Lilac's Chance

Chapter Fourteen

"And they're off!"

I'm allowed to drive back for once. The truck is comfortable in my hands, steady and noisy as it rattles across the road, Last Chance bumping along behind us.

"And it's So Far So Good hugging the rail, Bloody Murder and Getcha Getcha Getcha-"

"That's the horse Peter rode," I say. Not that it does any good. Braydon's eyes flash up to me for the shortest of moments before returning to the phone.

I'm not watching it, but I have the video, the race, memorized. In a moment Albaron, running in fifth, will lunge forwards to engage CZ Speed Trap in a speed duel. They'll both fall back, and after a bit Peter will check Getcha Getcha Getcha. Bloody Murder and Goodie will charge ahead, and I think that was the best moment of the race.

For a few strides, a few heartbeats, we'd been the only things running. It was the Derby, the biggest race of my life, and absolutely nobody was ahead of us. We could've won. We were going to win.

And then Bloodless Day and Jack had powered out of nowhere, stretching gorgeously ahead of us, and flashed under the wire first. Goodie and Bloody Murder had dashed under it at the same time, a single entity, and Bloody Murder had beaten us by a head bob.

"Wes had teased me forever about that," I say out loud. Braydon looks up, startled.

"Your sister?"

I nod, merging as the two-lane becomes one. "She- was rooting for Bloody Murder."

Somehow, sitting in this ancient truck, spying the rusty trailer through a rearview mirror held together with duct tape, I can't bring myself to admit that not only did I ride a Derby horse and my father owns the winner, but my sister and mother own the second place horse. What a monopoly.

Braydon nods as though he understands. "Sibling rivalries are weird. My brothers and sister were always either my worst enemies or my best friends."

He doesn't understand. Wes was never my best friend. I sigh and drop my gaze to the road. It's empty for miles. "Well, there you go. The big race."

Braydon murmurs an agreement, but doesn't put my phone on the console, instead running a thumb over the home button. If he opens my text messages, finds out about Birthday Cake...

Well, if he was mad yesterday, there would be no accounting for his fury today.

"There's a reason," I say suddenly, "for what I did. Not a good one. But, believe me... I want to be the one who tells Hank. Not you. Please."

"That's fine," Braydon responds. "He'll be interested to hear about it."

*****

"I already know."

"What!"

I'm not sure who's more disbelieving- me or Braydon. Maybe Braydon, since my disbelief is tainted with relief.

It's night time, we're tired, and my couch is beginning to look- and feel- more like a bed with every passing moment. The fireplace is dancing and warm with flames, and everything about the scene is sleepy and peaceful. But I'm waking up for the second time this day without ever have fallen asleep.

Hank runs his tired gaze over first me, then Braydon. "Do you really think I'd hire a jockey without first researching her? I'm not so foolish with my faith."

"You didn't tell me." Braydon sounds betrayed as I return Hank's knowing look. What he says is reasonable, but now I feel stupid about the whole situation. None of this is necessary. I could be asleep right now.

Hank coughs once, softly, into his first. "You should have looked her up yourself, nephew. Trust is worthless in this industry, but a savvy mind and healthy suspicion will keep you afloat. The Internet is here for a reason. Use it."

I never thought I'd hear an old person sati that to a teenager.

If he knows about my racing, then he knows what I've been accused of.

But.

He still let me ride.

I say, "maybe trust is worth a little more than you think."

Braydon looks between me and Hank. His eyes are smoldering and his jaw a knot of tension, but he's not as angry as he was two days ago. Maybe because Hank is involved. "There's another part to this you're not telling me." Not a question. A statement.

Hank tosses the responsibility to me. "That's for Lilac to tell."

"No," Braydon says abruptly, standing up. "No, it's not. Not now. I want her to tell me because she trusts me enough to, not because you told her."

With that, he storms outside, the door slamming shut behind him. Flicks manages to slip through before it crashes into the frame, however, and leaps onto my lap.

Hank watches absentmindedly as my fingers weave into the mutt's fur out of habit, finding her special itchy spot. Flicks's tail goes berserk. "I don't... I wish this wasn't necessary," he tells me. "But you both need to come to an agreement. I thought you'd gotten better, but..."

"Sometimes people will just knock heads?" I suggest tentatively.

Hank sighs and allows a rueful grin to seep into his face. "No, you two are just cut from the same cloth and you're trying to do something different with it."

"Like curtains.... and throw pillows?" I guess, trying to find similarities in the room.

He considers. "Something like that."

"I'd rather the curtains. They're more useful."

Hank shakes his head at me and snaps his fingers, sending Flicks to the floor. She barks, once, and then scurries across the wooden floorboards and into her master's room. "Goodnight, Lilac."

I thought I would be relieved when the lights are turned off and I'm left in the darkness with nothing but encroaching sleep, but my thoughts are unwilling to let me go.

Hank knew this whole time.

No, that's not what is bothering me.

It's Braydon. As usual.

The fireplace is dying, but it still flickers gold and maroon across the cocoa floor as I curl into the couch, pillow presses to my side. It's little comfort as I consider Braydon with his strange ways, his anger but also his kindness. But I don't know what to do with my thoughts.

Then my mind shifts to Last Chance, and her incredible racing effort. She was barely winded afterwards, prancing off the track and loading into the trailer with a toss of her head and a swish of her tail. She can go far. She will go far. I wonder if there's a Quarter Horse equivalent to the Kentucky Derby, and if I would be the first to ride both, if we go that far.

Smiling at the thought, I begin to drift off to sleep before I realize something:

Braydon has yet to return.

But return he must, and I guess I do fall asleep, because I am woken with a blanket on my shoulders and shouts on my ears.