Ride and Die (Ridgemore #1)

16 When Cool Secret Lairs Aren’t Cool

16

When Cool Secret Lairs Aren’t Cool

E very fake smile caught in my craw like a burp I was too polite to let loose. The only saving grace was that my parents were all too happy to drone on and on about the benefits of attending post-secondary schools, saving me from the awkwardness of feigning enthusiasm. I was getting away with a series of uh-huh s, yeah s, nods, and grunts. They were too swept up in their recruiting fever to notice, when ordinarily they’d surely censure me for it, emphasizing how important it is to verbalize concise arguments for my position. I’d heard that a thousand times at least over the years.

Their current favorite picks for me were the usual top Ivy League choices—Harvard, Princeton, Yale—and then other “superb choices,” such as Notre Dame, Stanford, and Duke. They hardly paused to draw breath, much less to ask me which I might prefer. They had me in their web and had no plans to let me go, not until after dessert. At least the lasagna was as good as I remembered, and the breadsticks were extra salty, the marinara dipping sauce delicious. I’d have felt like a cheap sellout except for my phone burning a hole in my pocket, waiting for a buzz that would tell me my friends were sending the all clear for us to return home.

I was halfway through an awesome tiramisu, my brain on overload from too much college propaganda, when my phone finally buzzed.

My mom was two glasses of red wine deep, her smile more frequent than usual, my dad nursing a single martini.

“I know I’m not supposed to look at my phone during dinner,” I said, “but can I do it this one time? Really fast? I think Layla might have a study question for me. We’re working on an assignment for AP Bio together, and we didn’t get a chance to go over everything before I had to jet for dinner.”

The lie came so easily. Maybe my skills were hereditary.

My mom waved generously across the table. “Sure, honey.” She beamed at me, probably already picturing me walking across some fancy university stage in my cap and gown. “Just make it quick, and don’t get used to it.”

I smiled like she was just so damn magnanimous. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be fast.”

My fake smile dropped the second I glanced at my screen.

Griffin: Change of plans. Shit’s worse than we thought. Come home now. We’ll wait for you here. There’s no way we can fake our way around this. You’ll get your answers tonight.

I gulped.

Joss: K. C U soon.

I took longer than necessary to put away my phone, trying to give myself time to recover before having to stare either of my parents in the face.

“Everything okay, Joss?” my dad asked. “You look pale all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I eked out robotically. Tonight might truly bring an end to their lies. What had my friends found? What could be so bad that they’d want to show me right now?

“I’m just a bit tired, is all,” I added, taking a few final bites of tiramisu, no longer savoring it as I was before. “There’s been a lot going on lately.

“There really has,” my mom said, not understanding the half of what I was referring to. “Let’s get home, Reece.”

While my dad flagged down our waiter and paid, my meal settled like a stone in my stomach.

The drive back, though only fifteen minutes long, felt like a couple of hours. By the time we pulled up to the house, my nerves were shot to hell, and I had to pee.

Waiting behind them while they unlocked the door, I searched my mind for what to say. I couldn’t just let them walk in on my friends without warning. At the very least, I had to be there with them.

“Um, actually, I want to talk to you guys about something. It’s really important. But I have to pee like a racehorse. Can you, ah, wait for me in the dining room while I run to the bathroom?”

My dad pushed open the door, glancing at me strangely over his shoulder. “You okay, Joss? You sound weird.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I said, squeakier than was necessary. “Just gotta pee, and what I need to talk to you about’s really important, so just wait for me, ’kay? Don’t go anywhere.”

Before either of them really answered, I ran off to the closest bathroom, relieving myself in record time, which still left me massively unprepared for how to tell them we’d caught them with their hands deep in the damn cookie jar.

Whatever she saw in my face had my mom jumping to her feet, only to steady her tipsy self with a hand against a chair, the other over her heart. “Oh my God, Joss. You’re pregnant.”

My thoughts had been racing ahead of me—down the hall, through the office, into the closet, and descending the secret stairs. They rebounded like they were pinned to a rubber band. “Wait, what ?”

