I nod. “I was cold.”
He angles his head to the side as he curiously looks at Jax. Whatever the meaning behind the look, Jax shifts his weight, uneasiness flowing off of him.
What the heck? Is it really that big of a deal that I’m wearing his jacket?
“I can give it back.” I begin to unzip it, but Hunter promptly shakes his head.
“No, keep it on if you’re cold,” he insists as he walks up to me. “It’s not a big deal. I was just being weird.” Then he brushes his thumb along my lips. “We wouldn’t want those pretty lips of yours to get frozen.”
“Jesus,” Zay mutters under his breath.
“The jacket’s not going to help protect my lips,” I stress with a roll of my eyes.
“You know what? You’re right.” Hunter grins cleverly. “I better kiss those pretty lips and make sure they stay nice and warm.”
Zay lets out a groan.
So do I. “Dude, BBFs do not use cheesy lines on their BFFs, remember?”
Hunter grins. “You never said that before.”
“Well, I’m saying it now.”
“Hmm …” He rubs his jawline. “I’ll do my best, but no promises.” With that, he spins around and heads to go hop into the car.
I glance to Jax. “Is he always like that?”
“Sort of, I guess.” He gives a short pause. “Usually, he has a short attention span and would be moving on by now.”
“I’ve only known him for two days,” I point out.
“I know,” he says. “That’s a long time for him.”
I’m unsure what to make of what he said, and question if Hunter will get bored of me soon. Sure, the flirting kind of makes me squirmy, but I also secretly like that he jokes about me being his BFF. I’ve never had one before, and I kind of want one. Although, I’m sure we have a long way to go before that actually happens.
Trying not to stress too much about that, I head to get into the car. Jax moves with me, walking close. So close that his hand keeps brushing against my lower back. Or maybe he’s doing that on purpose? Why would he, though? I don’t know.
Zay is the first to get into the car, hopping into the driver’s seat. When I climb into the back, I scoot all the way over so that Jax can have room. But he doesn’t get in right away, standing just outside the car with Hunter. They’re talking about something quietly enough that I can’t hear.
Zay shakes his head in annoyance then he rotates around in the seat to look at me. “You know, you’re going to cause a lot of trouble for me.”
I point at myself. “Me? What the hell did I do except offer to help you out?”
He looks at me, his grey eyes dissecting me. I notice he has a scar across his brow.
I wonder what happened.
“You really have no idea, do you?” he finally says.
“I’m not clueless,” I reply. But for reals, I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m not about to divulge that, especially to Zay.
He rubs his lips together. “Okay.”
“I’m not,” I say defensively.
“And I said okay.” Although the arrogant sparkle in his eyes completely contradicts what he’s saying.
My jaw ticks in annoyance as he twists fully around in the seat. Then he draws the hood of his hoodie over his head and something snags my attention—his hands. Or, well, his knuckles are raw, as if he scraped them badly and recently. And whatever he did, he must do a lot because beneath the rawness are elevated scars.
I rest my arms on the back of the seat. “What happened to your hands?”
He raises his knuckles. “What? This?”
I nod.
A cruel smile curves across his face. “I beat the shit out of someone last night.”
“Really?” I ask with intrigue.
“What do you think?” He almost seems to be mocking me.
I shrug. “I don’t know. You seem like the kind of guy who might’ve spent the night beating up people.”
He assesses me. “And that doesn’t scare you?”
I snort a laugh. “Hell no. My dad used to do stuff like that all the time.”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I bite down on my tongue. Why do I keep speaking about my father so openly with them?
Guilt begins to twist in my gut.
Murderer.
“What did your dad do for a living?” Zay wonders.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
He frowns. “You don’t know?”
I shake my head, not liking the direction of this conversation. “I already told you I kind of have amnesia.”
“Yeah, but I thought that it was just that you couldn’t remember a traumatic moment in your life.”
“It mostly is, but there are holes that go way back to early in my childhood.”
His forehead creases. “Does anyone know what caused it?”
“No. But no one’s really looked into it, either.”
“Weird,” he mutters.
“For sure. But it is what it is.”
“You don’t want to know what you forgot?”
“Sometimes I do,” I admit. “But sometimes I think that perhaps I forgot for a reason, you know. And whatever those forgotten memories are, maybe they were really awful.”
He nods like he understands, but how could he unless he’s had amnesia, too?
“So, where are we going first?” Hunter asks as he slides into the back seat with me and Jax gets in the passenger side.
Zay immediately turns back around in the seat and revs up the engine. “We need to stop by the house to grab some cameras and stuff. We can get food there.”
Hunter scrunches up his nose as he reaches for his seat belt. “We don’t really have much in the fridge, man.”
“And whose fault is that?” Zay shoves the shifter into drive and backs out of the parking space.
“Jax’s, obviously,” Hunter says with hilarity ringing in his tone.
“No, it was your turn to do the shopping,” Zay continues to scold him as he drives out of the parking lot and onto the road.
Hunter reclines in the seat. “Well, I don’t know why it was. Jax has the best pushing carts skills.”
I snort a laugh then throw my hand across my mouth.
Hunter grins, so pleased with himself.
