Page 23 of Forsaken Oath

He glares at me from underneath furrowed brows. “You expect me to eat when they just blew maybe the most important game of the year?”

I arch a brow. “Yeah, so get your ass off the couch. Ma’s not trying to wait for you to get over yourself, bro.”

Graham looks toward Dad as he stands, tossing his arm out in my direction. “You hear this shit, Dad? What kind of kid of yours doesn’t like baseball?” He looks at me, a smirk pulling his mouth into a slash of a smile. “A Carter that doesn’t live, laugh, love baseball? You must be adopted.”

I force my face to lift into a smirk, but it feels brittle and tight. It’s a throwaway line, something we used to tease each other—and both our sisters—about when we were little.

Can’t run as fast as us? Must be adopted.

Don’t like scary movies? Definitely adopted.

Hate spicy food? Adopted.

It’s become a running joke now, something the four of us tease one another about over the stupidest reasons. Even so, I can’t stop the visceral reaction inside of me. My heart clenches, seizing up before it flops uselessly against my ribcage.

Dad drapes his arm over my shoulders, despite the fact that I’ve got three inches on him. “Have you seen this face? Only a Carter is this good-looking,” he says, smirking at my brother.

It’s a joke for more than one reason. Dad’s not even a Carter by name.

My great-great grandma, Ruby Faye Carter, gave the system a big fuck you when she decided not to take her husband’s last name and keep her own. Gave her kids the Carter last name too. And ever since then, generations of Carter women have kept their maiden names and given them to their kids.

It’s become kind of lore here in Rosewood, where generations of Carters have lived. Even though Avalon Falls is next door, the Carter name still holds some weight. Something about small towns and founding families and long-lasting traditions.

I let out a forced laugh and play up the part, just like I’ve done for the last few years since I found out the truth.

I may not be adopted, but Lucas Turner isn’t my biological father.

11

BEAU

It’s notlike anyone can tell by looking at us. The same dark blond hair, similar build, and matching dimples.

Dad pats me on the back twice with a chuckle. “I better go see what your mother is up to. We’ll lose her to the garden if we’re not careful.” He whistles as he strolls across the living room to the sliding glass door Ma just left out of.

We head into the kitchen together, both of us grabbing the usual Sunday dinner fare Ma prefers.

“We good for tomorrow night? Everyone know what they need to do?” Graham keeps his voice low, barely louder than the hum of the refrigerator.

We have a crew of trusted people that keep the Alley running smoothly. It’s the most legal illegal shit I’ve ever seen. We try our best to be as smart as possible about it, like paying some EMTs to be on standby during every race.

We have fucking food trucks there, for fuck’s sake.

During a regular race, the Alley functions like a well-oiled machine. But as a pre-qualifier for the Gauntlet? It’s a whole different beast.

More drivers, more spectators, more money coming in. And with that comes more risk, more pressure, more potential for things to go sideways fast.

I nod at Graham, grabbing two more glasses from the cabinet. “Yeah, man, we’re good. Loch and Sam are amping up the security, Jess trained everyone on the new comms, and Zoe and Tash are in the vault, with Chuck floating around to step in if necessary. I’ll be out front, making sure everything stays smooth.”

Graham raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching. “You ready to tell me the real reason you’re not running the Gauntlet this year?”

I’ve thought about telling him the real reason too many times to count, but something always holds me back. I’ll fill him in when I hit that five-year mark, fulfilling Nana Jo’s request and inheriting half of her stock portfolio. I have a hunch that the other half of her sizable account was left to my brother, but fuck if I know for sure.

I don’t know why we’re all being so secretive about it. Or how it even started. And now, it snowballed into thisthing, and no one wants to be the first to break.

Not Cora though. She made sure everyone knew about her inheritance and that Nana Jo’s stipulation was for her to use it to open her bakery.

“Told you, man, went out on top. Best way to go.”

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