Page 47 of Play Pretend

“Can you play some music or something? It’s quieter than a funeral in here,” Brynne slurred, tapping the back of my chair.

“Oh, play Bob Dylan!” Willow chirped excitedly. A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth when the girls turned to look at her.

“Bob Dylan?” Trinity repeated. “Who’s that?”

“You know, the dad fromFull House,” Brynne said, waving dismissively.

“That’s Bob Saget,” I said.

“Wait, no, he’s the game show guy, right?”

“Bob Barker,” I muttered, shaking my head. How did they not know who Bob Dylan was?

“No, that’s the drummer,” Trinity mumbled, tapping her chin.

“Travis Barker.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I grabbed the AUX cord and handed it to Willow, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She smiled happily as she plugged her phone in, the screen illuminating her face.

“Isn’t he married to a Kardashian?” Brynne asked, and Willow nodded.

“Khloe, I think?” Trinity said.

“No, it’s Kourtney,” Willow corrected.

“I think my brain is melting,” I grumbled. “I feel it coming out of my ears.”

“Thisis Bob Dylan. You’re about to learn so much.” Willow smiled as she leaned back, a small sigh leaving her. I’d never seen her look so content, so happy and at peace, but a trace of sadness still clung to the edges. I knew I needed to look at the road, but she made it impossible to do that when she demanded all my attention.

We sat in silence for a few moments, just listening to the music. I’d never been a Dylan fan before, but being forced to listen to his music every night since Willow had moved in, I’d come to enjoy it.

The song finished, and Willow leaned forward, her fingers wrapping around the black leather. “So, what did you think?” she asked, flicking her gaze between my sister and Brynne.

“It was…” Brynne gave her a weak smile.

“Not my vibe, personally,” Trinity said, pressing her hand to the center of her chest. “But it’s yours, and I love that for you.”

“Yeah, it’s veryyou,” Brynne agreed, nodding. “Not in a bad way, but I’d rather listen to…”

“Literally anything else.” Trinity laughed.

I pulled up outside the house and put the truck in park. Turning, I met Willow’s gaze, and not for the first time tonight, I wondered why she looked so sad.

“I love Bob Dylan,” I blurted. All eyes turned my way, but Willow perked up, some of that sadness slipping slightly away. The smile she gave me was genuine, and it was like a much-needed breath of fresh air.

Silence filled the truck, then Trinity and Brynne busted into a fit of laughter. “Sure you do, big bro.” Trin tapped my shoulder before reaching for her door handle. “Come on, B. Let’s go inside.”

Reaching across the center console, I gripped her arm. She rolled her eyes toward me, annoyance stamped on her face. “Be quiet in there,” I said sternly. “Mom’s probably asleep. Don’t wake her up.”

“We’ll be as quiet as mouses,” she slurred before throwing the door open and stumbling out.

“Mice. Quiet as mice,” I muttered to myself, watching as the girls staggered up the walkway to the house. Their laughter could be heard through my truck windows, so I knew Mom would be up and getting onto them in no time.

Which was their problem. Not mine.

A smile tugged at my lips as Trin turned and waved at me before slipping inside, barely catching herself before she slammed the door shut. With a deep breath, I turned to look at Willow in the backseat. She was already looking at me, that same unreadable expression on her face.

“Do you wanna get in the front?” I asked gently, and she glanced at the seat, then back at me.

“Can I?” She pointed at it, and I smiled again. She was the opposite of Trin when she was drunk. Trin was loud—she was always loud—but Willow was quiet. Sweet. Almost shy.

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