“Hey, Princess, guess what!” Asher shouts into the wind.
“What?” I yell back.
His hand falls to the top of my thigh, squeezing repeatedly before he throws his head back and shouts for the entire world to hear, “I love you!”
A giggle, absurd and free, rips through me, and I take a page out of Asher’s book, yelling into the abyss, “I love you too!”
His hand squeezes my thigh again, and I hope he never lets go.
And he doesn’t, not until we pull into the driveway of my parents’ house a few minutes later.
They kill the engines and help me off, hanging our helmets on the handlebars, and then we walk toward the front door.
Goose bumps break across the tops of my shoulders and arms as I take the keys out of my purse, finding the one for the house. Shakily, I unlock the door, but keep it closed as I take a few steadying breaths, tucking the keys back into my purse.
“Adrianna trashed the place. And I know it might not look like anything special to you guys,” I warn, opening the door, the broken glass covering the floor coming into view, “but it is to me.”
“And it is to us too,” Asher murmurs, letting me take the first step inside, the broken pieces crunching under my boot.
Pictures hanging on the wall are slashed. Photos of my family and artwork my parents collected are all destroyed.
Asher and Dean stay silent at my back as I walk deeper into the house, heading toward my bedroom. But I slam to a halt when we turn down the main hallway from the living room and I see the expensive painting I ruined with paint when I was a kid, the one my mom loved most afterward.
It’s completely intact. Adrianna must’ve thought it was worthless and didn’t even bother harming it. But she couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Oh my God, is that a Pavlov with paint on it?” Dean sounds disgusted, and I can’t help but laugh, knowing his art-loving self is dying inside.
“Sure does. Courtesy of yours truly.” I laugh, tears in my eyes as I lift the frame from the wall, tucking it under my arm.
Dean teases me, “Remind me to never let you near our family vault.”
Turning to him, I look up and smile. “Oh, I’m going to finger-paint the crap out of everything in there.”
He squints. “The hell you are, Princess.”
Asher chuckles. “I’ll fight him for you, baby.”
“Good luck,” Dean challenges, and I roll my eyes, turning and walking farther down the hallway.
Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye—the broken trim on the bathroom door. It happened when my dad and I were playing hide-and-seek, and I tripped, nearly taking the doorframe out with me.
“Oh my God. I almost forgot.”
“What?” Asher asks.
I swear I feel like a little kid as I race down the hallway and into my bedroom, not stopping until I’m standing in my emptycloset. I kneel down and feel along the smooth wall for the barely noticeable edge.
There.
I pry it open with my finger, pulling the covering off the small crawl space. I set it on the floor, leaning it against the wall.
I wish more than anything that I could leave him a note or he could leave one for me one last time.
Visions flicker in my mind. Running through the house, playing games with my dad. Staying up all night, watching movies until I passed out on the couch from exhaustion, and he’d carry me into my room, tucking me in, no matter how old I got. Writing notes to one another and hiding them in here.
He was the best dad in the entire world. So was my mom, even if we couldn’t have as much time together. I bet wherever they are, they’re together again, happy and smiling as they watch their little girl take control of her life.
“What is that?” Dean asks, crouching down beside me and staring into the pitch-black space.
