The Speed of Light: A Novel(38)

Emmett drops his eyes. “Yeah, uh, it doesn’t work.”

“What?” I ask.

“I needed to get something cheap. The dude said the body is still in pretty good condition. It just needs a little work.” He swallows. “Or, a lot.”

Connor’s eyes flick back and forth between us, apprehensive, and I sigh. “Why are you doing this, Em?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, sorry, Emmett.” My eyes widen in realization, and I lean in closer. “Is this about you and Kaley?”

Emmett crosses his arms, casting his death glare upon me. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Connor steps awkwardly back toward the kitchen, probably wishing he could sink into the floor, but I step toward my brother. “I’m just worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, I’m fine.”

I open my mouth, but his phone buzzes. He looks down. “He’s here.”

I walk to the window. Outside, a poison-green El Camino sits in the lot, parked across an entire row of empty spots. Hooked to its back hitch is a rusty old trailer carrying what I assume is my brother’s new but nonworking snowmobile, concealed by a cloth cover. Emmett walks up and looks out, too. “Wow,” I say. “Sweet ride.”

Connor steps up behind us. “We’re supposed to head down there?”

Emmett nods, his eyes a little nervous now. I nudge his arm with a wink. “Let’s go get you a snowmobile.”



Mr. El Camino turns out not to be a murderer but a jolly old gearhead—a collector of all things mechanical. He talks our ears off about Polaris and Yamaha as the four of us load the snowmobile from the trailer to the back of my dad’s truck. Afterward, as we catch our breath, he starts babbling on about all these snowmobile competitions my brother will probably never enter. I stop listening after a while—instead I gaze up at the few stars that have pushed their glow through the light pollution of the city, trying not to think about how incredibly cold it is standing out here. Even Emmett seems to think the whole transaction takes way too long, but Connor seems to be in his element talking to this guy.

“So a bunch of you go out to the Black Hills every year?” His face is ruddy, but his eyes are bright, like a child listening to a bedtime story.

The old man—Pauly—chuckles. “Not for several years now, but my brothers and I used to make the trip every year.”

There it is—the first flicker of sadness in Connor’s eyes at the mention of brothers. I place my gloved hand in his, and he looks over and smiles. “Time to go in, huh?”

Pauly nods, turns to shake Emmett’s hand. “Well, young man, have fun fixing up this old thing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

We wave as he drives away, but when the chug of the bright-green beast’s engine fades into the night, I shudder and usher them both back into the building.

Upstairs, we shrug out of our coats, and Emmett pumps his fist in victory. “See, Mone? Told ya it was a good idea.”

I roll my eyes and Connor laughs, then crosses his arms, leans back against the couch. “So, you ever rebuilt something like that before?”

Emmett shrugs. “I figured I’d google it.”

Connor raises his eyebrows. “Wait. Have you ever driven a snowmobile before?”

Emmett puffs out his chest, but there’s pain in his eyes. “Of course I have.”

I catch Connor’s eye, give a slight shake of my head—the truth is, Emmett used to go snowmobiling with Kaley because her family is really into it. I am 100 percent certain that’s why he’s doing this—it’s some sort of strange attempt to get her back. And yet my brother clearly does not want to talk about it, and I want to respect that. For now, at least.

Connor nods back at me, eases into his wide smile. “Well, it’ll be an adventure, anyway. Honestly, I never have, either, but I used to hang out in the garage with my brother when he was working on them. Mostly just to drink beer, of course.” Emmett smirks as Connor continues. “Hey, I could help you sometime. Even if it’s just with questions.”

Emmett keeps his indifferent expression, but his nod is quick. “Yeah, maybe that’d be cool. Thanks.”

The unexpected rush of warmth within me at this brief moment of dude-bonding catches me off guard. I take a deep breath but can’t keep the grin off my face. They both look over, so I turn toward the kitchen. “Hey, who wants hot chocolate?”

“Me.” Emmett slides into the bench of my cute but tiny bare-wood kitchen nook, then pulls out his phone.

Connor joins me at the counter. “Cups up here?”

His arm brushes mine as he reaches to open it, and a thrill shoots through me. “Mm-hmm,” I murmur, sneaking a glance at his chiseled profile.

Mugs in hand, we squeeze around the nook. With my hands wrapped around the warm cup—with Connor by my side, shoulder to shoulder—my anxiety ebbs. All is well.

Then—my landline rings. It’s the shrill, clipped buzz telling me someone’s ringing from the entryway, wanting to be let in.

“Oh shit.” I turn, and Emmett’s face is pale. “Mom and Dad.”

Connor’s arm freezes midair, mug in hand. “Your parents are here?”

I glance at him. “They came to get Emmett.” I lean in close, voice low. “He kind of left without telling them.”