Page 3 of The Bro Pact
I need to get the fuck out of my parents’ house.
Stat.
“I’m in.” For some reason, it feels a little more real saying those words in the light of day, without the haze of alcohol. “What can I do?”
“First, let me ask Pops about the RV. See if he’ll give me a shot at fixing it up in exchange for borrowing it.”
“Sounds good, man. Now get the fuck outta my room.” I wrench the covers back and pull them over my head. “I wasn’t done sleeping.”
“Nope.Uh, uh.Get your ass up.Now!” Warren once again rips the blankets away, this time smacking my butt afterward.
“Bro, come on!” I shout in annoyance.
Can’t he just leave me alone sometimes?
I want to mope.
“We’re biking today. You can’t say no.” I swear, Ren is like an annoying, enthusiastic puppy sometimes. His dark hair is pulled into a top knot, and his gray eyes sparkle with an impatient sort of energy that he’s had since we were kids.
Huffing with a bit of indignation and a lot of surrender, I climb from my warm, cozy bed and make my way to the bathroom. “Fine.Give me ten.”
Warren’s right. It’s near impossible to say no to him, and he’s definitely gotten us into some trouble over the years because of it.
“Yes!” Ren hoots, pumping his fist into the air. “I’ll be in the truck.” He slips from my bedroom, leaving me to get ready alone.
I wash up in a hurry, changing into my favorite long-sleeve cycling jersey and matching blue shorts. I sneak into the kitchen, hoping to avoid my mom. I know she’s home, and I don’t feel like having a conversation about Marissa right now. She’d want to talk about it, and I just can’t.
I fill my water bottle and stuff a few protein bars into my small biking backpack. Lastly, I slip my phone and charger into the waterproof pouch inside and leave through the garage, flipping the switch to open the door.
My bike is resting in the corner where I left it, so I wheel it over to the big silver truck parked in the driveway. I thank my lucky stars that I make it without being intercepted by either of my parents.
Ren climbs out to help me lift it into the back of his truck and secure it with a bungee cord. Then we’re on our way.
Pulling the visor down, I gaze into the tiny mirror and run my fingers through my hair a few times. I didn’t comb it this morning, and I hope I don’t look like a complete mess.
As if he can read my mind, Ren reaches over and ruffles my hair, messing it up further. “Your hair looks fine, Ky. You’re about to put your helmet on anyway.” He chuckles, resting an elbow on the windowsill and getting comfortable with one hand on the wheel.
For some strange reason, I blush, staring out the passenger window in silence. Neither of us talk much for the rest of the drive. We both seem to be lost in memories of the previous day.
It takes less than forty-five minutes to arrive at the new trail Ren wants to conquer—Monarch Crest—and soon enough we pull into a small dirt parking lot. Only a few other trucks are tucked into the shaded areas, making me think this place isn’t well known.
Ren kills the engine, and we hop out. I wander over to his side of the truck, gazing at the tall pines and towering mountains around us. It looks the same as any other bike trail, but I know Ren’s excited about this one in particular. I’m just not sure why.
“Your mom packed us lunch.” Ren’s gray eyes light up before he opens the backseat, pulling out an actual wicker picnic basket—complete with a red and white checkered interior—and I can’t help but burst out laughing.
How the hell did I miss that back there?
“Knew it’d make you laugh,” he says with a satisfied little smirk.
Ren is the best medicine for a shitty mood. Always has been. It’s nearly impossible to be down in the dumps around him.
“Damn, Mama Carol makes the best potato salad. I can’t wait.” He stares longingly at the picnic basket. “She put ice packsin there, so I guess I’ll just leave it in the back for now. Sucks our mountain bikes don’t come with a front basket,” he says as he sighs dramatically.
My mom has a massive soft spot for Ren, and she loves spoiling him like another son. He’s basically part of the family at this point.
Ren grabs our helmets from the backseat before he climbs into the bed of the truck and unhooks our bikes, slowly lowering them one at a time.
His biceps and pecs bulge, seeming more prominent than usual in his skintight cycling jersey.
