard the cops knew that the Macchios had kids, but thought they’d ran during all the ruckus. Cruisers were all over town for hours trying to find them.”

“And they were in the closet the whole time?” I glance back at the door when the girls playfully scream. Laine, Jess, and Sam’s baby sister, Britt, are pretty damn inseparable. Just like me, Sam, and Ang… and sometimes X, too. Though he’s on the fast track to becoming a cop just like his dad.

He snitches often enough.

“Now they’re coming here,” I conclude. “Marcus is our age, and the other one, the sister, is Britt’s age?”

“Pretty much. I guess that’s why Dad volunteered. He already had the same aged kids, and every other kid in town is eating out of our kitchen already.”

I look down at my sandwich and smirk. Yum.

“Her name is Kari,” X inserts, twisting his body to bring his hotted-up car around a tight corner. “And she’s apparently kinda small for her age. So just…” He slams his controller to the couch and growls when Sam zooms ahead of him and crosses the finish line. “Goddammit. You cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat!” Sam tosses his controller into my lap, laughing as X pushes to his feet. “I’m just better than you.”

“You’re an asshole.” Alex shoves past my couch, hitting my leg with his as he goes by and makes a beeline for the front window overlooking the yard. “They’re gonna be here in a minute. So you should probably go home, Luc.”

“That’s rude.” I set my half sandwich on my knee and pick up the controller still warm from Sam’s palms. He takes Alex’s controller and resets a new race. “I’m not leaving because you’re feeling bossy.” I select my car. My wheels. Paint colors. And when Sam defers to me, I select the track. “Did you ever consider talking to someone, X? You can get a little… ya know… controlling when things aren’t going exactly your way.”

“Did you ever consider shutting the fuck up?” He releases the blinds, so they snap back into place noisily. Then he turns to me and sneers. “This is my house.”

“This is our house,” Sam counters calmy. If Alex is the tense, grumpy Turner, then Sam is his mellow other half. Calm. Cool. Always kind. Hell, I’m not sure there’s anything anyone could do to the dude that would trip his trigger.

Except, maybe, fuck with his family.

“And Luc is my friend,” he continues. “Even if he’s annoying sometimes.”

“Hey.” I shoot a look toward my friend. “Jackoff.”

“He talks a lot,” Sam continues, his lips twitching at the corners. “He’s not very good at the drums.”

“Hell, I’m not. I’m at least as good as Dave Grohl. And I’m still only twelve.”

“Dave Grohl would wipe his ass with your play book,” Alex growls. “Don’t pretend otherwise. What you do is make noise, not music.”

“I make damn good noise, considering my inferior instruments. And I have a plan to save up for a better drum kit. It’s hard earning money when you’re my age. No one trusts you to do the job right.”

“That’s not age,” X grumbles. “That’s just you.”

“Boys?”

Mrs. Turner stops in the living room doorway, the perfect Mrs. Married Life homemaker. She wears a soft blue checkered dress, with a mini-half apron wrapped around trim hips and her hair styled in a bob I’d swear came straight out of the salon.

Except it didn’t.

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