I take a sip from my tea and nod. "Yeah, makes sense. What were you thinking?"
"Well, we left early enough. If we trade off, we could make it to Des Moines by tonight."
I stare at him. "Iowa? That’s what, over a thousand miles?"
Rhys barks out a laugh. "Yes, Calla, Des Moines, Iowa. You do realize we’re on a time crunch."
Ugh, he’s right.
"What if this entire trip is useless and we don’t find anything?" I hate voicing my doubt; after all, he gave up skiing for this.
His face sobers, and the elongated silence makes me shift in my seat. "Then we tried our best, and we’ll find another way to get the information."
His encouraging words make my doubts feel a little less dooming.
The quiet inthe car is beginning to get to me. I think about walking into the hospital where I was found, which causes the usual tsunami of emotions to build up. I need a distraction.
"What kind of music do you want to listen to?"
"I don’t care, plug your phone in," he responds, concentrating on the road.
Before Tristen handed the Defender over to Rhys, he had a new sound system installed, and instead of the old cassette deck, we can now connect our phones. When he presented the change to us, I informed him, outraged, that this was sacrilege; he totally ruined the car. The cassette deck was part ofher.
I guess I agree with Rhys that the Defender is a girl.
I scroll through my playlists and smirk to myself. Hitting play, "Fear of the Dark" by Van Canto comes through the also newly installed speakers.
Rhys gawks at me incredulously before returning his eyes to the road.
"Very appropriate," he deadpans.
I grin broadly. "I figure it’s time to lighten the mood a bit. Why not with some good music?"
He chuckles. "You’re the only girl I’ve ever met that would listen to thisandBrantley Gilbert in the same playlist."
I shrug, trying to look serious but failing. "Your point?"
He is smiling to himself, focused on the road. I watch him a moment longer before turning my head toward the passenger window. I feel tears well up in my eyes but don’t want Rhys to see it.
Why did I never notice that we don’t look anything alike? That I don’t look like any of them. I should’ve seen it ages ago. Rhys and Natty both have wavy brown hair. You can’t see it nowadays because Rhys keeps his hair so short. Tristen’s hair is almost black, and not counting Heather’s highlights, hers is dark as well. All four have a natural tan—even in the winter. I, on the other hand, am on the complete other end of the spectrum. I have spaghetti-straight, light-blonde hair and have to buy the lightest foundation there is for my complexion.
It takes me a while to get myself under control. Thankfully, it’s just now getting light outside, and I’m able to hide the tears in the darkness.
We’re both deep in thought, but eventually, I have to voice the question I’ve been pondering for a while. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." He is so focused on driving that he doesn’t notice the quiver in my voice.
I eye him sideways. I’m too chicken to face him straight on. "Was it weird for you when I moved in?"
That gets his attention. His lips form a thin line, and he’s trying to figure out how to answer the question. Rhys has always been honest with me—well, with everything except who I am and why he stopped talking to me. Okay, scratch that, maybe not always, but I knew he would be with this, and until now, I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear his answer.
"Maybe a little." He pauses, taking a breath. "I mean, we had hung out for as long as I can remember. I think it was weirder that, all of a sudden, Emily and Henry were out of the picture and you acted like nothing ever happened. Before, you always cried when you stayed with us for a few hours by yourself. It was kind of...I don’t know...creepy. It took some time to get used to you calling Mom and DadnotHeather and Tristen. I kept waiting for you to snap out of it, but you never did."
I was creepy.
How does one respond to that? I can only whisper, "I’m sorry."
He scowls and briefly looks over. "Huh? What for?"