Page 3 of Before Their After

“Since when has dad’s opinion meant anything to you?” Hunter’s olive-hued skin reddened in frustration.

“I mean, I don’t know,” I reasoned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s right. I’m of better use out here, anyway. If I leave, y’all would need to hire a ranch hand. We can’t afford that and school. Makes sense. I get it. Honest.”

“Fuck that, Reina, and fuck what happens here. You deserve to go,” Hunter snarled. He was the more protective of my brothers. Always looking out for me, considering my wants and needs. They tended to come last in this house, whether it was intentional or not. Not with Hunter, though. He always put me first. It was admirable—his selflessness. If more people could have a heart as golden as his, then one day the world would be a better place for it.

“Hunter,” Seth warned.

“We can pick up the slack around here,” Hunter said definitively. The defiance in his ice-blue stare left Seth little room to argue. With a deep sigh, Seth nodded in agreement. “The two of us will talk to dad.”

“Yeah. You just focus on getting in. Go sew a new top for your application or something.”

I smiled at Seth. If he’d allow it, I’d smother him with a hug. He tried to understand my world, he really did, and I could only love him for it. “That’s not how that works.” I looked between the two of them, waiting for them to say sike. “Really though. Y’all sure? No take backs.”

“Yeah, we’re sure. You let us handle—” Hunter’s sentence cut off at the sudden God-awful alarm blaring from his phone. He raised his hips a bit, pulling it loose from his pocket. His fingers trembled as I fought to make out the words on his screen, to no avail.

Buzzing tickled the butt of my pants, the silent mode of my phone saving my heart from another scare. I freed it from the back pocket of my jeans and nearly dropped it at the header of the news alert. Daisy huffed, her movements becoming jerky from the anxiety flowing from my brother and me.

“What?” Seth asked. “What happened? Ma okay?”

He never took his phone when he left the house. Technology and him weren’t exactly two peas in a pod and he preferred the peace that came with the disconnection on a ride away from home.

“We need to get home. Now.” Hunter nudged Daisy, and she took off at full-speed. The urgency in her gait was eerie. Like she knew the world was ending.

Tacos and Terror

RILEY

I screwed up.

Taking London to a market full of options was going to make it impossible to drag her away before her curfew. Five p.m. sharp. I found it rather unreasonable. I was her brother—there wasn’t a thing that could happen to her with me around.

“Oh. My. God. Try this,” London said, her twists smacking against my chest as she spun around.

The strong scent of pepper hit me a second before the sweet yet savory cheese melted in my mouth. I arched a brow. “Not bad. Would have been better if I fed it to myself.”

“Now with the jam,” she ordered, holding out the next piece for me to grab.

I took it begrudgingly, if for no other reason than to speed up our never ending tour of the Ferry Building Marketplace. To be fair, it was phenomenal. Hell of a lot better than the Kraft I slammed on pieces of bread or instant ramen I called dinner seven days a week. My sister’s wide brown eyes stared at me, awaiting a reaction.

“Delicious.” I smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and guiding her away.

“Look! Handmade soaps.”

London wiggled away from me and made a straight shot for a booth a few spots down. I followed behind her, crumbling the few dollars I had left inside my pocket. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “These smell amazing, Riley. Maybe if you get some, you can find yourself a girlfriend.”

Tugging her from the soaps with a nod toward the vendor, I steered her in the direction of what we’d come here for—street tacos and chicharrones. I damn near drooled at the smell. The scent of sizzling meat and corn tortillas wafted through the air. Weaving through the crowd, we dodged a couple taking selfies and swerved around a dad trying to soothe his toddler from a full meltdown.

The taco cart wasn’t the most popular in the marketplace, but that’s what we preferred. Hidden gems were often the most worthy of your time. Gia, the vendor’s daughter, waved me over as she saw our approach. Her dad, Jorge, offered a wide smile, his stained apron coated in spices and oil from working the grill. He slid our usual over to Gia with a slight nod before turning back to flip over the tortillas.

“This one’s on us, our favorite customers,” Gia said, though the pity in her eyes led me to believe it was a far more gracious extension than favoritism.

“Thanks, Gi.” London eagerly grabbed the trays of food from her, not giving me the chance to offer up any cash. “Keep it in your pockets, Ril. A gift is a gift.”

We found two seats on a bench near the entrance. Balancing the plate on my knees, I ate half the taco in one bite. It was damn good. ‘Dreaming about it for the last week’ kind of good. London froze as she took her first bite. I followed her eye-line, noticing the group of girls laughing a few feet over.

“You good?” I asked.

“Yeah. This has been fun,” she said, tearing her eyes away and taking a minute to chew her food. “Wish we could do this more often. I mean, I guess we can once the judge makes their decision.”

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