Merrick was sure there were other ways his sister could get into her accounts, but he didn’t push it. “I want to make sure you’re not opening a window for those girls to bully you again.”
“Who said they were all girls?”
“I only thought—”
“Your move.”
It took every ounce of willpower he had not to press the issue. He drew a card and moved a new piece onto the board. “There.”
“You sure you want to do that?”
“Yep.” He stared out the bay window overlooking their street. Cars rushed past and colors changed. Fall never lasted long enough, giving in way too soon to the long winter ahead.
Amaya took her turn. Her pawn was only a few spaces behind his now. “Dad wants to do a family dinner on Friday.” Her change of subject didn’t help her angle. “He asked me to ask you.”
“I can’t.”
“What’s the excuse this time?”
“I have a thing.”
“Oh. Right.” She rolled her eyes dramatically and air quoted with her fingers as she said, “A thing.”
This conversation had become more awkward each time she asked, but what was he supposed to do? Their dad was clearly making him sweat it out until Merrick believed he was out of the woods. The moment he thought he was safe . . . bam! Hiro would press charges and Merrick would be in handcuffs for kidnapping and child endangerment.
He may or may not have spent too much time googling his crime.
“Have you finished your college applications yet?” Amaya asked.
He hadn’t even started them. But the pressure of his own indecisiveness wasn’t what irked him. Her tone didn’t lie. She was leading into something. “No,” he said. “Why?”
She looked up at him, all seriousness now, which was rare for his sister. “I don’t want you to worry about working your class schedules around my stuff. You know. When you finally decide to get your act together and be a grown-up.” She shoved him lightly.
He raised an eyebrow. Her humor tactics weren’t going to work. Not this time. “What’s up, Maya?”
She pulled a brochure from beneath the couch cushion.
“Fathoms Ranch?” he asked, staring at the bright cover.
“I’m thinking about going after all.” She fidgeted with her hands and messed with her hair.
How long had she been working up to telling him this? “I thought you were doing better. You told me your therapist said you were making progress. That your meds were working.”
“There is better and there is best,” Maya said, clearly struggling with her words. “This is not my best, Merrick.” She pulled up her right sleeve and looked away. “I still think about it all the time. Death. I step outside and imagine jumping in front of a moving bus. I go to a restaurant and picture what the knife on the table would feel like slicing against my skin.”
Merrick’s stomach lurched. Amid the old whited-out scars on her pale, freckled skin, fresh ones stood out.
He took her hand. Where did he go from here? Nothing he could say would make her better or best. So he showed his support with a gentle squeeze.
Amaya sniffed, withdrawing her hand and swiping at her nose and eyes with her sleeve. “It’s my ploy for a free vacation. Did you see where it is? They even have horses.”
Merrick opened the brochure. His eyebrows shot up at all the ranch had to offer. “This is actually cool. I didn’t even know they had programs like this one.”
“It’s privately funded. Dad and I are going up for a visit next weekend if you want to come.”
Merrick smiled. “Maybe.”
They were quiet. He searched for the right words. Thought for a long time. What could he say to a person who openly admitted she wanted to die? Nothing seemed right.
In the end, he spoke the only words that felt true. “You are not nothing. No matter what anyone says. Okay? You are not nothing.”
She stared at him, her expression blank.
Had he offended her? Said the wrong thing? Again?
“That’s a good line, big brother,” she said at last, blue eyes twinkling. “You mind if I steal it?”
Relief came in a whoosh of air between his lips. “Go right ahead.”
Amaya’s flat expression transformed into a mischievous grin. “So . . . about that letter to Brooke?”
“Stop.”
“I can’t help it. It’s in my blood.”
The mention of blood sliced an awkward silence between them. But then Amaya said, “I see you being weird and it’s not cool,” and Merrick realized the serious part of the conversation was officially over.
“Sorry.”
“I know.” She frowned. “I’m sorry too.” Then her mischief returned. “See? That wasn’t so difficult. Sorry isn’t so hard to say. You might find it’s even easier to write . . .”
“I’ll think about it.” Though Merrick said it to get her off his back, a part of him wondered if he should. An idea formed in his mind as he recalled his first conversation with Brooke.
She didn’t believe in fate.
Merrick did.
They were all wrong for each other. Different people from different worlds.
Which made his idea all the more epic.
“Do you still have those old corked sea glass bottles you used to collect?”
Amaya eyed him. “Why?”
“No reason. Can I have one?”
Amaya laughed and knocked one of his pieces out of the way, sending it home again. “You can have all of them. There are at least a dozen.”
Merrick didn’t bother drawing another card. She’d basically won. No use embarrassing himself. He stood and paced the living room, his idea becoming more and more concrete. He perused the picture frames on the wall. “It feels strange without Mom here.”
“She’ll come back.” Amaya sighed.
“You think so?”
“Dad goes to see Mom every month, and you know what he asks her every time?”
“No. What?” Did Merrick want to know?
“He asks her if she’s ready to come home.”
“What does she say?”
“That she is home. But he keeps going back anyway.” Maya’s shoulders sank.
They both missed their mother. While Maya was optimistic, Merrick no longer carried delusions about who Lyn Prince was.
He pictured his father in his suit and tie, walking into that quaint inn and asking a waitress to come home with him. Merrick’s perspective had begun to alter. All the preset ideas he had about his dad were fading.
One by one by one.
“You should talk to him about Brooke. If anyone knows about perseverance when it comes to love, it’s him.” Amaya gathered the game pieces, folded the board, and placed it in the box. “And you need to do something about your hair.”
Merrick shook his head at her, his now chin-length mop going wild. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I hate to break it to you, but you look like a dog. One that’s badly groomed and never takes a bath.”
“Hey!” He finger-combed the locks away from his eyes. “That’s rude!”
She stood, took the game box, and placed it inside the giant ottoman by the armchair. “If you’re going to win Brooke back, you’ll need to do some serious work.”
His grin was too far gone to hide. To Amaya, the girl he forever talked about was Brooke. But she had given him a pseudonym when they met.
Coral.
She tried to keep her true name a secret, but he’d found her out. He never told her, but he saw her name written on the inside cover of her notebook that first night at the library. Still, he wanted Brooke to offer the truth herself.