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“How the hell did you figure out the code?”
Shrugging, I mumble, “Maybe try to be less predictable.”
He swats the back of my head, and I give him a sharp, narrowed look.
Shaking his head, he says, “I don’t know whether to be impressed or worried.”
“If it helps, I know a really good lawyer.”
By his flat stare, I know he’s not amused.
“Why?” he says after a long moment.
Another shrug. “I was curious.” Not a complete lie.
“About what? You do realize how dangerous that could have been for you, right?”
Dangerous for me, or…
Cracking my neck, I shove away that thought and turn to look out the tinted window. With the lot mostly empty now, it seems so much later than it actually is. It’s darker now, too, without all the headlights, making my stone-faced reflection all the more visible.
“Reliving a trauma like that…” Dad’s voice trails off with another long-winded sigh.
“Still here and talking, aren’t I? If I haven’t cracked yet in the two years since I took a peek, I’m pretty sure I’m in the clear.”
He groans. “Two years? Jesus Christ, Vale.”
My mouth twitches. I know he’s more annoyed that he had no idea than anything. That I somehow managed to sneak into his office and raid his filing cabinet, without him ever even suspecting.
“You need to be more careful.”
“I was.” Obviously.
“You know what I mean,” he says, voice as serious as ever. “You’re not invincible, as much as you like to think you are. No one is.”
Inhaling through my nose, I turn my head to give him a long unimpressed look. “Can I go to the party now? Pretty sure this new development warrants a heavy night of drinking and debauchery.”
He gives me an exasperated look I’ve only seen him wear a handful of times. This whole Aston popping up thing has clearly got him rattled, maybe even more rattled than me.
“You scare me sometimes,” he says with a faint, troubled look in his eye.
Well, that makes one of us.
Fortunately, I have just enough restraint to not voice that retort.
“Sorry,” I say.
Shaking his head, he faces forward once more, and drops a hand to the gear shift. “You could try to sound a little more sincere, you know.”
My lip twitches slightly as I turn to look out the window.
“Apparently,” Dad says, once we’re on the main road, “Aston doesn’t remember a lot about his childhood.”
Frowning, I cock my head. “You mean, he might not remember what happened that night?”
“That’s what I was told.”
I shoot my dad a look. “Our new principal. Jenkins or Jennings or whatever. I saw you arguing with him before the game. Is that what that was about? Aston?”