“He’s not funny,” Zay grumbles as he shifts gears.
“He kind of is, though,” I say with a shrug.
Grinning, Hunter stretches his arm along the back of the seat and around my shoulders. “You are, by far, the best BFF I’ve ever had.”
“Even better than them.” I nod at Jax and Zay.
He nods, attempting to appear serious, but his lips are twitching to turn upward. “They’re just my Fs.”
My brow curves upward. “Fs, as in, they’re your forevers? Because that sounds more intimate than best friends forever.”
Hunter busts up laughing, his eyes crinkling around the corner.
“Good God, there are two of them,” Zay mumbles, shaking his head.
Jax glances at us and, while he’s not fully smiling, his eyes glitter a little, so I think he finds me funny.
“Jax thinks she’s funny, too,” Hunter tells Zay. “So, you’re outnumbered, dude.”
Zay stays quiet, but his grip on the wheel tightens.
“I think you made him mad,” I whisper to Hunter.
“Nah, that’s just how Zay is,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Zay shifts the gears again, and the engine roars as the gears lower. I think maybe he’s slowing down, but instead, he presses on the gas and switches lanes, flooring it around a slow-moving minivan. He goes faster than necessary, I think playing with his car. It’s how my dad used to drive, like he was racing all the time. And he did race sometimes.
“Do you drag race this?” I ask Zay, even though he still seems kind of grumpy.
When he gets in front of the minivan, he speeds up even more, definitely speeding through town.
“Just wondering,” I reply. “My dad used to, and you drive a lot like he did.”
And again, I’m talking about my dad. What’s my deal today?
He flicks a glance over his shoulder. “What’d he drive?”
“Well, he owned a GTO, but he also had a lot of different ones, like a Firebird,” I tell him. “He fixed them up and sold them as a hobby, so he had a lot of different ones. Never a Chevelle, though. I know he wanted one. He just … never got one.” ’Cause he died.
Maybe because of me.
“You’re into cars then?” Hunter asks, shifting closer to me in the seat.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I used to go on these rides with my dad for hours. It was fun. I’ve never actually driven anything, so who knows? Maybe I’ll hate driving.”
Hunter straightens while Zay looks at me with surprise in his eyes. Even Jax looks a little surprised.
“You’ve never driven ever?” Zay asks in shock.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve never had the opportunity.”
“Your aunt or uncle didn’t try to teach you?” Zay questions.
“No.” The bite in my tone is obvious, and I can tell they notice.
Zay raises his brows then faces forward. “Someone’s gonna have to teach her to drive.”
“I’ll do it,” Hunter offers, and my stomach somersaults with excitement.
They’re going to teach me how to drive? Okay, I’m not one for accepting offers to help me, but I’ll take this one!
“No way,” Jax says, turning in the seat and resting his arm on the back of it so he can look at Hunter. “You’ve gotten into, like, five accidents.”
“Those were mild fender benders,” Hunter stresses, but he has sort of a whoopsie face on.
“No, they weren’t,” Jax says then skates his gaze to me. “I’ll teach you. I’m the best driver here.”
“That’s not even close to the truth,” Zay says as he speeds up the car.
“Fine, I’m the safest driver here,” he revises, glancing at him. “And I’ll be the most patient with her.”
Zay must agree since he doesn’t argue. Or he just doesn’t want to teach me.
“What’re you going to teach her in?” Hunter questions. “Your truck? Because I can barely drive that beast of a thing.”
“I think we already established you can’t drive for shit,” Jax tells him, eliciting a dirty look from Hunter. Jax ignores it. “It’ll be good for her to learn on it. I can take her to the mud pit, so it’ll be easy.”
“It’s a clutch,” Hunter points out, like that should mean something.
“Yeah, so? She should learn how to drive a clutch.” Jax pauses. “Stop trying to look for excuses here.” He looks at me then. “You okay with learning how to drive in my truck?”
I nod eagerly. “I’d be okay with learning how to drive in anything.”
“Even a minivan?” Hunter asks me.
I nod. “Even a minivan.”
“My truck’s way better than a minivan,” Jax assures me with a smile. “I’ll take you tomorrow if you want.”
Again, I nod eagerly, probably looking like a freak, but in this moment, I don’t care. “I want.”
Jax’s smile widens, and Hunter chuckles, the annoyance leaving his expression.
“You’re not a little bit excited about this, are you?” Hunter teases me.
“I’m way excited,” I answer, even though his question wasn’t serious.
“Really? Huh? I couldn’t tell.” Chuckling, he urges me closer with his arm that’s draped around my shoulders.
“I’ve just wanted to learn how to drive since I was five and took my first drive with my dad,” I explain. “I just never thought it’d happen.”
The atmosphere shifts then, a heaviness clouding over.
“Why won’t your aunt or uncle teach you?” Hunter asks cautiously.
I lift a shoulder, fidgeting with the leather bands on my wrists that hide some of my scars; scars I once put there myself. “I don’t know … They just don’t like me that much.” I shrug again. “I am kind of a pain in the ass.” Not that that’s an excuse for anything they do to me, especially my uncle.
