Ride and Die (Ridgemore #1)

9 Ass Over Teakettle in an Upside-Down World

9

Ass Over Teakettle in an Upside-Down World

I didn’t stop punching, striking, kicking, and slamming nearly every body part into the bag until sweat dripped down my sides. Griffin stationed himself off to the side, where I couldn’t help but see him, arms crossed, silently waiting for my attention. When I finally gave it to him, I noticed everyone staring at me, including Bobo. The droop of my dog’s eyes told me he was trying very hard to behave when all he wanted was to beg for my assurance that everything was okay.

He, like my friends, realized something was wrong. And boy, was it ever.

I rarely went this hard or for this long anymore, and whenever I did, I eschewed my school clothes for exercise gear. The waistband of my jeans was soaked; the band of my lacy bra was so wet it felt like a bikini top; even my sleeveless shirt clung to my skin in patches. Sweat prickled at my scalp, and I had a strong urge for a shower, but no way was I going back to my house and risking an encounter with my parents. Despite the hard workout, I hadn’t come close to sorting out my feelings about their secret room.

While lost to the punching bag, I absently registered Layla snagging the tampons out of my back pocket and Brady leading a discussion about whether we should ask our parents to hire private teachers for us in a variety of martial arts. They could afford it, and we could use the additional instruction. Books, video tutorials, and our own invention could only get us so far. The conversation then morphed into which discipline we might like to start with—muay Thai, aikido, jiujitsu, kung fu, or karate. That’s when I blocked them out, my mind in a loop that didn’t finish processing my parents’ betrayal and what any of it could possibly mean.

Griffin unwrapped my hands, watching me instead of the unwinding of the protective bandages. “What’s going on with you?”

Layla, Brady, Hunt—hell, even Bobo—were silent as they awaited my response. I considered leading them out onto the large platform we erected in the back, but I couldn’t trust that my parents wouldn’t somehow eavesdrop on us there too. They were probably waiting for my answer now along with my friends.

“I’m fine.” My response was tailored for my mom and dad’s benefit. “I’m just worried about Brady. Still so glad he’s okay after the scare he gave us.” I chuckled, the sound ringing fake to my ears. “I guess I still haven’t gotten over the trauma of it all.”

Griffin raised an eyebrow as if realizing that wasn’t what I wanted to say, then frowned at my knuckles. Several of them had split open and were oozing blood. He released my hands and sauntered over to retrieve our well-used first aid kit.

On the couch, Brady kicked his long legs out in front of him, where they touched Layla’s. Her face screwed up in disgust as she yanked away her feet, pulling them up onto the other side of the sectional couch, near Hunt, who was petting Bobo.

Brady half scowled and half laughed at his sister. “I told you, Joss, I’m fine .” His assurance rang as false as mine. “I wish everyone would stop constantly talking about the accident. How the fuck am I supposed to get over it if everyone’s constantly bringing that shit up? If it’s not the reporters, it’s some other asshole calling me the Miracle Kid.”

Hunt leaned forward, never interrupting the love he was doling out to Bobo. “You know Zoe didn’t mean it like that. She was just trying to help us out so we don’t get in trouble.”

Brady shrugged noncommittally. “Whatever, man. She’s obviously not the problem. Everyone else is.”

“Even us?” I asked. Finally, my thoughts drifted to something other than my parents.

Brady didn’t meet my eyes as he scraped at an invisible stain on the knee of his shorts. “I know you’re not meaning it that way.”

Layla inched closer to her twin. “But, Brade, you can’t blame us for worrying, not when you’ve been having these crazy nightmares.”

“Yeah,” Griffin interjected, grabbing one of my hands to disinfect the cuts. “And they keep getting more intense. How’s that not supposed to affect us?” He paused when I winced at the sting of hydrogen peroxide on raw flesh. “We’ve got your back.”

Brady huffed. “I know that, of course I do, and I appreciate that, you know that too. It’s just that it’s bad enough that I had to live through it once in my dreams, but then to have to relive it again and again through you guys, first when I tell you what happened, then when you remind me of it … you know.”

