Page 72 of Brox Boar

I almost correct her, then catch myself on the banned word in my head, and it irritates me further. The truth stays, whether I name it or not.

I stare at her across the table. “And what am I supposed to do instead?”

“Tell the truth,” she says. “Even if it’s ugly.”

“The truth,” I say slowly, “is that right now I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who we belonged to first. I don’t know if there’s someone out there who’s been missing two boys for years.” My voice comes rougher in the next part. “And I don’t know what it will do to Rio if it’s real.”

Lana’s eyes shine with intensity. “That’s love.”

I stare at her. She gives a small, tired smile. “I know what it’s like to watch someone you love carry too much and pretend it weighs nothing.”

I take a slow breath, forcing my shoulders to loosen. I know she lost her parents to cancer. But that’s all she’s told us. Must have been brutal.

“What do you expect you’ll find in Chicago?” Lana asks again, gentler this time.

I look past her, at the clean lines of the cabin, the flawless surfaces.

“Mess,” I say. “I expect the past to reach up and grab me. I expect to learn something I won’t like.”

“And what will you do with it?”

I meet her eyes again.

“I’ll handle it,” I say automatically.

Her mouth softens. “That’s a start.”

Outside, clouds thicken, then thin again, sunlight breaking through in pale bands. The plane moves through it without struggle. I wish I could say the same for what’s waiting.

I glance at Lana, she looks small in this cabin, yet her presence fills it.

“You think Rio cares more than I know,” I say.

“I do,” she replies. “And I think you care more than you let yourself feel.”

I hold her gaze. For once, I don’t argue.

The jet continues toward Chicago, carrying us toward a truth that’s been buried for years. And for the first time since we left the tarmac, I admit silently that I’m not just going for answers.

I’m going to find out what was done to us.

CHAPTER 19

LANA

The plane lands with a smooth jolt that travels through my seat and into my ribs.

Brox rises the second we’re allowed, as if sitting still even one more minute might burn him from the inside out. He’s already back in command of his body: suit neat again, jacket on, jaw set. His calm is practiced. His eyes are not.

We leave the airplane with Brox holding my bags, and I’m smiling politely at Tara. Lucky for us the pilot parked close to the gate door and we don’t have to walk a lot to get inside.

Once we do, we rush through to the car rental area, and Brox goes toward a smaller window on the far end where a woman sits with a coffee and a bored expression–until she sees him.

Her posture changes instantly. She straightens, eyes sharpening, mouth curving before she catches herself. She rakes her gaze over him with the confidence of someone who’s flirted for tips and gotten away with it for years.

“Well,” she says, voice warm, “you’re not here for a minivan.”

Brox leans an elbow on the counter like he’s got all the time in the world. “Depends what you’re offering.”