“You’ve been looking pasty, peaked. And then you had to pee so badly that you ran to the bathroom.”

My dad’s face was pinched with worry as he approached me. “Is that true, Joss? Are you pregnant?”

Rolling my eyes, I smacked a hand to my forehead. “No, guys, I’m not pregnant. Jeez . Thanks for jumping to crazy conclusions though. Nice to know you’ve got confidence in me.”

My dad’s cheeks colored, and he ahem ed, running a finger around the collar of his shirt. “That’s … that’s good, honey, real good.”

I would have laughed at his obvious chagrin, except secret lair .

My mom didn’t bother looking apologetic, but kept staring at me, waiting, as if I still might admit to a surprise pregnancy after all. Like she had nothing to hide, and I was the one not being straight with them .

After meeting her stare for a moment, all too ready to hurl my own accusations at her, I said stiffly, “No, it’s nothing like that. I just didn’t know what to say.” I tugged on a braid then tossed it over my shoulder. “I still don’t, so just follow me, I guess.”

“Hold on, honey,” my mom said, already turned around and heading toward the kitchen. “Let me pour myself another—”

“Wine’s not gonna help you with this.”

She whirled to face me, halting mid-step. “What are you going on about? You’re being very weird.”

“I know I am, but I have good reason for it, trust me.” As soon as the words were out, I chuckled bitterly. Trust . Definitely not the theme of the hour.

“What’s going on?” my dad asked, looking between me and my mom, who was in the kitchen despite my protests, winding a corkscrew into a bottle of her favorite cabernet sauvignon.

I sighed, studying my dad really hard. He was slim and athletic, though not overly so, despite running several miles most mornings. His hair was short, shabby, and brown. His features were pleasant but not particularly remarkable. Nothing about him or his way of dress would make him stand out in a crowd. My dad was, to all appearances, an ordinary middle-aged man who happened to be a science nerd. How did someone like him have secrets as big as whatever my friends had found? How could inoffensive, easygoing Dad be okay with eavesdropping on his daughter’s private conversations? None of it made any damn sense.

Again, I exhaled loudly. “I’m trying to show you guys what’s going on. So will you come with me already?”

“Of course, honey,” my mom said over the glug, glug of her pouring. “Be right there.” She took a sip and sauntered toward me, kicking off her shoes and nudging them to the side as she went. “Let’s see what you want to show us.”

Wordlessly, I started down the hall, feeling their presence behind me as surely as if they were giants marching me to a horrible fate. My skin, much of it exposed in my tank top and denim shorts, pricked and tingled everywhere. I kept running my tongue over my teeth without reason; my muscles itched for a release of tension, urging me to go on a run. Only, no matter how long I ran or how far, there was no chance I’d outrun my problems.

“Where’s Bobo?” my dad asked as we wound down the hallway and took a turn.

I didn’t answer, certain he must be downstairs with my friends. If not, he would have been at the garage door to greet us.

Once their office entrance was in view, they slowed. I could feel their change of pace even with my back to them.

“Where are you taking us?” my dad asked, a new unease riding his question.

I hesitated, then peered over my shoulder. “To your office.”

My mom’s eyes widened to an extreme before she seemed to notice and tempered her reaction. She trilled, and she never did that. “Ah, ha ha, why to our office, silly goose? There’s no need for that. Whatever you want to show us, you can do it out here. Or in the living room. Or maybe out on the deck? It’s so nice out there this time of evening.”

Eyes fixed ahead, I muttered, “I wish that were true and there was no need for this,” then slipped into their workspace, stalked to the open closet door, and waited beside it.

As soon as they entered the room, my parents staggered.

My mom hastily set her glass on a shelf, on top of a book—ordinarily, she’d never risk a stain—then leaned on my dad’s desk, breathing unevenly.

My dad seemed not to be breathing at all, his eyes unfocused as if he weren’t really seeing me anymore.

I crossed my arms. “So … anything you want to tell me?”

No change in reaction from either of them for long moments until they eventually looked at each other, an entire silent conversation passing between them.

“What is it, Mom?” Bitterness at their blatant deception drifted like poison through my system. “You look peaked and pale. Are you pregnant?”

