“Liar.”
“She’s back and that’s that. I just thought you should know that I know she’s here, in case you see her around.”
“And what do I do if I do, in fact, see her?”
“Nothing. Say hello. Be friendly. She’s Rand’s daughter, after all.”
“And what exactly willyoudo ifyousee her?”
“I guess I’ll figure that out when the time comes.”
Just the thought of seeing her has my stomach filling with so much dread that it feels like I have a thousand rocks sitting at the bottom of it. But that’s not all I feel. Somewhere buried beneath the weight of uncertainty lies just the smallest hint of excitement. Though why I would feel even remotely excited is beyond me.
As you can see, I’ve gotten really good at lying to myself over the years.
“Well, your life just got a whole lot more interesting.”
“How do you figure?”
“If there’s one thing I remember about London Voss, it’s that she has a way of turning you on your head.”
“When I was a teenager. I’m a grown man now, and no one, not even London Voss, has the power to turn me on my head.”
“Time will tell, brother.” He grins, clasping me on my shoulder as he passes me. “Time will tell.”
With that, he exits the ship.
“Jackass,” I grumble, following after him, knowing I’ve got way too much to do today to stand around worrying about a girl I haven’t seen in seven years.
She’s stolen enough of my time, and I don’t intend to give her even a second more.
CHAPTER THREE
London
“Yeah?” I grumble, my brain still clouded with sleep as someone knocks on my bedroom door, quite aggressively, might I add.
“Think maybe you’re going to get out of bed today?” My father’s voice filters through the door.
I glance over at the alarm clock on my nightstand to see it’s already after eleven in the morning. I groan, rolling to my back.
“Not if I can help it,” I call back seconds before the door creaks open.
That’s the thing about older homes—everything creaks. And I do mean everything. Made sneaking out as a teenager a pretty impossible feat, not that I still didn’t try a time or two.
I don’t have time to object before my dad appears in the doorway, still dressed in his church clothes. Sundays are the rare occasion when my dad actually dresses up. Any other day, you won’t find him in anything but his work coveralls or a faded T-shirt and lounge pants.
“I didn’t say you could come in.” I feel the need to point out.
“Pretty sure this ismyhouse, and I can enter any room I please.” His voice is light, casual, but there’s no missing the undertone of something more serious.
“Is there something you needed?”
“Well, since you asked. What I need is for my daughter to stop hiding out in this room and figure out what she’s going to do with her life now that she’s home.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You’ve been home for more than two weeks and you haven’t left this house once.”
