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Not grinning wide is once more impossible. “Collecting comic books is simply an expensive, eclectic choice.”
“Nerd.”
“Refined.”
“Rich nerd.”
“I’m not-”
“You know you’d be an even hotter nerd if you were a Trekkie.”
Jealousy rears its ugly head again before I can stop it. “You think J.T. is more attractive than me.”
“I think Puppet Boy has better taste in nerd franchises than you, but you’re definitely hotter, Mr. Wilcox.”
Redness doesn’t hesitate to paint itself in my complexion, yet I do my best to ignore it. “How did I not know my best friend was a closet Trekkie?”
“That sentence could totally be misconstrued if it was misheard,” she good naturedly teases prior to pointing again. “There. That path takes you to the entertainment house and the one coming up ahead to our left will take you to the back gate that leads to a private road that connects directly to Hamiton’s house on the other side of the lake.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I – typically – have an amazing memory when it comes to landmarks and directions.” Her expression glows brightly even in the darkness. “I got it from my dad. Being a pilot, he had an incredible sense of direction that he did his best to pass onto me.”
“I assume he was the one who gave you that necklace.”
She absentmindedly touches the accessory that’s taunted me from the day of her arrival. “He did. It was a birthday gift. The…last birthday he was alive for. He missed it of course – because working was always more important than me or mom – but he tried in his own ways to make up for it.”
Ignoring the perfect segue for my long, overdue confession is beyond tempting.
In fact, it’s suddenly the most tempting thing I’ve ever confronted.
Yet the nagging in the back of my mind from my best friend is louder.
Harsher.
And so are the two faint voices I’d give my own life to hear in person again.
“I met your father,” leaves me at a volume so low it’s almost inaudible.
“How?”
“He was the unnamed pilot in our infamous plane crash.”
Our movement suddenly slows down. “Dad died on a paid training flight.”
“Records were forged to create and maintain that lie.”
“Why?!” The aggressive breaking is expected. “Why lie about how he died?!”
“I didn’t…” evening out my breath is more difficult than predicted, “I didn’t want your family hounded by the media or the press or anyone else looking for information about me, my family, or the accident.”
Bryn’s jaw remains unhinged.
“The…official…statement of the incident is that due to a family emergency we were abruptly summoned home leaving us with no choice but to fly through unideal weather conditions that resulted in their demise and my…” an open palm waves at the leathery patches of flesh, “injuries.”
“And the official truth?”
“I was selfish.” Pushing down the lump of tears collecting in my throat is laborious. “We were at one of our vacation properties. Just the three of us. J.T. stayed behind because despite how many times we told him he was family – and the fact my parents were his legal guardians for the previous two years – he insisted on us occasionally doing things without him. Claiming better ‘photo ops without the orphan’. I honestly didn’t wanna go myself because my girlfriend at the time, Samantha van der Linde, had a nasty cold and I hadn’t seen her in days.”