That man is a messed-up psycho. Deep down, I know this, and I could tell them, but then I’d have to explain why. And what would I say? He carves my flesh up with words that match the self-hatred I often feel toward myself? Nope, those are never words I can utter aloud, because it’ll poison everything.
Silence stretches by.
“Is that the reason you’re helping us?” Zay steers into a neighborhood lined with nice, two-story homes.
“Partly,” I say. “I do want to find out why we’re off the grid.”
Zay slows down the car then and pulls into a driveway that belongs to a two-story home that has black shutters, a small front porch, and a two-car garage.
“This is where you guys live?” I ask, straightening in the seat.
“Yeah?” Hunter sits up with me, his eyes skimming across my expression. “Not what you were expecting?”
I shake my head as I gape at the house. “No, not at all.”
Hunter removes his arm from around my shoulders and unfastens his seat belt. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know …” I shrug. “Honestly, when you said you lived on your own, I just figured you lived in an apartment or something. This is way fancier than what I envisioned.”
“If you think this is fancy, you should see the homes we grew up in,” Hunter tells me, but his voice sounds a little off, almost like he’s being strangled.
“No, she shouldn’t.” Zay shuts off the engine then shoves open the door. “No one should ever have to lay eyes on those goddamn fucking hellholes.” With that, he climbs out and strides up the driveway and onto the front porch.
A beat of silence ticks by, and my mind wanders to what Harlow told me earlier. Well, vaguely told me about the families who run this town. It sounded very mobster-ish, and Jax said something that sounded mobster-like, too. If they do come from families that are kind of like mobs, I wonder what their childhood was like. By the way Zay just acted, probably awful.
Jax gets out of the car next with that wooden box in his hand, and Hunter follows. I scoot over and climb out, too. Jax is waiting for me then shuts the door.
We trail after Hunter and toward the front door that’s now open and Zay is already inside.
“So, what’s in the box?” I ask Jax, because it sounds like something inside it is jingling around.
“I made it in woodshop,” he tells me as we walk up the stairs. “But it has a bunch of stuff inside that Hunter made in metal shop last year.”
Hunter pauses in the doorway and glances at Jax. “Really?”
Jax nods as we walk into the house. “Mr. Johnson told me to take it and give it to you. Said he usually just tosses the stuff his old students make, but it felt wrong to toss stuff that’s so well made.” He hands Hunter the box. “He did make a joke that he should’ve sold some of it since you didn’t seem that interested in keeping it.”
As I enter the small foyer, I peer around, taking in the stairway in front of me, the hardwood floors, the living room to my left, and an office to my right. Black and white photos of scenery and buildings line the white walls that lead upstairs and a chandelier hangs above me.
How in the crap can three teenage guys afford this?
“I honestly don’t even remember what I made,” Hunter says as he heads down a hallway just to the left of the stairway. “I think it was a bunch of jewelry that I technically wasn’t supposed to be making, but I was bored and Mr. Johnson liked me, so he didn’t give a shit.”
Jax starts after Hunter, and I just sort of lollygag in the foyer, wondering if I’m supposed to follow them. As stupid as this might make me sound, I have no idea how to act in this type of situation.
When Jax no
tices me just standing there, he gestures for me to follow him.
A bit of relief trickles through me as I hurry after him. He waits for me to catch up, and then we walk down the hallway and step into a kitchen that has a dining room adjacent to it. Zay is rummaging around in the fridge.
Hunter sets the box down on the granite countertop then rubs his hands together. “Let’s open it up and see what my ever-so-awesome mind created a year ago.” He lifts the lid and peers inside. “Huh? It’s a little anti-climactic.”
Jax walks by him and opens a set of doors that leads to a pantry. “What’s in it?”
He gives a shrug. “Jewelry, like I said.” He takes something out and examines it. “I guess this one isn’t too bad.”
I make my way across the kitchen to him to get a better look at what he’s holding. My eyes nearly widen at the sight of a silver ring, the band engraved with roses that wrap around a black stone that has several tiny iridescent stones trimming it. “You made that?”
He presses back an amused smile. “What? Are you impressed or something?”
“Um, yeah. And I’m not ashamed to admit it.” I look back at the ring. “It’s pretty.”
He considers something then reaches out and takes my hand. “Then it’s yours.” He slips it on my finger.
“Really?” I ask, staring down at the ring and watching it sparkle.
He nods then puts the lid back on the box. “One day, I’ll make you a better one.”
I don’t really see how that’s possible since this ring is gorgeous, but I get snagged on something else he said. One day, as in the future, like we’re still going to be friends in the future.
Zay is still standing in front of the open fridge but glances over at us. He looks at Hunter then briefly glances at me, his expression unreadable. Then he looks away and grabs some stuff out of the fridge.
“I’m making grilled ham and cheese, and then we’ll head over,” he announces. “Hunter, go get the cameras together. Jax and Raven, help me make this shit.” He pushes the door closed with his foot, cheese, meat, and butter in his hands. He cocks a brow at me. “Unless you can’t cook.”
“I can’t cook fancy stuff.” I round the counter toward him. “But grilled cheese is my specialty.”
The Rules of Being Friends (A Pact Between the Forgotten Series Book 2) Page 7