I did know, and I didn’t want Brady to dish out any more information about his nightmares when we had an audience only I was aware of.

“You want us to stop talking about it all so much?” I asked. “You got it. I think I was also a bit freaked out ’cause my parents almost caught me when I popped into the house.”

“Shit,” Layla grunted. “Did they catch you? We def don’t need any of our parents breathing down our necks any more than they already are.”

“No kidding,” Hunt added. “My mom’s driving me totally nuts.”

I hurried to divert them from saying anything more about the parents, though if mine had listened to us before, there was no telling what they’d overheard us saying. We’d been complaining about them since Brady’s accident, when they started wanting to basically put us on leashes.

“I heard my dad in the kitchen and bolted out the back sliding door. I don’t think he knew I was there, so we’re good, but it got my heart pumping.”

Again, Griffin studied me with raised brows, mutely calling me out on my shit. He’d always been perceptive and far too observant.

He tossed the cotton ball he’d been using to clean my knuckles in the trash and handed me the kit. Our fingers touched, and I lingered for a moment before smiling my thanks and sitting on the floor, cross-legged, to slap on some Band-Aids. No one wanted my sweaty ass on our couch cushions.

When I finished, I jumped to my feet and announced, “Come on. Let’s go for a run.”

“What? Now?” Hunt asked while Layla shook her head, appearing to be trying to climb her way inside the couch so she’d be excused.

“Hell no, girl. It’s shark week. I don’t wanna move till it’s over. I’m thinking buttery popcorn, insane amounts of chocolate, and a cute chick flick.”

Brady started groaning before she even finished speaking, but then she knew he would. I figured at least a fourth of everything she ever said was intended to irritate her brother.

“I’m never watching a chick flick. Never, ever. And you’re better than that, Lay. What about a good kung fu movie? Maybe some Bruce Lee? Enter the Dragon ?”

Layla rolled her eyes. “Like it would kill you to watch two people fall in love and get all smoochy.”

“Actually, it fucking might. Who wants to watch that shit, anyhow?”

“Um, like a hundred bajillion women worldwide. Maybe even some cool dudes, too, who aren’t worried their masculinity’s too fragile to handle a little romance.”

I’d sat through several versions of this discussion before. We always ended up watching some action flick … eventually. Until we landed on that group decision, Layla tortured the rest of us along with Brady as she made an argument I knew for a fact she didn’t actually care about. Even on the few occasions when she and I would catch a movie alone, we never chose chick flicks.

I walked over to her and smacked her on the thigh.

“Ow,” she cried, though I’d barely tapped her. “What’d you do that for?”

“Because it’s time to get your lazy ass up off the couch and come for a run with me.”

“Uh-uh. Do you enjoy going for a motherfucking run when your insides feel like they’re bleeding out?”

I slapped her leg again. “Come on, drama queen. Up you get.” I spun. “All of you.”

“I mean, sure,” Hunt said as he stood, “but … right now?” Hunt loved running; it was as if his long, lean muscles had been designed for distance. He could probably run for an entire day and hardly lose steam along the way. “I’m in jeans.”

“So?”

“Okay, then. Let’s fucking go already.”

I grinned at Hunt, didn’t bother convincing the rest of them, and stalked out, whistling for Bobo to follow.

It took several minutes, and lots of loud complaining from Layla, before the others joined us in front of the treehouse.

“Girl, you literally just finished murdering the bag,” Layla whined. “Why do we need to go for a run right the fuck now ? I was thinking I could draw out some new tat designs.”

“Oooh, cool,” Brady said. “Anything I’ll like and wanna get inked on?”

I held up a hand before they could get going. “I just really feel like a run with you guys, okay? It doesn’t have to be a long one, I promise, just enough to get our blood pumping.”

I didn’t wait for agreement since it was a stupid ruse anyway. I turned and took off, Bobo the only one to follow immediately, an excited grin on his face.