She looked at me, free of the anger she’d ordinarily express at my mockery. Finally, she shook her head, her shoulder-length hair as slow to move as she was. “It’s … it’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, really?” I snapped. “So it’s not a secret space inside a closet in your office? There isn’t an entire room hidden inside my very own home, one that I never knew about?”

“Well, it is like … that,” my dad said gingerly. “But it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Really?” My jaw was so tense it began to ache. “Because it looks pretty fucking bad. And don’t comment on my language”—I flicked a warning look at Mom—“I’m not in the mood.” Sass like that would usually earn me a severe talking-to, but I couldn’t care any less in that moment. “It’s not just the secret room, and you know it. You’ve been spying on me! On your own fucking daughter! What the hell? Seriously, what the fuck ?”

“You…” My dad never finished.

“We don’t know anything about that drone,” my mom piped up. “That wasn’t us. Just like we told you.”

I flung my hands in the air before letting them land against my thighs with a loud slap. “Well, I’d fucking hope it wasn’t you. That’d be the cream on the pie of all the lies you told me. Though, you didn’t actually tell me it wasn’t you, because of course it never occurred to me then that my own parents would be lying to me left and right. What about all those lessons growing up about the importance of honesty, huh?”

I huffed at the absurdity of those teachings when examined in this light. “How many times did you tell me that my integrity was all my own, the one thing no one but me could insist on? That my integrity would be something I’d be fucking proud of, for fuck’s sake.”

Despite how shocked they were to be found out, I still half expected a scolding. It didn’t come.

Finally, my mom pushed off the desk and walked over to me with a drawn-out sigh. “Is this about your phone?”

I only glared harder.

She glanced at my dad. “I told you we should’ve left her phone alone. Kids these days are too tech savvy.” Then to me, “We had to tap your phone, honey. But we did it for good reason. We had to make sure you’re safe.”

“Tap my phone?” My volume rose dramatically over the simple three words. “ You tapped my phone? Holy shit, guys. What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, fuck,” my mom said under her breath, seemingly upset only because she’d admitted to something I hadn’t known, not because of what she’d done.

Dad was already tsk ing. “There’s nothing wrong with us, so watch your tone, young lady. We’ve only done what we had to do, nothing more, nothing less.”

I glowered at him. “Yeah, right. Because your parents listened to your private conversations, right?” He stiffened. “That’s what I thought. Gran and Gramps would’ve never done that to you. They would’ve never betrayed your trust like that.”

Yanking my phone from my pocket like it was infected with a lethal plague, I flung it across the room. I might never touch the damn thing again.

“I just really can’t believe you two. Like, at all. You’re nothing like I thought you were all this time. Here I am, asking you to explain how you could possibly do something like this to me, and all you’re doing is saying you had no fucking choice?” I snorted loudly. “As if. We found the fucking bugs.”

My parents hadn’t seemed capable of growing any pastier. I was wrong. Dad paled further, sweating like he was two seconds away from upchucking all over the carpet. I almost wanted him to. It would serve him right.

“No apologies. Nothing,” I went on. “I can’t believe it, I really can’t, but it’s actually worse than I thought it’d be. You don’t even care about what you did! You’re just justifying it.”

“Joss,” Griffin called up from what sounded like the bottom of the hidden stairs. “You might wanna hold off on saying how bad it is till you see just how bad it fucking is. Get your ass down here. You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

My mom shed her sluggish shock to lunge at me, gripping my arms hard enough to make me wince.

“Let. Me. Go,” I snarled.

Grimacing, she loosened her hold. “Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But please , don’t go down there.”

“Who’s down there?” my dad barked.

I frowned at him, doing nothing to curb the disappointment written all over me. “If that’s all you care about, you’ll find out soon enough.”

“No,” my mom yelped. “Don’t. Honey. We can explain.”

“Don’t ‘honey’ me. That’s for people who care about each other. Who trust each other.” I was going to keep spewing, but then clamped my mouth shut, snatched my arms away, and ran into the closet. Mom’s fingers snagged on my shirt, trying to hold me back, but I tugged loose, racing down the stairs, nearly sliding and falling, catching myself on the metal railing just in time.

