Page 22 of Jax
I shrugged. “Temporarily.”
“You used to be fun,” she muttered.
“I was never fun.”
“You were when Drift took you to that lake party senior year.”
“Drift took me to a lake party so I could rewire his ride with a cigarette lighter and a coat hanger after midnight because he didn’t want Kane to know he’d stalled it doing fucking donuts. I was a mobile repair shop.”
“You got kissed that night,” she sing-songed, nudging me again.
“I got cornered by a girl who smelled like cinnamon Fireball and wanted my hoodie,” I corrected with a grimace. “I’ll spareyou the details and just say that it was not something I was interested in repeating.”
Alanna laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, the sound bright enough to pull at something old inside me.
“I miss you, kid,” I admitted softly, giving her another one-armed hug.
“I hate that we meet like spies,” she murmured, the twinkle in her gray eyes turning sad. “Sneaking. Lying. I hate that Mom looks at me like I’m about to catch whatever you have if I say your name.”
“You can stop lying any time you want.”
“You know I can’t.” She swallowed, her gaze shifting toward the tree line. “Not yet.”
The yet hung there. Heavy. I didn’t push it.
“How is it with them?” I asked.
“Mom is…Mom. She makes dinner and leaves it on the stove when I get off the late shift. Dad asks about grades like they’re the only proof I’m worth the water I drink. They don’t say your name.” She glanced at me, mouth twisting. “It’s quieter,” she admitted. “But not in a better way.”
“Baby sister…” I let the nickname land soft.
She bumped my elbow with hers. “Don’t baby me.”
“Never,” I lied, with a wink.
We stood like that for a little longer, shoulder to shoulder, watching the stars brighten as the last glow of the sun disappeared.
“Tell me about her,” she asked gently.
“No,” I said automatically, then amended. “No details. I can’t. Not yet.”
“Is she scared?”
“She doesn’t show it.” That warmed something in me I didn’t recognize. “She works hard. Learns fast. Doesn’t whine when the job gets hard.”
“She sounds like she might be good for you.”
“No one is good for me,” I deflected, the response as automatic as breathing.
Alanna didn’t bother arguing. She just made a small sound that said she knew me better than I wanted to be known.
“Do you ever wish it was different?” she asked, suddenly, like the question had been burning the back of her throat. “Us. Them. All of it.”
“Every fucking day,” I answered without hesitation. “Wish Mom didn’t flinch when a Harley went by. Wish Dad could see what I do and not just what I wear. Mostly, I wish you didn’t have to hide our relationship like it's contraband.”
Her inhale caught. “Me too.”
“I also wish you had new tires,” I added, because we weren't built to sit in open wounds for long.
