Cocky Secrets (Cocker Brothers #29)

7. Sage

SEVEN

Sage

T he aroma of roasted garlic and herbs fills the air as I stare out one of the east-facing windows of our sitting room, at the fading light. With the adrenaline of today having worn off, my heart aches with guilt at not showing up for Bear when I said I would be there. I acted all confident in Viola’s, even made him buy two canvases. Then I don’t show up?

I don’t have his number or I’d find a way to use Mom’s phone we share, the one which we use almost solely for emergencies and to talk to Dad and my brothers when they’re away for a long time.

In fact, I so rarely use it to call, only to be called. We’re never allowed to initiate phone conversations when they’re gone unless there’s trouble. Dad calls us. We learned the hard way that Ciphers are human and don’t always remember to have their phones on silent mode, because one time, when we called, they were at gunpoint. The distraction could have cost lives.

But if I had Bear’s number, I think I could have deleted evidence of my call if I used her phone. I could have made it look like I never reached out to a number she wouldn’t recognize, one that would cause suspicion.

Why am I even thinking about it?! I don’t have his number!

Maybe it’s good I got swiped up by Luke and Atlas. This whole painting a cop thing is much too complicated.

Sighing, I stare, my sharp gaze scanning the nearest tree for an owl. I’ve caught sight of them several times over the years, and they always feel like a sign when I have. Because they don’t want to be seen. It feels lucky when I’ve spotted them, and I need some luck right now. Seeing one tonight might make me feel more…clear.

I don’t know what to do.

The trouble with being me?

So little control over anything.

My dad enters, a grin plastered on his face, and I gather from it that he’s ready to share his news.

“Hey, Sage! I wanna talk to your mom about it,” he says, gruff tone bubbling with excitement. I can’t help but smile back at him, happy for the distraction, my anticipation growing.

Having overheard, Mom appears from the kitchen, “Talk to me about what?” wiping her hands on a dish towel, red brows slightly furrowed. She senses the excitement in the air and looks between us, curious.

“Guess what? I’m getting Sage a Harley!” he announces, practically bouncing on his boot heels.

The room falls silent, air shifting as Mom’s expression hardens. “A motorcycle? Are you serious, Antonio?” she replies, her voice clipped. “She’s not a Cipher!”

I step in, trying to defend my dad’s enthusiasm. And my own. “Mom, I need my freedom. Nobody is going to let me ride my bicycle anymore because they think it’s too dangerous. This is good!”

“I don’t care how good you think it is, Sage. You’re too… distracted for something like that,” she replies, crossing her arms. “Do you understand the risks involved? It’s not some fun toy. And it’s far more dangerous than a bicycle!”

“But, Mom, everyone else rides motorcycles! This is about freedom and independence.” My voice rises, frustration exploding through the surface, “And you can’t keep me in a bubble forever!” I need her to understand that this isn’t just about the motorcycle. It’s about finding my place in the world.

“Freedom? You think a motorcycle is going to give you that? What happens when you’re out there, alone on the road?” she counters, voice tinged with anger and worry. “You don’t realize how vulnerable you’ll be.”

“That’s what they said about my bike! I understand the risks. I’m not asking for a sports car where I can drive out of state and you’ll never see me again. A motorcycle isn’t dangerous here. We live in the country! There are like two cars on the road!” Okay, it might be an exaggeration, but it really is dead in this snoozy town. “I want something that feels like me. Something where I can feel the wind in my hair, on my face!” My heart pounds as I think of ways to plead my case, desperately trying to make her see my point. “Plus, Dad’s going to teach me again how to ride safely!”

“Teaching you how to ride safely doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. You think he can protect you from every reckless driver out there?” She shakes her head, her tone softening, but the worry still lingers in her eyes. “Or from the elements?”

“The elements? Who cares about a little rain?”

“Tornados?”

“I won’t ride it when there are tornado warnings.”

“Hurricanes?”

“Same!”

Just then, the front door swings open, and Melody bounds in, her suitcase’s clattering wheels seeming to add to the tension. “What’s going on? I feel a bad vibe in here. And why does it smell so good? You didn’t miss my cooking?” she asks with an irritated drawl, the one Jett couldn’t completely teach out of her.

Denita enters next, rolling her baggage behind her, too. “Where are my kids?” She raises an eyebrow and her voice. “Shay? Mylar?”

They shout from the living room, “Here, Mom!”

Her free hand sweeps across the room, “Whatever is going on here, I’ll leave you to it,” and she rolls her case out through the kitchen door. “I’m home! Oh, what’s that smell? Melody is going to be jealous!”

“I am not!” Melody huffs, adding under her breath, “Nothing is better than my cooking. I’ve got no reason to be jealous!”

I can see their energy shifted the room’s atmosphere, and I take a breath, grateful for the funny interruption so I can come up with new ways to convince Mom. “We were just talking about motorcycles,” I tell Melody, trying to keep my tone light. “Dad plans to get me one!”

Her eyes widen, and she runs a hand through blonde hair. “Are you really getting Sage a motorcycle? That’s so cool!”

“I wouldn’t call it exactly cool ,” Mom interjects, voice firm. “It’s a dangerous idea.”

Melody exclaims as if Mom is being ridiculous, “It’s a Harley! They’re tanks!”

I smile, feeling a surge of hope. “See? Melody gets it!”

“Melody doesn’t understand the dangers,” Mom argues, brows knitting together. “She doesn’t know how scatterbrained your artistic mind can be! You all need to realize this isn’t a game. Sage is…”

“What! What am I?!”

Mom tilts her head, hoping I’ll understand. “You’re very innocent, honey.”

“Whose fault is that?!”

Dad has been silent for a long time, face twisted in frustration. He’s caught between not wanting to piss Mom off and having no idea how to do that while still getting me what he wants. A hog of my own. “Meg,” he begins.

She cries out, “No no no !” slapping the dish towel against her thigh.

“Mom, it’s not just about the motorcycle. It’s about freedom! I’m responsible,” I argue, my heart pounding in my ears. “It’s my life, and I need to take control of it. You can’t keep me from experiencing things just because you’re scared. And I don’t like being called scatterbrained!”

Melody looks between us, voice impatient as she asks, “Can’t you just let her try it, Meg? You’re being too careful with her. Sage is right. She needs…wait. What about her bicycle? I saw it by the oak tree. Are the tires flat? We can get new tires.”

I roll my eyes. “My brothers say it’s too slow to escape from if someone decided to snatch me up.”

“Who’s going to snatch you up out here?”

“That’s what I said! But now I want a Harley. It takes forever to get into town when I need to get groceries.” I leave out, and my paints, not wanting to bring up what seems to be jailing me — my so-called artistic, distracted mind. “This will be better.”

Melody offers, “You can use my car, Sage.”

“I couldn’t when you went away just now!”

“Yes, but I’m rarely gone.”

“You’re not helping!”

Mom sighs, “I just want what’s best for you. I have to check on my spaghetti.”

“I’ll come with you!” Melody explodes.

Mom laughs, “Of course you will,” and they disappear.

I turn to Dad now that it’s just the two of us. He gives me a disgruntled nod, and I realize this fight isn’t over yet. Deep down, I know the road ahead won’t be easy, but my battle for freedom has just begun.