Page 63 of The Crafting Con

I never thought Dad would lie either.

I hate myself for even thinking it. I want to believe Declan is different, but the doubts creep in, casting their shadows over everything I hold dear. I try to ignore them, focusing my attention on Tyler instead. “So, are we headed somewhere in particular, or just wandering around until lightning strikes?”

“I have a place in mind, buuuuut it doesn’t open until noon.” Tyler shoots me an apologetic grin. “Which didn’t occur to me until we were already underway. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m the one having panic attacks in the parking lot. You’re just trying to help out a friend. Which, I really do appreciate, by the way. I hope this doesn’t get you into too much trouble with Coach Adams.”

“No worries. I haven’t missed a day all season. The worst that’ll happen is I’ll have to run a few extra laps. It’s all good.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.”

“Well, all right then. If we’re stalling for time, I have a few ideas. The first and foremost involving coffee.”

Tyler grins. “Starbucks it is.” He flicks on the radio and turns the volume up on Blink 182’s “What’s My Age Again?” As fitting a soundtrack for our intended purposes as anything. I close my eyes, letting the music carry me away.

After we hit up the nearest Starbucks for fancy coffee and baked goods, I have him drive us out to Kelsey Creek Farm in Bellevue. We meander down the trails, taking extended breaks to simply lean against the corral fences and watch the animals. It’s so peaceful that even Tyler seems lulled into a quiet mindfulness. Or maybe he’s just giving me a chance to breathe. Either way, I’m grateful.

He’s a deeper soul than I give him credit for.

Shortly after eleven, we pile back into Tyler’s Jeep and head down 405 South to Tukwila. When we pull into the Family Fun Center, all I can do is shake my head and grin. “Seriously? This is your big idea?”

“Heck yeah.” Tyler grabs a pair of aviator sunglasses from the center console and puts them on, eyebrows wagging. “Nothing takes away stress like a few laps around the go-kart track.”

I stare out at the beige-colored building with its old-school Rocky and Bullwinkle motif. “Is there laser tag?”

“Oh, there’s laser tag.” Tyler lifts his shades with a smirk. “If you think you can handle it.”

“I think I can manage.” I smirk right back at him, but there’s a hollow ache in my chest when I think how much fun it would be if Declan was here with us. I glance down at my book bag, where my cell phone has been tucked away all morning. Biting my lip, I add, “Just give me a minute first? I’ll meet you inside.”

“You got it, Aimes.” He swings his door open, then pauses halfway out of the car. “Oh, and make sure Declan knows I’m not putting the moves on his girl, would ya? Dude can hit a pretty mean serve. I’d hate to see what he’s capable of ticked off.” He closes the door with a mock shudder, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his wake.

It buoys me while I dig out my phone and open my texts. There’s a new one from Stasia, another from Hiro. None from Declan.

The doubts inch deeper, feeding my greatest fears. He’s just like Dad. They all are. Only caring about themselves. Never about me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, give myself a mental slap. Stop it. I’m sure there’s a good reason he hasn’t texted. I take a deep breath, open my other messages.

Stasia: Girl, where the heck are you? I’m starting to freak out over here.

Whoops. I guess I did kind of take off without telling anyone. I shoot a quick text letting her know where I am before opening Hiro’s.

Hiro: I am so SO sorry. I was trying to honor some kind of bro-code, but as Stasia has graciously pointed out, that’s dumb. Just so you know, Declan did not ask me to say that, it was all me. And I know for a fact he was planning to talk to you about your dad. So please don’t hate him, kay?

While I’m not thrilled about the lie, I can understand taking extreme lengths to protect the people you care about.

Me: I suppose I can forgive you. This time.

I don’t mention Declan, since I have yet to hear from him myself. I want to believe he was going to do the right thing, though, so after a moment of hesitation, I send him a text as well.

Me: Tell me the truth, and I promise I’ll believe you. Were you going to tell me about my dad, even if it meant losing the workshop?

When there’s no response, I check the time—a little after twelve. Which means he should be at lunch in the cafeteria. With full access to his phone. I wait a little longer, watching for those little three dots. When they fail to appear, I resign my phone to my pocket with a sigh and head inside.

Yeah.

Definitely gonna need some laser tag therapy.