“Do you get to claim him as a dependent?”
I nod.
“He’s on federal disability? He had enough work credits to qualify?”
“Yeah,” I answer, but then frown. “How do you know all of this? What are you, like twenty-two?”
Lark’s shoulders square. “Twenty-three.”
Am I imagining it, or does he sound defensive?
“Take it easy, old timer,” I tease, but inwardly, I’m cringing. He’s still five years younger than me.
Five years.
A host of unwelcome comparisons leap to mind. Like, when I’m thirty-four, he’ll still be in his twenties. When I’m fifty, he’ll just be forty-five.
When I started driving, he was only eleven.
Eww.
“What’s that face for?” He’s scowling.
I make my expression go blank. “Nothing.”
Lark narrows his eyes. “You’re lying.”
I lick my lips, stalling.
He arches a brow, waiting.
Fine. “You’re just really young.”
He glares. “I’m not that young.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You kind of are.”
Larks jaw hardens. “I’ve lived a lot.”
“Sure.” I nod. Not sarcastically, I swear.
But the blue of his eyes flashes like lightning. “You wanna know why I know all this stuff? Insurance? Dependents? Federal disability benefits?”
My brows climb. “Um…” Do I want to know?Yes.Do I get why he’s pissed at me?No.But he is pissed at me, so I must have done something to offend him. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I’m sorry. I do want to know.”
Lark’s glower melts, but even behind what looks like remorse, I see something I don’t like at all.
Pain.
“What?” I ask, my voice softening.
“I know about all of this from helping my folks.”
He says the words so gently, so reverently, I lean closer.
“Helping them?”
Lark’s frown is back. “You remember what I said about working in the salt mines?”
