Page 161 of Really Truly Yours

Our bags are practically the last ones to show on the carousel, and by the time we fight traffic and make it to Chandor, it’s nearly four o’clock.

“She’s still not answering?” Tripp scoots me a glance.

As if I’d not tell him otherwise. “Nope.” I lock the screen and tap the device on my thigh as he turns into his driveway.

He releases his seatbelt. “Let me get Avery’s things inside, and I’ll be back in a second.”

“Okay. We’ll take my car.”

I unfold from the backseat of Avery’s SUV while Tripp helps her out of the passenger seat. She steadies herself on the door. “I’m sure she’s fine, Gray.”

My stomach and my nerves are all fisted up. I have to believe that.

“I’ll be praying.”

She reaches out, and I squeeze her hand. “Thanks, sis.”

I’m behind the wheel of my car and on the verge of taking off without my lollygagging brother when he finally shows. In his hand is a loaded holster. Oh, man. Surely that won’t be necessary.

Who knows. Nothing about this brother of Sydnee’s screams good news. I’ve got to find her and know she’s safe. If only she’d answer her phone. Donny, too, has gone dark. Are they group-ignoring me? Has he heard her tale and picked a side?

Tripp tosses the holster onto the floorboard. “Just in case.”

“I thought we’d drive by Donny’s first. See if by chance her car’s in the lot. If not, we’ll head to Mineral Springs.”

I’m careful in the neighborhood and cruising through the lot of the assisted living facility. Sydnee’s car is nowhere in sight.

Once on the highway, I open up the engine. Twenty minutes later, I turn down East Fifth Street in the out-of-the-way, not-much-to-recommend-it town Sydnee calls home.

Not much to recommend it—except for Sydnee. She’s more than reason enough for this dude to visit every chance he’s lucky enough to get. He’d even put down roots if that’s what it took to be with Sydnee Carson.

My breath holds until her house is in view. All looks calm and as it should. Her car isn’t there, which could mean a couple things.

I’m shoving the gearshift into park when I see him. On the porch floor, beside the rickety chair Sydnee once warned me about, forehead on bent knees.

This guy has longish hair and a beard, but even without a head-on view, there’s a strong family resemblance, a mix between Sydnee and Sam. I release the seatbelt and allow my fist to curl on my thigh. Is Sydnee barricaded inside, praying he’ll go away?

Tripp slides me a look. “You ready for this?”

“Oh yeah.”

My brother slaps my shoulder. “Alright then. I got your back, bro.”

I glue my eyes to the porch and open the door. I set my feet onto the gravel. The guy raises his head as if he just noticed us. His eyes flare wide. I stay by the car door. When Tripp reaches me, I do a doubletake. If the situation weren’t so serious, I’d hoot with laughter. He’s ditched the dress shirt he wore on the plane and now wears only an undershirt.

Sydnee’s lowlife brother scrambles to his feet. He looks tough—but he just got out-thugged. He blanches as though he’s worried he may have already eaten his final meal and didn’t know it. This brother of mine looks so scary it’s funny.

I stop a few feet off the porch. Tripp lingers an arm’s length behind. I square up, setting my hands at my waist. Max is in decent-looking jeans. His shirt is a navy and green flannel, untucked, with a frayed hem. His sneakers have seen better days. Honestly, he looks like he could use a jacket. Autumn hit for real while I was traveling.

“Max?”

He angles his face. “Who are you?”

“Grayson.”

His gaze touches my car. Strangely familiar eyes swoop over me. “You’re that baseball player.”

“I am.”

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