Until You (Fall Away Series)(122)

I dropped my head back and let out a sigh. Jared sat in front of me with his elbow in the door and his head in his hand.

It was Saturday afternoon, the day of Tate’s first real race, and we’d been on Route Five for the last three hours. Every time the little twerp down-shifted too soon or didn’t hit the gas fast enough, Jared kept quiet, but not me.

He turned his head but not enough to meet my eyes. “Get out,” he ordered.

“What?” I blurted, my eyes widening. “But…but…” I stuttered, catching sight of Tate’s triumphant smile in the rearview mirror.

“But nothing,” Jared barked. “Go get your car. She can race you.”

The zing of adrenaline heated up my arms at the prospect of some real excitement. Tate could definitely race a chick that had no idea what she was doing, but she still had a lot to learn and some balls to grow.

Enter Madoc. I wanted to smile, but I didn’t.

Instead, I just rolled my eyes. “Well, that’ll be boring.”

“Oh, you’re so funny,” she mocked, gripping the steering wheel. “You make a great twelve year old girl when you whine.”

I opened the back door. “Speaking of whining…want to make a bet on who’ll be crying by the end of the day?”

“You will,” she answered.

“Not.”

She grabbed a package of travel tissues and threw them at me. “Here. Just in case.”

“Oh, I see you keep a ready stock.” I smiled. “Because you cry so much, right?”

She jerked around. “Tais-toi! Je vous détes—”

“What?” I interrupted. “What was that? I’m hot, and you love me? Jared, did you know she had feelings—”

“Stop it!” he bellowed, shutting both of us up. “Goddammit, you two.” And he threw his hands up in the air and looked between us.

Tate and I were both silent for a moment, and then she snorted, and I couldn’t help but let out a laugh, too.

“Madoc?” Jared’s teeth were glued together. I could hear it. “Out.”

I grabbed my cell off the seat and did as I was told, only because I knew my friend had had enough.

I’d been trying to bait Tate all day, make jokes, and distract Jared. She was racing a new guy on the scene tonight, Michael Woodburn, and no one knew anything about him. You would think that most guys would have a problem racing a girl, but Zack said this guy took the race with no argument.

It was too convenient, and Jared was uneasy. We didn’t know Woodburn, his car, or his driving, but Tate insisted that she could handle it.

And what Tate wants, Tate gets. Jared was whipped worse than cream.

I walked back down the track to the driveway leading in. My silver GTO sat along the side of the road, and I dug in my jeans for my keys with one hand while I ran the back of my hand across my forehead with the other.

It was early June, and everything was already so miserable. The heat wasn’t bad, but the damn humidity made it worse. My mom had wanted me to go to New Orleans to visit her for the summer, and I gave her a big, fat “Hell-to-the-no.”

Yeah, I love sweating my balls off while her new husband tries to teach me shrimping in the Gulf.

Nope.

I loved my mom, but the idea of having my house to myself all summer, while my dad stayed at his apartment in Chicago, no doubt, was a much better prospect.

My hand tingled with a vibration, and I looked down at my phone.

Speak of the devil.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked my dad as I came up on the side of my car.

“Madoc. Glad you answered. Are you home?” He sounded unusually concerned.

“No, I was about to head there soon, though. Why?”

My dad was hardly ever around. He kept an apartment in Chicago, since his big cases kept him working long hours. I liked him. Didn’t love him though.

My stepmom had been AWOL for a year. Traveling, visiting friends. I hated her.

The only person I loved at home was Addie, our housekeeper. She made sure I ate my vegetables and signed my permission slips for school. She was my family.

“Addie called this morning. Fallon showed up today,” he explained, and my breath caught as I nearly dropped my phone.

What?

She’s here?

I put my palm down on the hood of my car and tried to unclench my teeth.

“So?” I finally bit out. “What does that have to do with me?”