Page 5 of Cloudless
“He was making fun of Posey, and I didn’t like it.” The fury in his eyes gives way to a chilling stillness as he looks down at his skates. “I’m the man of the house now, so it’s up to me to stand up for her.” He looks back up at me with such sadness in his eyes, it nearly takes my breath. “What kind of brother would I be if I let him talk about my sister like that?”
A small smile pulls at the corner of my lips. “I know what you mean. I have a sister, too.”
His eyebrows shoot upward as he tilts his head. “You do?”
His hands twist in his shirt sleeves as I nod. “Sure do. She’s my twin, so that means we’re pretty close.”
His eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline as a genuine smile lights his eyes. “Posey is my twin, too!” He holds up four fingers. “I’m older by four minutes.”
My smile grows with his as I lower my voice and shield the side of my mouth, like I’m telling him the nuclear launch codes and not my birth order. “Well, don’t tell anyone, but my sister is a few minutes older than me. She thinks that makes her the big sister and me her little brother.”
He scrunches his nose as he stretches as high as he can to poke my bicep. “You’re definitely not little.”
He giggles as I poke him right back. “Yeah, well, you’re not little, either. It takes a really strong person to stand up to a bully.” A lightness consumes his eyes as I say, “You stood up to Matt even though he had all his friends standing at his back. You’re the tank that charges into battle, Jasper.”
He grows four inches in front of me as a splitting smile takes over his face. “I’m atank?”
“You sure are.” My poke against his bicep brings another round of giggles to the surface. “Now, go do your warmup laps, Tank.”
He holds his head high as he skates away.
My smile falls as I watch Matt and his posse laugh from their spot at the front of the group. Their carefree smiles and easy laughs bring a sudden wave of tension to my jaw.
Well, Matt, welcome to my shit list.
CHAPTER 3
SMOOTH TALKER
LILA
“Come on. Come on.” The red light taunts me as I check the clock on my dash for the hundredth time. The numbers tick by without a care in the world as I drum my fingers along my steering wheel.
I am so late.
The tension in my shoulders grows to an uncomfortable level as I beg the light to change colors. I let out a breath of relief and send it a silentthank youas it flashes to green.
My tires squeal as I speed through the abandoned intersection. I slow as the needle on my speedometer approaches sixty. “Better to get there late and alive, than not at all,” I mumble to myself. Solid advice I wish my parents would have taken.
A sigh of relief escapes my lips as the sprawling building emerges. The black Tahoe in the last row stands out in the empty parking lot. My stomach churns at the inconvenience my poor planning has forced upon this unfortunate soul.
My car sways as I push the gearshift to park and swing my door open. A few stray hairs that escaped my ponytail hours ago fly around my face as the summer breeze washes over my face.
Intense heat rises from the pavement as my sneakers dig into the rough surface of the parking lot. Dark water marks andchipped paint decorate the surface of the community athletics building. A multitude of roof pitches and siding types allude to the many phases of life this building has seen.
The sudden loss of pressure from around my waist and a clatter behind me makes me realize I forgot to take off my apron when I left The Penalty Box. My head swims as I quickly bend to retrieve the battered apron from the ground before continuing up the stairs to the door.
The sting from the sun-warmed door handle against my palm is fleeting as I emerge into the quiet corridor. My sneakers pounding against the laminate floor and the smell of stale air are my only companions as I follow the signs to the rink.
Faded ink and yellowing paper act as my guide through the maze of hallways and locker rooms that seem to stretch on forever.
My grip tightens around my apron and my feet halt as the sound of my brother’s laughter floats through the door at the end of the hall. A stuttered breath catches in my throat as a wave of sorrow threatens to drown me.
I can’t believe I almost forgot what his laugh sounds like.
My feet carry me through the doorway and into the icy chill of the rink. Bright overhead lights shine like a spotlight on the ice as my brother laughs.
For the first time in weeks, my mother's watch on my wrist, whose weight I cannot seem to outrun, is not at the forefront of my mind.
