Mister Impossible (Dreamer Trilogy #2)(29)

“Maybe I am the replacement,” Matthew continued mulishly.

Declan allowed himself one quarter of one half of a picosecond to imagine what it would be like to make the journey to Boston on his own, feeling guilty for all parts of the picosecond.

This was his father’s DNA, he was sure of it. Niall had felt no compunction about going on trips and leaving his family behind. Fuck you, he thought. Then: I hate you.

(How he wished that was true.)

Matthew was still going on. “If I were a replacement, I wouldn’t even know, would I?”

“Mary, please strike me deaf until the state line,” Declan said, checking his mirrors, changing lanes, driving safely. He felt Matthew was taking all this a bit far. Declan had put his identity crises on hold multiple times for the greater good. Matthew had only been asked to do it once.

“Did you hear a thump?” Matthew asked. “From the back?”

“No,” Declan said. “Eat your snacks.”

“Why did I have to go through puberty?” Matthew picked back up where he’d left off. “If I had to be a dream, why couldn’t I have superpowers? Why di—”

There was a phone ringing from somewhere in the car, which ordinarily would have annoyed Declan, but in this case relieved him.

“Turn your phone down,” Declan said.

“I don’t have a phone anymore,” Matthew whined. “You made me throw it out.” He said it in the most sing-song-younger-brother-annoying way possible. You MADE me THROW it OUT.

Oh, right. But Declan didn’t have a phone anymore, either. He’d just thrown out his burner phone at the rest station and was intending to pick up another one after he got to Boston. He wanted badly to pretend that this was evidence of the return of safe, paranoid Declan, but he knew better. This was just what Foolish Declan did to justify this insane trip north. He was going to get his car back. Right.

“Then what’s ringing?” It was too loud to be coming from the trunk, so it couldn’t have belonged to their secret passenger.

“Dur, there, it’s that,” Matthew said, tapping on the loaner car’s radio display.

“I can’t read that—I’m driving. What does it say?”

“Connected phone has an incoming call.”

“There is no connected phone.”

Matthew’s voice was dubious. “I think you ought to look.”

Declan spared a glance. INCOMING CALL FROM, said the display. And then it displayed something that was not quite a number and not quite a name. The something made Declan’s mind reel and bend in on itself to even glance at it.

He hit the button on the steering wheel to accept the call.

“How are you doing this?” he demanded.

“So you’re not dead,” said a voice through the car’s speakers.

“Ronan!” Matthew said.

Declan felt the usual feeling he got with Ronan: Good news, it was Ronan on the other end of the phone. Bad news, it was Ronan on the other end of the phone.

“How do you like it?” Ronan asked. “I call it the MEGAPHONE, all caps.”

Matthew laughed, but the joke sounded a little forced to Declan. He asked, “Are you all right?”

“Don’t you worry your curly head. I hear Matthew. What’s cooking, shitface? You good?”

“Declan’s driving—how good could I be?” Matthew replied.

Declan persisted, “Why didn’t you call before now? Are you still with Bryde? And Hennessy? What’s Bryde like?”

“You should be getting some miles in, Matthias,” Ronan said, in that aggressively jovial tone he used when he was making Matthew feel like things were normal and blowing off Declan’s concerns. “You’ve got to get your license eventually, bro.”

“Mehhh,” said Matthew. “Maybe.”

“Hey. Hey,” Ronan said. “Where are you going, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, lying low at the Barns?”

“I have an errand in Boston,” Declan said.

Booty call, mouthed Matthew, and Declan shot him a dark look.

Ronan said, “An errand! There are fuckfaces out here!”

“I can’t put off every aspect of life forever,” Declan said. Foolish Declan clapped gleefully. Paranoid Declan rolled his eyes.

“You said you were going to the Barns. I assumed you were staying at the Barns. Now you’ve left the Barns.”

“You sound like D,” Matthew remarked.

Declan told himself not to rub it in, to be the mature one, and then he said, “How does it feel to ask for something reasonable and be completely ignored? How does it feel to know you’ve made plans to keep the family safe and they aren’t keeping to them?”

There was silence for so long that it seemed possible the connection had been broken.

“Ronan?”

“I gotta go,” Ronan said, but he didn’t go.

Declan once again had the curious feeling that their roles had reversed.

“I kept my head down for years,” Declan said. “It wasn’t just you. Sacrifices were made by all of us.”

“Great,” Ronan said. “My gratitude is turned to eleven. Boston. Sounds great. While you’re there, look in on Parrish for me.”