“I will.”
They walked through the brush in silence, listening to the chatter of birds, the snap of branches, and the wind in the trees. The rich scents of earth and rotting leaves rose to his nostrils. Voices echoed, but they were to the left, so they must be heading in a good direction.
“I saw a zombie movie once,” she said. “It was really gross. They wanted to eat brains.”
“Your grandmother let you watch it?” he asked.
“No, I snuck out of my bed at night and watched it. I’m more grown up than you think.”
He snorted. As if. “You’re only eleven. Still in elementary school.”
“So? Diane says I’m mature for my age.”
“Mom’s just trying to make you feel better. Besides, wouldn’t you rather be playing with dolls and princesses and stuff?”
She wrinkled her nose and shot him a disgusted look. “Ugh, I hate that stuff. I’d rather hang with you. Your dad said he’s going to bring me to the job site so I can see how the houses are built. I’m going to work for him one day and run the whole company.”
“Why? Don’t you want to get out of here when you get older? Go somewhere cool?”
She shrugged and picked at a hangnail. Her sneakers dragged through the leaves. “No. I like it here. And I’m gonna like working for your dad.”
Annoyance flooded him. He was trapped with nowhere to go. If it were up to him, he’d travel and do something great. Something just for him. He was sick of always taking his father’s orders and being ignored. His father only listened to Cal and never him. Dalton was always with Mom. Tristan had no one, but he didn’t care. Sydney had the freedom he always wanted, but she just wanted to stay in stupid Harrington. “Well, I’m going off to college soon.” If he could get far enough away, maybe things could change. But already his father was warning him he’d need to go local so he could continue working for Pierce Brothers.
“But you’ll come back, right?” Her green eyes held a worried glint and something else, something deeper that made his stomach tighten in a weird way. Like he was important.
“Maybe.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but voices broke through the woods, and he shushed her. Looking around wildly, he dragged her over to a massive oak tree with thick, gnarled branches.
“They’re coming,” he whispered. “We gotta climb this tree.” Her eyes widened. He shinnied up the trunk and got to the first branch. “Come on, hurry before they spot you.”
“I can’t get up there!”
The voices got louder.
He muttered a curse word that made him feel manly and glared. She was going to get him caught. “Yes, you can. Try.”
She scrunched up her face and tried to crawl up the fat trunk, but her arms and legs weren’t long enough to get a decent grip. “Tristan, help me!”
He groaned, leaning down to offer his hand. She grabbed on, and he yanked her up to the first branch, her legs scraping against the rough bark, drawing blood.
“I hear them! Over here!” Carl’s voice was full of triumph. Feet pounded in the brush.
“Damn, Syd, they heard you!”
Her lower lip trembled. “Sorry.”
Annoyance warred with sympathy. “Is your leg okay?”
She looked so miserable. “Yeah.”
Guilt struck. “Just forget it. You stay here, and I’ll jump off and head toward the creek.”
Sheer stubbornness flickered over her face. She shook her head so her red curls slapped her ruddy cheeks. “No. I can help you. Run.”
“What are you—”
With a wild whoop, she jumped down from the tree branch and started waving her hands in the air. “You can’t catch me, you can’t catch me!”
“There she is—get her!”
With one last glance, Sydney took off in the opposite direction, leading the boys away. Tristan quickly leapt down, taking off to safety. He heard victory yells as they caught her, and she turned into a zombie, but he already knew she’d never lead them back to him. She liked to make him happy, which made him feel bad when he was mean to her.
Oh well. At least he’d win the game.
He pushed the thought of Sydney from his mind and concentrated on winning.
chapter three
Mama, it’s almost my birthday! Can we get an ice-cream cake?”
Sydney laughed, grabbing her daughter and pulling her onto her lap. “Of course. You know that’s my favorite. What do you want to do, sweetheart? Have you decided?”
Her daughter tilted her face and scrunched up her nose. “Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese?”
Sydney couldn’t help wincing. It may be a kid’s paradise, but it was a mother’s nightmare. The loud, flashing games, overexcited children hunting for prize tickets and winning only enough for a spider ring, and a large mouse character that danced in a purple sweater. She always left with a headache.
Maybe she could sneak in a flask and fill it with wine.
“Sure. Just get me a list, and we’ll send out some invitations.”
“Okay. And I want to see Uncle Cal and Morgan and Dalton and Tristan and Uncle Brady. Can they come to my party? ’Cause they’re my family.”
Her chest tightened, but she managed a breath. The guilt was manageable this time. Practice did make perfect. “Yes, honey. But we’ll have a cake for you at Uncle Cal’s house, and Morgan said she’s making your favorite dish.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Yep.” She savored her daughter’s soft body sprawled over her lap and the scent of her coconut shampoo. Her pink T-shirt boasted her favorite Disney princess: Ariel, because she had the same color hair. Her jeans had pink sparkles and matched the glittery nail polish on her fingers and toes. Already Becca was moving away from her cuddling, demanding more alone time and independence to read, draw, or play on her Kindle. How had so much time flashed by without Sydney realizing it? She used to laugh at mothers warning her to enjoy the toddler years, when she’d just prayed to be out of diapers and formula and sleepless nights. Now her daughter was reading on her own and had a group of friends she insisted on seeing at regular revolving playdates. She was going to be a powerhouse one day, but until she grew into that power, Sydney tried to keep her daughter’s temper, and independence, in check. “I can’t believe you’re going to be seven,” she murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair.
“Was Matilda in the movie seven?” Becca asked. “?’Cause I want to be like her.”
“I think so. Wait a minute—you want to have terrible parents who lock you up, are mean to you, and don’t let you go to school?”
Her daughter giggled. “No, but she gets to watch TV all the time. I’d like that part.”
“Brat.” Another giggle. Becca was always trying to finagle more television time. “For now, I need to get started on dinner. Sorry I’ve been working late this week. This new job will be a bit challenging, so I’ll need you to help out more and understand I won’t be home as much. Just for a while.”
“That’s okay, Mommy. I’m happy you got a premition.”
“Promotion.”
“Yeah, that. But don’t forget about my ballet recital.”