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Thank you, Dad.
I give him a thumbs up from the opened window as I spin the car and drive quickly to the backyard. There are other buildings for the ranch hands in the backyard, and I notice them watching me from the window.
The doors of Tristan's car slam within earshot, and curiosity gets the better of me as I leave my car. My boot cracks against the gravel as I tiptoe to the side of the house, flat against the wall. I see my parents coming to meet Ruby and Tristan at Tristan’s car.
Tristan’s jaw is set, and I can tell he’s grinding his teeth as he remains quiet. He’s wearing an expensive brown bomber jacket, with a white shirt and a pair of black jeans. Mom hugs Ruby, and her face softens in a way I’ve only ever seen it do around Deanna. Dad ruffles her hair, and Ruby cringes a bit, probably from the smell of smoke on his fingers.
My parents don’t acknowledge Tristan, and he doesn’t acknowledge them either. I know the only reason he’s brought her there is because Ruby has been asking to see them, and I won’t be around to watch over her. My parents—her grandparents—are the only people he can trust within town.
“I’ll be back to pick her up tomorrow morning. I don’t expect any resistance.” Tristan’s voice is crisp and loud.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mom says, her features hardening.
“You know what it means.” Tristan stares at her with stern eyes.
He suddenly looks towards me, and I jump back, scared to have been caught. I wait a few minutes and hear him say his goodbyes to Ruby. When nothing happens, I return to my crouching position to snoop.
Tristan’s car slaps up dust as he races out of the compound. My dad meets my eyes before he shepherds Ruby toward the house to give me time to leave. I rush back to my car. My phone vibrates again, and I click it open as I enter my vehicle. Of course, it’s Tristan.
Ten minutes.
It’s time for my car to slap dust up as I race out of the compound as Tristan had. I look back at my home in the rear mirror and imagine my mom smiling at me the way she smiled at Ruby.
I crack a sad smile as I drive.
Chapter twelve
Tristan
Layla’s car rolls through my opened gate. I rest against the trunk of my car and watch her alight from hers as she tucks her hair behind her ear.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Layla says apologetically, rubbing her hands together from the cold. I had to make a quick stop at home.”
“You didn’t reply to any of my texts. I texted you thrice.”
“I’m sorry, I was driving.” She avoids my eyes like she’s hiding something.
“Where were you?” I ask despite myself.
“Why does it matter?” Layla puts her phone in her pocket. “I’m here now.”
She doesn’t want to tell me where she was? Fine. I don’t care. I’m paying her to do a job, and she better do the job well.
“What are you doing?” I ask as she opens her trunk.
“Getting my luggage,” her forehead furrows as she tilts her head in confusion. “The event’s in New York, right?”
“Come here.” I gesture to her.
She closes her trunk without pulling out her luggage and approaches me. She pouts as she stares at me with her nose scrunched up.
“What?” She puts her hand on her hips. She binks repeatedly, the way she does when she’s confused.
“You’re not taking any luggage. Everything you need will be provided for you. Next time, reply to my texts as soon as you get them. Now, lock your car and get in mine.” I start towards the driver’s seat.
***
The jet peels down the runway, and I remove my eye mask and shrug off the sleep that still clung to me. I look over at Layla—her face is pinned against the window as she stares at the Big Apple. We hadn’t spoken much on the journey.
