Page 25 of The Lost Kings
“Why would Kyle teach either of you?”
Carter’s expression crumpled into total confusion. “Uncle Kyle used to be into street racing. He was really good, actually. My mom and dad said he won like every race he ever participated in. It’s partly what got him in trouble. They never told me what that meant, or what sort of trouble, but I just assume everyone we know has had some brush with the law at some point.”
Dad hadn’t…as far as we knew at least. Mom once told us that he’d been really close to having a professional hockey career, but they never explained why that didn’t work out, other than the community needing help with El Peligro. I know the gang our grandpa once led was somehow involved, but I wasn’t sure how.
Carter let out a sigh before pulling out her phone. “I’m shocked Pressy never told you two. Makes me wonder what else she hasn’t shared.”
We must have remained quiet for too long because Carter got bored and wandered off.
Kingston was glaring at the road again, but I knew he was asfrustrated with Carter’s comment as I was. Presley, King, and I, we shared everything. We never kept secrets from each other, so her being able to drift around a corner in a Dodge Hellcat had me wondering what else she wasn’t telling us and why.
It wasafter dinner when King and I decided to sneak out our loft window and walk the small pathway along the top of our roof, down to the west wing of the manor. The tall glass windows were covered in gauzy white curtains, and beyond them, you couldn’t make anything out. King pulled out a small knife and slipped it through the small gap, sliding up the golden hook that kept the panes together.
I gently pressed against the glass and crawled inside.
My foot landed on her cushioned window seat, then her carpeted loft. Ours had a couch and extra gaming stuff, along with a place for me to map out stars, but her loft had craft supplies scattered along a long table. She didn’t have a lot of time to spend on her crafting, but I liked that she had a whole loft dedicated to when she could. There were pieces of barnwood scattered over the table and scraps of rope.
I knew she’d be creating a picture frame or two based on the printed images of the farm and the Highland cows she loved so much. There were a few pictures of her family, and then several of me and Kingston too.
“Elvis?” I walked over to the stairs that led down to her room and took them two at a time. Kingston was right behind me as he skipped the last step and landed in front of Presley’s queen-sized bed. She had on a pair of headphones while she flipped through one of her school books.
Kingston took the book from her, which had her tearing at her headphones while spinning around. “Hey!”
“We need to talk.” I slipped out of my slides and sat on her bed.
My brother did the same, sitting opposite of me.
Presley rolled her eyes but moved her books out of the way for us to sit. The comforter was a teal color that matched the barn wood theme she had going throughout the room. Presley was a cowgirl born without the ranch or cows and that reality never stopped devastating me.
“You could have sent a text.” She set her headphones on the shelf behind her bed and then pulled her knees up under her chin before facing us.
Kingston ignored that and launched into things faster than I anticipated. “Since when do you race cars?”
Her eyes always reminded me of tiny flames. Not the red or orange part of the flame, but the hottest part, the blue that revealed total combustion. Her eyes were like that, wide and always completely undoing me in ways that I didn’t think were possible but now they were framed with thick, black lashes that I never remembered being so long.
“What are you talki?—”
I cut her off, because irritation scratched at some place in my chest. “We saw you today, and Carter did too. She told us that you’ve been trying to drift for over a year.”
“Carter said that?”
Kingston flicked his eyes across the room toward her closet and suddenly got up.
She quickly untangled her feet and followed him. “What are you doing?”
“We don’t keep secrets, Presley.” King pushed her closet door open and flicked on the light.
“What are you looking for?” Her eyes searched the space, but I didn’t miss how she kept focusing on the shelves.
King noticed too and moved toward them. “What else,Elvis?”
She stepped in front of him with her eyes narrowed. He never called her Elvis unless he was trying to irritate her, which she only proved with her tone. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are you hiding?”
“Nothing!” Presley cried, but King jerked open the drawer and began pulling out the clothes and throwing them on the ground.
“Kingston!”