It only took a few strides for Hunt to catch up, running amiably beside me on the dirt trail we’d carved out behind our houses, Bobo happily in the lead. As soon as we wound far enough away from the treehouse and our homes that I could be reasonably certain my traitorous parents wouldn’t be eavesdropping, I halted, slamming my hands onto my hips.

Hunt slid to a stop next to me. “What’s going on, Joss? Thought we were going for a nice run?”

“Nope, I’ve got some important shit to tell you all.”

“Wait, what?” Layla asked as she drew up next to us. “I don’t wanna run, but you make me. Then I start getting into it and you stop when I’m not ready to yet. What the fuck, girl? Is it PMS or something?”

“Nope. Worse.”

She frowned. “What could be worse than PMS?”

“Holy fuckballs, Lay,” Brady snapped. “Will you knock it off with all the period talk already? I’m not an idiot, you know. I get that you’re just doing it to mess with me.”

This time, Griffin was the one to cut the sibling bickering short. “What’s going on, Joss?” The intensity of his stare suggested he’d already been waiting for me to let them in on the truth. I never fooled him for long, if I did at all.

I could feel my eyes welling with my inner turmoil when Layla quickly closed the distance between us, pressing a hand to my back. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to puke.”

“That’s ’cause the shit I’m about to tell you is about as bad as it gets. You might wanna take a seat for this.”

Not one of them plopped to the forest floor, their bodies tensing instead. Bobo glanced at each of us before drawing protectively to my side, waiting for me to point out the enemy he could defend me from.

“First off, I never wanted to go for a run. Or I don’t know, maybe I did—I do need to blow off some mega steam—but I suggested it for all of us because I needed to get you away from the treehouse without telling you that I did or why.”

“Ooooh-kay,” Hunt drew out. “You’re not making much sense yet.”

“I know. That’s ’cause it’s not sensible.” I paced a few feet, turned back, then forced myself to hold still.

“You’re making us nervous,” Brady said.

I sighed and pointed my face to the sky, getting lost in the coverage of full tree canopies for several moments. I began talking before even looking down at them. “So what I said in there was partly true. My parents were home, and my dad was in the kitchen…”

“Are you trying to drag this shit out to torture us?” Brady asked. “Or is it just coming out that way?”

I smiled grimly at him. “Just trying to figure out how to tell you guys that my parents are liars. Fucking liars .”

Griffin walked to my side and placed his hand flush against the small of my back, despite the dampness in my clothing. “What do you mean?”

So I told them exactly what happened, all of it, down to the charade I put on while we were still in the treehouse. By the time I finished, my friends were as stunned as I was. Layla dropped to the ground, her legs stretched out in front of her inelegantly as she stared blankly into the distance. Griffin was pacing, and Hunt’s neck and arm muscles visibly clenched, making me wonder if he was about to bolt.

Brady leaned on a tree, eyes swirling with some of that anger and betrayal I was still feeling, making my chest feel tighter than was comfortable.

“A full-on hidden room?” he asked, the question soft with his disbelief. “How’s that even possible? How could we have never found out about it before? We even used to play hide-and-go-seek in all our houses, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why would we go looking for one?” I countered. “In my parents’ office closet , no less. I don’t think I’ve ever even looked in there. It’s their office. I don’t mess with things in there. Not even when we were kids did we really play in there.”

Hunt’s eyes widened. “We never go into any of our parents’ home offices. You think … do you think it’s just your parents doing the spying on us?”

I just blinked at him.

His shoulders slumped before he quickly righted them. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Griffin whirled to face us. “Our parents are as close of friends as we are. Even if Joss’s parents are the only ones doing it, no way do the rest of them not know about it.”

“It’s still possible they don’t,” Brady said, though not even he sounded like he believed it.

Layla stared up at him, leaning back into her hands. “Seriously? No way our parents don’t know, dude. If Monica and Reece are doing this shit, they all know. I’d bet on it. It’s all sus as fuck.”

