“Finally,” he says dramatically. “Mind if I ask about y’all’s ‘not talking’ status? I didn’t see him before he left.”
“We’re going to pray. And talk after break.”
“Good. Where am I driving exactly?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Music or no?”
I shake my head, and we ride in silence.
Finally, the rain begins. I pull my legs up to my chest in preparation—no concern putting my shoes on Ethan’s crusty seat. The harder the rain falls, the heavier the fear drips into my mind. I stare at my window, streams of water disguising anything outside. With Levi, there was thunder.
Here goes. I’m adopting quite a personality transplant for some unreliable information. “Right before you picked me up …” I’m just loud enough for him to hear over the rain pelting the car. “I told Sophie what you said before, about you and her. She cried. Said she’s done with you.”
“You did what?! How could?—”
And the blackness rushes in.
Austin parks at the library, brows pressed down.
I wipe my face for the billionth time this week. “She didn’t. I would never.”
“I realized,” he says with chagrin. “You were very believable. I’m sorry I yelled.”
“No, I’m sorry. I really appreciate this.”
“Sure thing, Kit. I hate that you’re living with that.”
I attempt a smile and open the truck door.
Okay, I did it. Now what?
Feet slipped into slides, towel around my shoulders, I carry my goggles and water bottle up the frosty path. My breath clouds the winter air. Around the outdoor seating, through the back door—stifling heat. I might go back out with a snack. Down the main hall, through the dining room, into the kitchen. I drop my things on the island to open the refrigerator door and?—
Levi.
Yes?
Love your enemies.
My fists curl.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
I never toldmy family about the last-minute road trip and take the light rail home from I-70, avoiding an hour in the car with telepathic Mom. When I push through the front door, I nearly collapse from the wave of comfort that crashes over me. My shocked brothers lift me onto their shoulders, parading me around the house like I won the Super Bowl. I laugh until I cry.
On my bedroom floor, I push my laptop out and fold into a butterfly stretch. When my chest meets my feet, a rush of nostalgia hits me—I used to spend hours in my room just like this.
It’s my first full day at home, and I’m trying to finish a paper so it’s off my mind. I have a lot of praying to do, and I don’t want this springing to mind every ten minutes. I meant to do it lastnight, but I was busy with my brothers. I tried to apologize to Mav for not calling enough the last few months. He fussed—he and Mia should start a club—and insisted my being here was better than twenty phone calls. Later, my brothers and I practiced catching popcorn in our mouths while rewatching Grey’s favorite SNL scenes, laughing until our sides ached. It’s so good to be home.
“Hey, Kit girl.” Mom’s in the doorway. “Can we talk for a second?”
I save my draft and shut my laptop.
Mom slides to the floor with me. “I’ve been thinking. And praying. I know you value your privacy about … what happened this spring. I’ve been taping my mouth shut to give it to you, but I want you to consider something.”
I blink at her.
