I sat up in bed, doing my best not to react to the fact that I was wearing familiar PJs which I hadnothad on when I was last awake. Who the hell changed my clothes while I was unconscious? What a violation. But then, it was all such a terrible violation, wasn’t it?
Bobo was sleeping on top of the covers, along the length of my legs, and he let out a soft, comforting snore. So he was back to being my real dog? I stroked his exposed belly, and he cut off mid-snore. At least he was all real doggy love.
I had no clue how he’d gone from this flesh-and-blood companion to being a tattoo moving across my skin, and I had even less of an idea how he’d gone back to being his regular self.
I looked up at Jude. “Thanks for reminding me, Dad.” I smiled more at the fact that I’d been able to get the endearment out without choking on it than anything else. “I must’ve been sleeping really hard when you came in. It’s taking me a sec to catch up.”
That should be believable to him. He alone was supposed to be aware that I was waking up from being motherfucking drugged and not just from some restful Zs.
I rose to walk into my ensuite bathroom, then returned with my toothbrush in hand—the same purple glittery one as before. “How’s Orson doing?”
God, was I glad I hadn’t adjusted to our faux parents’ real names yet.
My dad paused at the threshold to my room, leaning on it as he gazed back at me. “Oh, you know.” He shrugged, a movement I’d seen him make so many times I couldn’t help but get swept up a little in the familiarity of the scene. “He’s moping but trying to pretend he isn’t. I don’t think he’ll ever get fully over Mitzi. She really took his heart with her when she left.” He exhaled slowly. “Porter and I are gonna take him out for lunch and some beers. Take his mind off things. It’s a good day to break our rules. Hey, it’s always five o’clock somewhere, right?” He winked, like he was some cool dad joking around with his kid about how he overlooked our underage drinking.
A true laugh slipped free as I stuffed the toothbrush in my mouth to keep from having to say anything else. This was too weird. Too bizarre. Too quaintly comfortable.
Maybe it was all some giant … dream?
Psychosis?
Hallucination?
The very instant I hopped into Griffin’s idling Mustang out front of my house, I knew without a doubt I hadn’t dreamt a single thing.
“Hey, Joss,” he said in that usual deep, grumbly voice that whisked across my skin like a full-bodyhello. But his eyes burned a fierce hazel as they held mine. They told me what his words wouldn’t, courtesy of the hidden mics in our cars.
Our entire lives were a lie. And he knew it too.
Plus, Clyde was still a 1976 Ford Mustang Cobra II Coupe. Only instead of the silver I remembered, the car was a shiny black.
“Hey, Griff,” I eventually answered. “Thanks for picking me up, especially today. Sorry your mom was such a shithole to leave you and your dad like she did.”
He cruised down our long driveway, his eyes widening as they flicked to me. It looked like Orson hadn’t delivered the day’s scheduled prompt.
“I know it was years ago,” I added, “but still. I’m sorry.”
His throat bobbed. “Thanks. It’s intense.”
“Fuck yeah, it is.” I was assuming he was referring to the many things we weren’t openly discussing. “Have you talked to the others yet?”
Do they know too? Did the hypnosis recording cut out for all of us? And did we all successfully pretend it hadn’t?
Since the recording had apparently cut off but then turned back on, it seemed likely that the hiccup had been with the audio system and not any of the individual headphones. I wasreallyhoping we were all on the same page now. It would royally suck to have different memories and realities from the only people I truly trusted.
“Nope, no word yet,” Griffin said. “No texts either.”
Our phones had been confiscated. I’d found mine on my desk, fully charged.
I lowered the window and leaned my head back against the headrest, enjoying the rush of fresh air. That, at least, wasn’t fake. “The day hasn’t even really gotten started yet and I’m already wanting it to be over.”
“Yeah, me too. Me too.”
He shifted gears, then his hand stretched toward my thigh. At the last moment, when it already hovered over my body so that I could feel the heat of his skin, he reined it back.
We weren’t supposed to be anything more than friends—by parental super-spy fucking decree.
I groaned obnoxiously and let my eyelids sink closed.
