“Holy shit,” he said, accidentally whispering it aloud. “That’s a sweet car,” he added quickly, covering beautifully.
he repeated, his deep voice pitched with incredulity, as if trying the new number out.
He clasped my hand, squeezed my fingers on the straight stretch of road when he didn’t need to shift.
I chuffed.
Griffin chuckled.
I chuckled as well, then referenced aloud a passing car to cover for us.
I hated the constant lies everyone fed us. All the fakeness, the ruses, the fact that we couldn’t believe a single thing anyone ever told us.
But even more than that, I hated thatwehad to lie, to pretend, to hide when we’d never wanted to be anything but ourselves.
Ridgemore was a typical small town. Some might claim it was boring here, but we’d carved out a place for ourselves. We’d adventured, had fun, found peace in the woods and the natural beauty of these misty mountains.
I’d never before felt the urge to escape Ridgemore. To travel elsewhere, sure, maybe even to see the world. But now I wanted to load up our cars with our crew and drive off into the sunset, pedals to the metal, putting Ridgemore and everyone in it permanently in our rearview.
Gazing out the window, I leaned my forehead against it and sighed.
Griffin stiffened.
Griffin growled into our bond as he took the turn back into the Periwinkle Hill neighborhood. The vein along his neck bulged, making him look angrier than he’d been when I told him we’d been robbed of four entire years of our lives.
I said sadly.
Griffin huffed angrily, that vein popping more.
Layla’s voice popped into our conversation.
Griffin startled at the sound of her in his head, glancing sharply at me.
I said.
Brady chimed in.
Griffin said, rounding a turn fast enough to squeal tires a little.
