Bonus Epilogue
Marlow
Why did I let you guys talk me into this?” I hiss at Diana from our hiding place in the bushes.
That’s right. Bushes. We’re crouched behind the scratchiest shrubbery in the state of Maine, waiting for Diana’s husband to emerge from Muffie Horowitz’s darkened house.
“Because you want the Red Sox to win as much as we do,” August’s thunderous voice rumbles beside me.
“Correction,” Diana mutters. “I don't want the Red Sox to win anything. I’m here to support Ike.”
Stevie scoffs. “How are you still a Stankees fan after last season? It was shameful.”
“Would you guys keep it down?” I whisper, shoving leaves away from my face. “You’re going to wake her up.”
August chuckles. “No, we’re not. Muffie is mostly deaf without her hearing aids. Trust me. I’m her doctor. You’d have to light a firework on her lawn to wake her up.” That explains why he’s hardly trying to hide. But his bright Red Sox T-shirt is like a beacon, pointing the cops right to us.
“You have to relax, Marlow.” Diana sounds so condescending over there in her obnoxious Yankees shirt.
Yeah, right. I don’t relax. And I never do things like this.
I don’t step out of line—I can’t afford to.
“I have way too much on my shoulders to relax. Or do anything crazy. Or fun. Or spontaneous. Or that might get me arrested for grand theft auto,” I emphasize the terrifying words, breathing in and out over and over.
“Am I hyperventilating?” Pant, pant, pant, pant.
“You will if you keep breathing like that,” August answers. There’s laughter in his deep voice.
“Gee, thanks, Doctor Wentworth—”
“Got ‘em.” Ike’s voice booms over mine as he jingles a set of car keys.
I screech.
“Shh! You guys!” Diana hisses as Ike pulls her to her feet.
The rest of us scramble out of the bushes, crouching, snickering, and shushing each other as we scurry around the bumper of Muffie’s twenty-year-old Buick. This thing is built like an aircraft carrier. It takes three full minutes for me to get to the back passenger side.
After Ike unlocks it, Stevie holds the door open like she’s waiting for me to sit in the middle between her and August.
“You first,” I say from my crouched position by the bumper.
Stevie shakes her head. “I’m not sitting in the middle with my feet on the hump for the two hour drive to Fenway Park. I’m too tall.” She’s not bothering to whisper anymore. “You’re short. Get in.”
I groan, climbing into the back seat beside my best friend’s brother-in-law. I’d rather see the Red Sox lose than do this—not that I mind cramming in next to August for a few hours. He’s a good friend, and I trust him more than anyone I know. I just don’t want to go to jail tonight.
Ike cranks the key in the ignition. I jump, cringing at the roar of the old engine.
A big, warm hand curls around my wrist. My heart thumps even harder at the rare contact.
“It’s okay,” August murmurs, low enough that hopefully no one hears him. “But you should put on your seatbelt.”
Ah. I remind my silly heart to calm the heck down. It’s only August. “Yes, my first concern shouldn’t be getting caught in a stolen car. It should be whether I get ticketed for forgetting my seatbelt,” I snark as I click my belt into the other side.
Ike chuckles. Diana turns around from the front passenger seat, biting her lip. August is trying hard not to smile.
“You guys don’t get it.” I elbow Stevie out of my space.
“Do you understand what Brady will do if I get arrested?” My friends never seem to remember that I have sole custody of the unruly teenager.
“I’m it—the only role model, and the only person paying the bills or enforcing rules.
Plus, Brady watches everything I do and uses it as ammo against me.
If I leave a mess, Brady thinks he can leave messes.
If I slack off at work, Brady thinks he can slack off.
And if I start stealing cars, Brady will steal cars.
He’ll end up in jail and get a face tattoo.
” And I’ll be even more alone than I am now.
“Oh my gosh.” Ike groans, backing out of the driveway much too loudly. “We’re not going to get arrested. In fact, the Red Sox are going to win their home opener thanks to us.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Marlow.” August claps his brother on the shoulder from behind. “If we get pulled over, Mr. Everything here will take the fall.”
Ike groans, and everyone but me laughs.
I can’t laugh. August’s hot body is pressed against my side—not hot hot. His body is warm. Plus, it’s so stuffy in this car. And I’m going to jail. “Can someone turn on the A/C?” It’s like I’m sucking in hot air through a straw. I can’t breathe.
“Hey.” August’s hand is on my wrist again. “Try this with me,” he murmurs. Then he exaggerates a long breath in, releasing it slowly.
I do what August suggests—I usually do—and it works. It usually does. I match my breathing to his. It feels impossible at first, but eventually my heart stops thumping, and I get control of my lungs.
He squeezes my wrist. “Better?”
For some reason, my friend holding my wrist is giving me fresh heart palpitations. It’s still too warm in here. I nod anyway. This is going to be a long drive.
The Red Sox better win tonight.
The End