Page 96 of Just My Fake Husband

I tug her close. “They did say there were a couple additional issues they could fix if we wanted them to. And you’ll need new tires before winter.”

“Maybe I should call it good. Maybe I need to let go of that old car.” Her gaze is sturdy, like she’s willing herself to call her own bluff.

I’m suddenly nine again, popping wheelies on the bike I’d had since I was six in our neighborhood in Denver.

“Where’s your new one?” Dad asked, standing in the lawn as I whizzed by, chasing one of my brothers on his bike.

I’d gotten a new bike for Christmas, months before. But instead of feeling like I was flying when I was riding it, I felt like my middle hollowed out every time. It was much bigger than the hand-me-down I’d had for three years—the one where my knees sometimes hit the handlebars and the chain slipped so easily, like a sun-softened snow cone down my throat. Even the new one’s pristine, metallic orange paint jarred my vision. It seemed too bright for comfort. I preferred my chipped, dull yellow one.

I didn’t want to circle back around the loop of our neighborhood, for fear that Dad would have the new one out for me to ride. So I slowed down, letting whichever brother it was win the race. If I went slowly, maybe Dad would be back inside or at work by the time I got home.

No such luck. He was there, on the sidewalk, his hand on the seat of the new orange one.“This one’s better,” he said gruffly.

I knew it wasn’t. But I also knew I didn’t have a choice. I was going to have to ride it with him standing there. I let my beloved one drop to the grass, planted my palms on the orange handlebars, swung my leg over the middle bar, and was surprised it was a little easier to do that move. I must have grown since Christmas.

The bike shook, twisting to the side and weaving its way along as I began to pedal. I straightened it out soon enough but then my legs were burning. The pedals were stiff, the mechanisms unused.

“Around the block,” Dad commanded.

I didn’t want to. But I did it because he asked me to. And I always did what he asked.

The magical thing was, by the time I got home, sweat trickling down the back of my shirt, I didn’t feel hollowed out. I’d had moments of flight. Moments of the breeze lifting me in the air.

That’s River now.

“You’re taking me up on my offer?” I ask her.

She cuts me a glance. “I want to buy it myself, if I decide to do it. I’m strangely excited to see my dad’s old Civic again, though. Oddly enough, I’ve kind of missed the old gal.”

“That wasn’t the deal. I can get you a car, River.” I give her a small, slow kiss. “I want to.”

“You’ve done so much for me, for Skye and me, already.” She runs her fingertips over my five o’clock shadow, which sendsripples of excitement through me. “I want to be able to say goodbye to it . . . to start letting go of my old life.”

“Keep your mind open to the possibilities.” I kiss her again. “That’s what I keep telling myself, too. And I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface of what I want to be able to give you.”

Skye appears in the doorway with Lunchie on her heels. “Can I go home now?”

“You haven’t been here very long.” River’s brows knit together. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Bingo,” Skye says, bending down to rub the top of Lunchie’s head.

“That’s right. It’s bingo night,” River says.

After showing Skye a trayful of pretzels River and I had set up last night, and after she’d carefully selected and eaten several, she asks again if she can go home.

“It’s strange to hear her calling Caring Souls, ‘home,’” I say to River as we put Lunchie safely in her kennel so we can drive Skye back over.

“I know. It’s so weird.”

When Skye goes to use the bathroom, River loops her arm through mine. “She’s different . . . more independent. I haven’t consciously ‘dissed her ability’ before, but maybe I’ve clung so hard that I couldn’t see all those abilities.” Her eyes shine with tears. “I have to let go of her, Gabriel. And maybe I’ve tried to control so much because I was trying to feel like my parents were still here, like I could cling to them.”

“Maybe that’s what happened. But that’s not your fault. You were trying to survive.” I moisten my lips and stare into her exquisite brown eyes. I watch them as they nearly vibrate until they’ve honeyed, grown golden and soft. “I’ve been holding on for dear life to my dad.”

She presses her hands to my face, gazing into my eyes with an intensity I’ve never seen. “Gabriel, I love you. There’s no one I’d rather figure this out with than you.”

I inhale sharply, in awe of her words and the way she’s looking at me. “I love you, River.”

And I have a surprise waiting for her.

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