Page 5

She shakes her head. “Dad took my shift.” Her voice sounds hoarse, and she swallows. “Mom went with him.”

I feel my brows draw together. “Where are you going?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. I think she’s contemplating whether she’s going to give me the truth or feed me a lie.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it.

A second later, her phone rings. She flinches, but she makes no move to dig it from her bag.

She tries to side-step me, huffing a sigh of frustration when I don’t let her pass.

She mutters, “I have a doctor’s appointment. I need to go, or I’ll be late.”

“How are you getting there?” Faye got her license, but she never bothered to buy a car. She’s been saving every cent she’s made to move to Toronto with Holt.

She points to the yellow bike leaning agaisnt the porch. “My bike.”

“Let me drive you.”

“No.” She shakes her head stubbornly. “No, you don’t need to do that.”

“I want to.”

“I don’t want you to, Tate.” Her voice rises just a little. She insists, “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

Her eyes bounce to mine as her mouth pops open. It’d be cute if she didn’t look like hell took her for a spin before spitting her back out.

I gesture to the mess of her. “You’re sick, obviously. You can’t ride your bike across town.” When she raises her brows as though to accept my statement as a dare she needs to prove wrong, I amend, “You shouldn’t be riding your bike across town. Let me take you.”

There’s a pause, but I know I’ve won when her shoulders fall. She sighs. “Fine.”

Victory.

“Your chariot awaits.” I swing my hand in the direction of my truck, hopeful for a small smile.

She doesn’t disappoint. This girl never disappoints.

3

TWIST OF FATE

AUGUST 2009 – 20 YEARS OLD

Faye didn’t say much on the drive across town, and as hard as it was, I tried not to out-right pry. When I parked at the doctor’s office, opening my door as she opened hers, she’d snapped those warm brown eyes to me and muttered, “What are you doing?”

I responded, “I’ll just wait in the waiting room for you.”

I’d been fully prepared to do just that. But then the nurse called her name and her hand found mine in a silent plea not to make her do whatever she was about to do alone.

The truth is that I would never make this girl do anything alone. Never.

Now, I’m standing next to the medical bed she sits on, still holding her hand. It’s so small and soft in mine. I’ve fantasized about holding her hand too many times over the last five years. Every time she sat next to me in my car as I drove her home from school while Holt stayed late at the arena to practice. Every time I sat with her on the beach as Holt monkeyed around with the guys. Every time she was near, really.

And every time, I beat myself up for the fantasy.

A tremble pulses through her body, and she squeezes my hand. I run my thumb over the soft skin between her thumb and finger.