Page 117 of The Lilac River

“Bro, time to go!” he shouted, spotting us disentangling ourselves on the couch. “Dad moved dinner up by an hour. Wilder called from some girl’s place.”

Nash groaned and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What girl?”

Gunner dropped onto the far end of the sectional. “No idea. But he didn’t sound thrilled.”

He wrinkled his nose at the TV. “What the hell are you watching?”

“The Holiday,” Nash said, deadpan.

Gunner blinked at him. “You do know that’s a Christmas movie, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re gonna tell me next that Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie.”

“It isn’t.”

“Blasphemy,” Gunner muttered, pushing to his feet with dramatic flair.

Nash leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “You know where everything is if you get hungry. We’ll be back soon.”

And just like that, they were gone. Sauntering out the front door like they weren’t about to commit felony-level breaking and entering.

I stood at the window long after they disappeared down the drive, the glass cool beneath my fingers. My breath fogged the pane, and I watched until their headlights vanished over the ridge.

No matter how confident Nash seemed, I knew what was really at stake.

Everything.

And as I watched them go, my heart lodged somewhere high in my throat. Because no matter how confident Nash seemed I knew what was really at stake.

Chapter 43

Believer – Imagine Dragons

Nash

“How the hell did you learn how to do that?” I muttered, watching Gunner crouch in front of the lock on Dad’s apartment door, fiddling with a small tool kit like he was cracking a safe in some heist movie.

“YouTube,” he said, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had all week.

I shook my head. “So while I’m over here learning how to braid Bertie’s hair without turning it into a bird’s nest, you’re learning how to commit major crimes?”

The lock gave a satisfying click. Gunner winked and shrugged. “Something like that.”

He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the stairwell. All clear. He pushed the heavy door open and let us into the private inner lobby—quiet, too quiet.

The lights were dimmed to a soft golden glow, and everything smelled faintly like pine and polish. Expensive.

“Shit,” I muttered, glancing up. “Is that chandelier made of real crystals?”

“If this clock’s real gold, then probably.” Gunner gave a low whistle as he wandered over to an ugly, modern grandfather clock in the corner. “Sure, looks like it might be.”

We both stood there for a second, taking it all in. Ridiculous didn’t even cover it.

The apartment took up the entire top floor of the building, Dad’s precious penthouse. Way too fancy for Silver Peaks, a town where most folks lived in old ranch houses or cabins with wood-burning stoves. This place? Cold and industrial. Like something airlifted in from Denver or Aspen and dropped at the tail end of Latymer.

Out of place. Just like him.

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