Page 8 of Changing Lanes

I meant what I told Marc and Beckett, living with them will be easy compared to growing up with four overbearing brothers. And if that blustering blue-eyed behemoth stays out of my way, I should still be able to splash around in the overflowing fountain of fun life has to offer a twenty-year-old looking to loosen the noose of misery constricting her throat.

Ignoring my question or maybe unable to answer, my mom just repeats quietly, “I miss him.”

My name being called over the radio breaks the heavy silence and I retrieve the picture before placing it on her nightstand. Taking one last look at the smiling faces of an almost unrecognizable family, I rub my thumb over my smiling parents.

“Me, too,” slips out before I can stop it.

* * *

“Shit,” I say, looking at my CBR sitting useless in the spot I parked her in last night.

Remembering Cynthia already took off for the day, I pull up my oldest brother Jesse’s name on my phone. He doesn’t answer until the fourth call, gritting out, “This better be an emergency.”

“I’m stranded on the side of the freeway. Can you please pick me up?”

A groggy rumble is the only response I get.

“Jesse! Wake up!” I scold. “It’s not even that early. Come on, my bike won’t start. I need a ride home.”

“Call someone else,” he mumbles, sounding like he’s rolling back over to sneak some more z’s.

Not on my smartwatch.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll just stick my thumb up and see if I can hitch a ride. Serial killers are probably out of business now since Uber’s so popular.” I wait a bit, letting that sink in, then add, “Right?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

His sharp and very much awake tone has me chuckling.

“Where are you exactly?”

I ramble off the address, squinting even though he can’t see me.

“Wait, isn’t that Sunbrook’s address?”

I don’t answer. He knows it is.

“God, you’re a bitch. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Make it sooner and I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“That’s already included in my fee.”

“Maybe I should’ve called someone else,” I mutter, then hang up before he can renege.

Even though I plan on hitting my bed as soon as I get home, a chai tea latte will help soothe my nerves after the long night I just endured; but really, I’d use any excuse to get the sweet, milky drink so it’s a moot point. Or mute point, as my brother Nick used to say then arrogantly defend when we’d correct him. It kinda stuck and now we use the term as an inside joke.

Thirty minutes later, a grumpy but extremely pretty Jesse pulls up. With high cheekbones, light eyes, and a clear complexion partially hidden by a short beard, my oldest brother is definitely the prettiest in the family. After our gorgeous mother, of course. We used to joke that all the beauty was used up on the firstborn, leaving odds and ends to make up the rest of us. Caleb has a perfect nose, Tysen has well-defined muscles, and Nick has plump lips while I have the hair. Well, technically we all have the same hair color but I tint my long, mahogany waves with dark, berry-red undertones to make it my own.

I’m sitting at the curb with my elbows resting on my knees when his low-to-the-ground Toyota screeches to a halt in front of me. The window rolls down and he barks, “Get in.”

Asshole. I love him.

Seeing my oldest brother is like taking my first breath after a long swim—it hurts but in a really, really good way. It’s…been a while.

“Morning, sunshine.”

He grunts something about dropping me off on a real freeway but I ignore the empty threat. I wouldn’t have to lie if he’d just answer my calls.