Page 76 of Roaring Flames

One of my feet makes contact with the passenger seat, where my mom currently sits.

She spins around and arches one eyebrow at me. “Jacob, behave yourself.”

I simply roll my eyes and turn to stare out the window. Trees spin by, their branches illuminated by the white glow of the moon. There’s something about the night I’ve always found enticing. Maybe because, in the darkness, you don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not. You can display all of your flaws and demons, and no one will judge you.

And I certainly have a lot of demons.

With great reluctance, I peel my gaze off of the window and focus on the back of my mom’s head.

“I always behave.” I punctuate my words with a scoff.

And then, just because I can, I kick the back of her seat. She whirls around to give me a scathing glare, even as the edges of her lips twitch upwards in amusement.

My grandparents, who sit behind me in the car, chuckle at my attitude.

“He reminds me of you when you were a boy,” Grandma says to Dad, her tone holding nothing but fondness.

Dad throws her a look in the rearview mirror as he expertly merges the car onto the highway. “Please. Don’t say that. I’m not sure I can handle a mini me.”

Everybody says I look exactly like my father. We have the same blond hair, strong jawlines, and piercing blue eyes. My mother, on the other hand, has light-orange hair, green eyes, and an array of freckles on her nose and cheeks. I’ve always secretly wished I looked more like her than him. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.

“This is stupid,” I mutter for the one millionth time as the radio continues to blare some old-fashioned rock song.

How can anyone think this crap is good?

Ugh. If I’m going to be forced to be here, then I should at least be able to pick the music.

Mom and Dad insisted I join them for their monthly dinner with my grandparents. They all dress up, head to some fancy restaurant, and talk about boring stuff for hours. For the longest time, I was deemed too young to accompany them, but this month is different. Instead of staying home with a babysitter, they insisted on dragging me along.

So now I’m here, wearing a suit that practically suffocates me, wishing I were anywhere else. All of my friends are playing the new video game that just came out. Why can’t I do that?

I kick out at Mom’s seat again, and she spins around to face me, her eyes heated.

“Jacob, knock it off this instant. You’re being rude.”

“I don’t want to go,” I whine. “This is dumb.”

“Your behavior is dumb,” my dad counters immediately.

“Steve,” Mom says and turns imploring eyes onto my father, “talk to him.”

“What do you want me to say, Lizzie?”

“I don’t know.” Mom blows out a breath. “Take away his phone or something.”

I gape at the back of her head in disbelief. “What did I even do? Is this just because I don’t want to be here?”

“You don’t want to see your favorite grandparents, kid?” Grandpa leans forward to ruffle my hair, but I swat his wrinkled hand away.

“You’re my only grandparents,” I retort.

My mother’s parents died before I was born.

“Still your favorite, though.”

“I wouldn’t say?—”

That’s when it happens.

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