Falls Boys

Climbing out of the truck, I walk down the street and look around, but I don’t see any cars I don’t recognize. She would’ve kept her getaway car close, but not obvious.

I stop on the sidewalk, turn right, and look at my house with Dylan’s next to it on the left. My dad and uncle went to Chicago to meet with an engineer they’re looking to hire for the business. They took my mom, Tate, and James.

Which they’ve been posting pictures of all day on social media.

Fucking hell. She knew the houses were empty when she saw Dylan and me at Rivertown.

I approach the tree situated between the two homes, watching the windows for any sign of the two girls.

And then movement catches my eye, and I jerk my head left, seeing a flashlight in the second-floor hallway of Dylan’s house.

I race up the tree, the branches of the old maple spreading between Dylan’s bedroom and mine. I hop up onto the thick arm leading to the French doors of her room and see them cracked open.

Slowly, I swing my legs over the railing and then dig out my phone, texting Kade and then silencing the ringer.

“Shhh!” I hear someone say from somewhere in the house.

Everything in my body tenses.

I step inside my cousin’s room, glancing around as I make my way for the door.

A small laugh drifts in from the hallway, and I have only a second to hide as the door opens and Tommy Dietrich walks in.

I grab her.

She yelps, but I cover her mouth, wrapping my arm around the kid and holding her tight. She doesn’t fight, though. She barely breathes, like a frightened, little rabbit.

I lean down, whispering into her ear. “You’re going to go home, understand?”

She nods quickly.

“And you’re going to stop choosing losers as friends just because they’re giving you a bit of attention,” I tell her.

She nods again.

She’s hanging in Weston because they’re the only friends she can find.

“Leave,” I tell her. “Quietly.”

I release her, slowly stepping away and watching her climb back out the French doors. She doesn’t look back as she hurriedly climbs into the tree, and I turn, grabbing the door handle and pulling open Dylan’s door.

But then Tommy’s scream hits my back. “He’s in the house!” she shouts.

I blink long and hard, resisting the urge to curse at a thirteen-year-old. Goddammit.

I move into the hallway, closing Dylan’s door behind me, and pause a moment. She might have a weapon. I peer over the railing, not seeing any sign of her, and look around at the doors on the top floor. My aunt and uncle’s room, James’s room, a spare room, bathrooms, and closets. The downstairs office and Jared and Tate’s bedroom would be the primary targets. They have the most valuables.

I step down the stairs, heel to toe, and keep my eyes and ears peeled.

I open my mouth, hesitating, but she knows I’m here. “So how did you know my cousin’s windows were the only ones without an alarm?” I call out in a loud voice. “Maybe you’ve been simmering on this job for a while?”

Did she come to Rivertown with the purpose of getting my wallet and keys? Or Dylan’s?

“Or maybe you just got lucky,” I add.

I stop at the bottom, taking in the dark kitchen to my left and turning toward the living room to my right. The TV is too big to carry, and they don’t collect antiques or art like Madoc and Fallon. I turn around the banister, looking down the hall toward the home office. That room is worth raiding, especially since Jared has a safe he’s never developed the patience to open, so there are things laying everywhere.

Like petty cash for the house and bank registers he brings home from the shop every night if he gets lazy and doesn’t take time to deposit them.

I step toward the office. “You could’ve robbed the race shop, you know?” I call out. “I would’ve let you steal anything.” The floor creaks under my feet, and I pause. “It’s insured and not worth the risk.”

I take another step and then another.

“But coming to our homes was a mistake, Rebel.” I approach the door. “Drop what you took. And leave.”

I reach out to take the handle, but footfalls hit the floor above me, and I hear the whine of Dylan’s door hinges.

Shit!

I bolt back into the foyer, and I grab hold of the banister, launching myself up the stairs three at a time.

I run back into Dylan’s room and see the girl Tommy was with climbing out the window and into the tree.

“Stop!” I yell.

She may not have been able to steal a lot, but she took something.

Chasing after her, I jump up, grabbing hold of the limb above and swinging my body, landing on the lower branch I climbed up on.

She swings around, I stop, and so does she, both of us watching each other.

I look down. A fall won’t kill us, but it could definitely break a leg.

“Drop what you took,” I bite out, taking a step.

She does the same, backing up slowly as I advance. Past the trunk and onto the limb leading over to my house. And my window.

I flex my jaw. “If you step one foot in my room…”

“I know,” she says, and I can’t see her smile, but I hear it. “I’ve heard about you.”

I’m sure she has. People love to talk shit, and everyone believes everything they hear.

But that part’s true. I don’t like people in my stuff.

Her boots, the right one with duct tape wrapped around the toe, move steadily over the limb, one behind the other. I don’t know if anyone other than family has ever been in this tree. At least not in the last thirty years or so.

“Dylan’s mom grew up in this house,” I tell her, stalling and keeping her attention on me as I tilt my head toward the window behind me. Then, I gesture to the one she’s moving toward. “Her dad grew up over there. This tree co

I step and so does she.

“You’ve heard the stories, right?” I stalk her. “The girl who fought back? Childhood best friends who became enemies who became lovers?” Jared and Tate stories still circulate around my old high school. Dylan’s getting really sick of it, poor girl feeling like she has to crowbar a car to prove whose kid she is. “Tate was kind of lonely as a child,” I tell her. “So was Jared. This tree was their bridge to each other when they needed a friend. When they needed the sadness to go away. When they needed a different view.”

A black bag hangs across her body, one of her hands on the strap, and the other holding the branch above her.

I keep going, keep moving. “I guess that’s why our parents opted for no alarms on our windows,” I explain. “They wanted us to have each other if we were ever afraid to talk to them. This tree is family. It’ll never die. But you will, kid. And probably young, too.”

Because you do stupid things.

She stops, and the light from my porch just reaches her midnight eyes.

“Don’t you want to enjoy a little more freedom first?” I tease.

Before you inevitably get arrested.

But she’s not smiling. Her gaze hardens. “Freedom?” she whispers. “What is that?”

Her eyes shimmer, and I realize they’re wet. I go still.

“Is freedom having no responsibilities? No job?” she asks me. “Or a job that pays enough to feed and shelter you for longer than just today?”

Chills spread all over my body, and I open my mouth to reply, but I don’t know what to say.

“I’m not a kid.” She snickers like I’m so naïve. “You are.”

And she spins, yanking up my bedroom window and diving inside.

I chase after her, climbing into my room and racing through my door as she thunders down the stairs and into the foyer of my parents’ house.