The Row(44)

My head echoes with her words. Each painful throb in my face makes me wonder if they’re true. Who are my mom and dad? Do I really know anything about them? They lived entire lives before I came along. How can I really know them when so much of their past has nothing to do with me? Everything I’ve built my world around cracks inside me and begins to shatter, then I’m crying for an entirely different reason than the pain.

I sit in the quiet and ask myself the one question I’ve been avoiding for most of my life.

How can we really know anyone?





20

BEFORE I EVEN GET IN MY CAR the next day, I’ve already texted Jordan, asking him to meet me at the park. I arrive first and find some semicool shade to sit in while I hide from the blistering afternoon sun. I probably shouldn’t have come early. A hot day can make you feel like a Sunday pot roast in under five minutes.

Thankfully, Jordan pulls in on his motorcycle a few minutes before I’m expecting him. When he takes off his helmet, his black hair shines in the sunlight. I carefully adjust my large, dark sunglasses against my sore cheekbone and wipe some sweat off the back of my neck. Why must Jordan always show up looking so good?

He crosses toward me. “You going to tell me how you plan to get answers at the law offices tonight? Or is it some kind of requirement that you keep me in the dark?”

“Not a requirement, but more fun.” I climb to my feet, dusting off my faded blue jeans. “Seriously though, it’s just one more place where I’m hoping that asking questions might get me somewhere.”

“Still cryptic, but fair enough.”

Before I can take a breath, he’s stepped up beside me. Jordan digs in his pocket, pulling out a ring with a single key on it. I look up at him in confusion until he tucks my arm into his and walks me back to his motorcycle. Once we’re beside it, he holds out a helmet toward me. “Remember, I’m driving.”

I laugh at him like he’s joking until I realize he’s not. “Oh, I’m sorry, I agreed because I thought you meant you wanted to drive my car.” I take one step back toward the safety of my nice, enclosed automobile.

“Nope. We’re taking my bike and you’re going to love it.”

“But I have the directions to the law offices.” I clamor for any excuse not to get on his deathmobile.

He lowers his brows, clearly recognizing my excuse for the lame attempt that it is. “I do know my way around Houston, Riley. Louisiana Street isn’t exactly hard to find.”

I try to think of another, more valid argument that doesn’t just make me sound scared—and come up empty. Many law firms in Houston are located on Louisiana Street. Daddy’s had been there since long before he went to jail. I haven’t been by the office in a while, but Jordan’s right, it isn’t difficult to get there.

No matter how much I wish it were.

I glare at him as he steps closer, unlatching the strap on the helmet. He removes my dark sunglasses before pulling the helmet down over my head and securing it under my chin. The pressure on my bruised cheekbone makes me wince. I’ve covered it well using more makeup than usual for me, but the pain still lives beneath and nothing I do seems to be able to ease that part.

“What in the…?” Jordan lifts the helmet gently from my head before putting his hands on the sides of my face and tilting my cheekbone toward the sunlight. His voice drops and I see something in his eyes that walks a fine line between fear and anger. “How did this happen?”

“It’s nothing.” I wave him off and try to step away, but he grabs my hand. Pulling it against his chest until I’m inches away and have no choice but to answer.

“It looks like someone hit you,” he whispers softly, his eyes searching mine. “What happened?”

I groan. “It isn’t a big deal—and she didn’t punch me or anything. She just slapped me.”

Jordan frowns. “Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Does she do that often?” Jordan watches me so close I can tell that he’s looking for the lie.

“No,” I answer him firmly. “This is the first time ever.”

Jordan nods slowly. “Please call me if—”

I interrupt him. “It won’t happen again.” I sigh, grabbing the helmet. I try to pull it gently on by myself. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to align it correctly and only end up hurting myself worse.

Jordan chuckles softly, but with my eyes blocked by the chin guard of the helmet, I can’t even see him. His warm hands replace mine and he straightens, then gently pulls the helmet down into position.

“I take it you’ve never been on a motorcycle before?”

“No.”

“You seem … nervous.” He’s putting it lightly and we both know it.

“It has all the power of a car without any of the protection.” I gesture down to the metal monster next to us and sigh. “What did you expect me to do, pet it?”

“You’re pretty cute when you’re being difficult,” Jordan says as he takes my keys out of my hands and sticks them in his pocket. His grin is so self-satisfied and his words such a weird combination of compliment and jab that it takes me a minute to come up with a response.

“You haven’t even seen me be difficult yet.” I decide I should probably just leave it at that.