The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(93)

“But it makes sense,” Tate said.

“It’s misogynistic. If I were a guy you wouldn’t be telling me to stay behind.”

“If you were a guy who wasn’t familiar with G-pa’s place, I would definitely be telling you to stay behind. Foster, you kick ass. There’s no doubt about that. But do you know how to get into and out of G-pa’s spare room upstairs?”

“Of course not,” Foster said.

“I do. I used to sneak out all the time when we spent summers here with G-pa. Had to bribe Bugsy, but still.” He reached across the center console and took Foster’s hand, raising it to his lips. “Trust me, okay?”

Foster scrunched down in her seat, folding her arms around herself. Tate thought she looked like an adorable, pissed-off little girl, but he valued his life and would never, ever tell her that.

“There it is, Cobb’s Cove drive.” Tate braked and turned left. “Damn, almost didn’t see it through all this rain.”

“Yeah, it let up for a while, but it’s definitely back now. Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off closer to your g-pa’s house?”

“Nah, this is fine.” They bumped down the road, slowing as it turned to a sandy parking lot that held only one other car. “Okay, you wait here, and—”

“Tate! Look!” Foster pointed down the beach, and Tate’s eyes followed her finger.

All hell was breaking loose down there! Tate saw two kids backing into the crashing waves, while Eve, Luke, and Mark faced them down, and a few yards away Matthew was circling …

“G-pa and Bugsy! Hell no, they’re not gonna mess with my g-pa!” Tate was out the door and moving so fast he didn’t expect Foster to keep up with him, let alone stop him. But suddenly there she was, standing in front of his face, with her hands on her hips.

“Foster, it’s G-pa!”

“I know.” She put her hands on his chest and looked into his eyes. “You have to calm down, Tate. Remember what happened the last time we messed with air and didn’t have ourselves under control?”

Tate nodded shakily, his eyes darting to the beach. “Okay, okay. I hear you.”

“Breathe. Think. Do not let them get to you. And remember, I’m here. Right here with you. We’re going to get your g-pa away from them. Together.”

“Okay. You’re right.” Tate spoke more calmly as he focused more on Foster’s green eyes than what was happening on the beach.

“Ready?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said.

Foster tiptoed and kissed him softly. “How about now?”

“Now I know so.” It was then that the sandy ground beneath them shook. Tate’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, let’s go be superheroes and save the day.”

“Absolutely,” Foster said.

Side by side, they sprinted to the beach.





Foster


Foster ran after Tate, silently praying that he kept a handle on his temper.

“Tate! Son!” His g-pa shouted. Matthew had been approaching the old man and the waterlogged, giant dog, but at the sound of Tate’s voice the big dog’s ears and tail went up, and with a happy bark, she dashed past Matthew and ran to meet Tate.

“Good girl! Good Bugsy! What happened to you, old girl? You look terrible.” Tate crouched to greet the dog.

“Oof!”

Foster glanced down the beach in time to see Tate’s million-year-old g-pa lower his head, sprint at the Matthew man, and like he was playing college ball, knock the younger man smack on his butt as he raced past him straight to Tate’s side.

“G-pa!”

The old man pulled Tate into a fast bear hug, speaking urgently and quickly. “Eve’s bad news. She’s got the water kids Charlotte and Bastien over there with Luke, the second worst, and Mark, who doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Matthew is a follower.”

“Welcome, Tate and Foster.” Eve strode away from the two strangers standing knee-deep in the roiling waves. Her brothers stiffened as she walked past, their heads swiveling between the sets of teens. “I’m so glad we’re all together now.”

“Hello, Eve,” Foster pinned her fists to her hips and planted her feet in the sand. “You bitch.”

“Is that any way for family to speak to each other?”

“I don’t have any family. They’re all dead, and I’m no part of whatever twisted thing you have going on.”

“All dead? Oh no, my sister, our father is alive and well and wants very much for us to be reunited.”

“A father doesn’t kidnap his children,” G-pa said with a disgusted shake of his head.

“We haven’t kidnapped anyone, old man,” Luke shouted.

“Fire boy, you’re a jackass,” G-pa spoke to him dismissively. “And I’ve listened to your lot scheme and plan for the past twenty-four hours. You’re here to take these kids from their lives—to steal them away to fulfill some fantasy your father has brainwashed you into believing. That’s not a family. That’s a delusion.”

Foster said nothing as she squinted against the wind and rain, her eyes following Bastien and Charlotte’s slow retreat toward the heaving waves.

Wait! Foster’s mouth formed the word, but it lodged in her throat. They should leave—sink beneath the storm and swim, swim, swim. Now she and Tate knew their names, had seen their faces. With Sabine’s help, they would find them again.