“Yeah, I think that too,” I said, voice heavy with regret. “I mean, guys, for real, what the ever-loving fuck? You should’ve seen it. Legit an entire secret lair opens up from behind a hidden door in their motherfucking work closet!”

Griffin propped his hands on his hips, lips pursed in a tight line of determination. “We need to get in there, see it, figure out what the hell they’re up to.”

“Agreed,” I said readily. “It took everything I had not to march down there right then and there to catch them red-handed.”

“One thing I don’t get though,” Hunt started, and we looked at him. “Okay, so there’re lots of things I don’t get, but one in particular at the moment. Why us? Why would Monica and Reece give a crap about what we say in the treehouse? Are they just trying to catch us skipping school or what? It doesn’t make sense. It sounds like they bugged our place. But why? Why the hell would they do something like that?”

“Excellent questions,” I said. “And now you understand why I had to vent on the punching bag for as long as I did.”

Layla gasped.

“What? What is it?” I pressed when she just proceeded to gape.

“If your parents have tapped the damn treehouse, who’s to say they haven’t planted bugs in our bedrooms too?”

When Brady blanched, I didn’t immediately follow why until Layla cackled.

“Aw hell, Brade,” she said, “you been moaning into your sheets again, giving yourself some good tugs?”

Layla’s mirth dropped suddenly, disgust curling her lip instead. “Please don’t answer that question. I def don’t wanna know. Talk about having nightmares…”

Brady appeared too mortified by the potential that none of our spaces were as private as we believed them to be to get on Layla’s case for any of what she said. Instead, he muttered a growly, “ Motherfucker . What the hell are we gonna do? This shit’s majorly messed up!”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” I ran fingers absently across my braids. “At least it’s not your parents doing all the shitty stuff.”

He frowned. “Yet.”

“Or have they already?” Layla suggested, like a harbinger of doom. “Our parents would be attached at the hips if that wouldn’t be weird for people their age.”

“So here’s what I think we need to do,” I said. “Step one, we wait till our parents, mine for sure, are sleeping, then we sneak out at night and search the treehouse for bugs. We don’t want to do it now because the rustling might give away what we’re doing. Besides, who knows? They might even have cameras hidden away somewhere or some shit. They can be the size of a fucking pencil tip, I think. So we wait till they’re not listening, go in, find the mics, then leave them there.”

“Leave them there?” Brady pushed off the tree, anger coloring his neck. “No way. That’s our place. They don’t get to listen to us there, or anywhere else, for that matter.”

“Agreed. But right now, our only advantage till we figure out what the hell’s going on is that they don’t know we found out about them listening in on us. We find the bugs just so we know what we’re dealing with, and then we move on to the next step from there.”

“Which will be?” Griffin asked with another arch of his brow. He was probably either amused at my plan, impressed that I’d thought it out already, or both. I ignored how much I liked that.

“Once we locate the bugs, then we spring a trap for my parents. We put on a show for them, something that’ll get them out of the house and out of their office so we can get in there and scope it out. Hopefully, once we get down there, we’ll be able to see if only my parents are the douchebags or if it’s all of them, and what on earth they could possibly want to eavesdrop for. Either way, we need to get down there and see what it’s about.”

Hunt nodded. “For sure. See how far the rabbit hole goes.”

I frowned. “And hope we don’t end up like Alice, ass over teakettle in an upside-down world.” I laughed, a nervous giggle that sounded nothing like my usual self.

“It’s gonna be okay, Joss,” Griffin said.

I faced him. “Is it though? Either my parents are secret spies with an unhealthy interest in their daughter’s personal life or … I don’t even know what else it could be, but whatever it is, I don’t have a good feeling about any of it.”

“Neither do I,” Hunt said. “This feels off. Something’s wrong, for sure.”

I couldn’t help the sudden surge of fear that he was right, that my parents, nice enough, kind though a bit insipid, were anything but what they seemed to be.

“What the hell are my parents up to?” I muttered, mostly to myself this time.

“Let’s find out,” Griffin said firmly. “Tonight.”