The garage door of Lyric’s house is open when I round the fence. Light and music filters into the night, engulfing me the moment I step foot on the property. The sight of Lyric slams against my chest as the kiss we shared a month ago overwhelms me.
I almost spin around and run, but Lyric spots me and waves.
“Hey,” she says in astonishment when I approach the open garage. Her hair is braided, and she’s wearing a leather jacket, holey pants, and black lace-up boots. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are tinted blue from the chilly breeze.
“Hey,” is all I can think of to say back, because I can still feel it. That stupid flutter in my heart, the one that showed up after we kissed. And the emotions associated to the last time someone kissed me.
She sets down a wrench she’s holding and meets me around the back of the car. Her gaze drops to the plate in my hand. “Did you bring me cookies?”
I stare at her for way longer than necessary, only ripping my gaze away when she looks up at me. “Oh, yeah, Lila sent them over.”
“Can I have one?” she asks, acting coyer than normal. “A cookie, I mean.”
“Yeah, of course.” My fingers fumble as I lift the plastic off the plate.
She selects one of the snowmen caked in frosting and sprinkles. “These look so good.” She dunks her fingertip in the frosting and licks it off, causing a rush of adrenaline to pulsate through my body.
God, I want her.
I need to get out of here.
“Is your dad around?” I frantically scan the garage. “I was supposed to give the plate to him.”
She bites off the head of the snowman. “Nope, he ran out to get a part for my car,” she replies with her mouth full. “Hey, do you want to see my car? I know you’ve been … busy, and haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”
“I really need to get back to the house.” I set the plate of cookies on the trunk of the car, ready to bail.
“Ayden, please don’t leave,” she begs, nearly splitting my heart in two.
I freeze. It’s the last thing my sister said to me that day we were split apart.
When I glance over my shoulder and see the tears in her eyes, I whirl around. “Lyric, I don’t …” I trail off, my mind racing with what to say to her. When I come up with nothing, I cautiously inch toward her. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She sucks back the tears as she stares at the star dusted sky. “I just don’t understand,” she says, dabbing her fingertips under her eyes, wiping away some smeared eyeliner before she looks at me again. “You just stopped talking to me for almost a month, with no explanation. And I don’t know how to fix it—fix us.”
“It’s not your fault,” I promise her. “I’m just … confused.”
I let her twine our fingers together, even though her touch makes me ache all the way down to my bones.
“About what?” she asks. When I open my mouth to give her a vague answer, she cuts me off, like she knew what I was going to say before I spoke it. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I got your back, dude, remember?”
Unable to help it, I crack a smile. “Yeah, I remember. Anyone who messes with me gets a basketball to the face.”
She laughs then tugs me into the garage toward a rustic 1970 something Dodge Challenger with a dented fender, bumper, hood, dented everything really. “Come on. Come see my new ride. I’ve been dying to show it off to you.”
I allow her to lead me to the car and push me down into the passenger seat. Then she skips around the back, swiping another cookie before dropping down into the driver’s seat.
“So, what do you think?” She pats the top of the torn steering wheel. “Pretty beat up, right? But it makes it so much more super awesome. My dad promised that we’d have it finished before graduation.”
“Seven months, huh?” I cock a brow at the tattered backseat and caved in bodywork.
“Hey, he’s really good with cars.” She playfully pinches my arm then frowns when I flinch. Still, she manages to put on the nicest fake smile I’ve ever seen. “So is your dad.”
“Who …? Oh, you mean Ethan. Yeah, I’ve seen some photos of the cars he used to fix up. They're pretty cool.”
She rests back in her seat with her head turned toward me. “You should have him fix one up for you, then we can be twins.” She wiggles her fingers in my direction. “Remember the black nail polish we were both wearing the first day you came here.”
I smile at the memory. “You seemed so proud of the fact that we matched.”
“I was proud,” she admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She flutters her eyelashes as she peers up at me, but I can’t tell if it’s intentional or not. “You were so intimidating that day. I needed something to say to you.”
“Intimidating?” I snort a laugh, the sound echoing around us. “You seemed so at ease. I was the one who felt intimidated.”
“But you kept staring at me.”
“Not at you. At your eyes. They were—are”—I shrug—“beautiful.”
“You’ve said that to me a lot lately,” she whispers softly. “At least, before you stopped talking to me.”
“I’m sorry, Lyric. It’s just …” I start to get choked up. “There are still so many things you don’t know about me—that I don’t even know about me. If you did, you probably wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore.”