Page 324 of Wild Card 13

Ty was across the lawn helping Cam unload another cooler from somebody’s car. He looked over like he had felt my attention, because apparently that was a thing we did now. His gaze moved from me to Arlo, then back to me.

I lifted Dottie’s leash. He nodded once.

Arlo waited until we were away from the lawn, following a narrow packed-dirt trail that curved along the tree line above the lake, before he said, “You’re doing the thing.”

“I do many things.”

“The thing where you look like you’re cataloging exits.”

“I work in operations. Knowing exits is sensible.”

“You’re at a lake lodge with the Frosthawks and a dog who currently smells like low tide.”

“Exactly. Emergencies could happen.” I kept my eyes on Dottie, who had her nose pressed to the ground and was snuffling along with the focus of an investigative journalist.

The sounds of the party softened behind us. Laughter became a hum. The music blurred into bass and heat. Through the trees, the lake flashed silver where sunlight hit it.

Arlo walked beside me, hands in the pockets of his shorts. He looked like our father when he was thinking too hard and like our mother when he was trying not to show it.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“I know.”

“Then why are you using your concerned brotherly voice?” I bumped his shoulder with mine.

For a minute, we walked like that, our steps falling into an old rhythm. Arlo and me. Two kids who had learned too young thatfamilies could shift without warning. Two adults who had found different ways to make sure we were never the unstable thing in anyone else’s life.

He glanced at me. “You look happier.”

The words were so simple I nearly tripped over them.

Dottie chose that moment to stop and investigate a fern with deep suspicion, giving me no forward motion to hide behind.

“I look tired,” I said.

“You always look tired. It’s part of your charm.”

“Rude.”

“You also look happier.”

I swallowed and watched Dottie sniff the same patch of dirt for what felt like an unnecessary amount of time. Finally, I said, “It feels real now.”

“That generally happens when you tell an entire hockey team your dog sleeps in his bed.”

I closed my eyes. “I said our dog.”

“Everyone heard you.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

I wrapped Dottie’s leash around my hand once, then unwound it. “It’s not the team knowing. Not really.”

“I figured.”