My eyes met Griffin’s first. He was at the base of the stairs as I’d thought, waiting for me with Bobo at his side. His face was tight, his eyes grim, like murder warmed over.

Before I even looked beyond him, my heart sank so far it might have temporarily exited my body through my feet.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered to myself under my breath, all but stumbling into his arms in my haste as he caught me.

Though in his arms was one of my favorite places to be, I jerked out of them, barely glancing at Bobo, the only one who was happy. His tail wagged for me, and he whined as I staggered away from him, absently reaching for him, petting the air behind me. Never once had I ignored him before. He was my good boy.

Hunt, Layla, and Brady were lined up behind him, as somber as Griffin.

I felt like I absorbed them and our surroundings one item at a time, though I understood even then that everything was blurring together in a hazy rush.

The room was large, spacious, and surprisingly elegant and sophisticated for a hidden underground lab. Because that’s what this was: a lab .

It had no windows, illuminated solely by incandescent lights—my mom refused to use fluorescents for their artificial tint and constant buzzing. There were more workstations and counter space than two people should ever reasonably need. Microscopes, a centrifuge, test tube racks, stacks of clean specimen slides, computers, printers, file folders, and extra monitors were neatly organized and displayed. A handful of stools sat in front of counters and the one large island; comfortable-looking leather chairs rested next to each of the two desks. A small glass-walled refrigerator, the kind used for biological material, hummed quietly in one corner. Speakers sat on the opposite end from it, across the space, pointed toward the center of the room—the best practice for eavesdropping, no doubt.

And worst of all, perhaps, were several transparent glass boards with my parents’ handwriting scrawled across them in crisp dry-erase marker. Eight-by-ten matte photographs were taped up between their notations.

Pictures of us.

I was there, in the center of my friends, the four of them spread out above and below my portrait.

I stared at the photos for so long that I lost track of time, blinking numbly at poses I recognized all too well. I’d taken the shots; even my own was a selfie. They were on my cell phone. I’d never uploaded them anywhere else.

Not only had my parents tapped my phone, but they’d accessed it to steal these photos. It was the only way they could have them. I hadn’t even sent them to my friends.

Eventually, Bobo pressed his face to my thigh, licking my knee, dragging me out of my daze, and I plopped to the lacquered cement floor to hug him, wrapping my arms around him while he wiggled, trying to crane his neck around to land kisses.

Of my family, he was the only one I could trust, the only one who’d never betray me.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Griffin, Layla, Brady, and Hunt, they were more my family than my parents.

My dog and my friends. That’s what I had.

I wasn’t sure what I had in my parents, only that I didn’t think I wanted whatever it was anymore. How could I?

“Fuck,” my dad growled to no one in particular. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard him cuss. “Monica, make the call.”

“Okay,” she answered feebly around a resigned sigh.

I didn’t glance up at either of them. I couldn’t stand to look at them. Instead, I worked on showing Bobo the love he deserved, scratching behind his ears, under his chin, and when he rolled onto his back, across his white belly.

“Celia?” I heard my mom say into her phone. “We’ve got a major problem. The kids found our lab.”

When she stopped to listen, Dad addressed my friends. “You guys should’ve tripped the alarm. Why didn’t I get a notification?”

That was what he cared about? What. An. Asshole .

“Because Hunt and I disabled it.” Griffin’s voice was colder than an ice storm and just as turbulent.

“That shouldn’t have been possible.”

“Yeah, well, looks like we’re all surprising each other tonight, doesn’t it?”

“Looks like it,” my dad muttered.

Mom drew to his side and announced, “The others are heading over now.”

At last, I glanced up at them. My parents were no longer pale, their shock replaced by what looked like determination. I read trepidation on them, yes, but no remorse. Not a lick of it.

I shook my head and nuzzled Bobo some more, holding back tears I refused to shed. Screw them. Screw them hard.

“We should wait to talk till the others get here,” my mom added. “Better to do this just once and get it over with.”

“What’s this ?” Layla asked.

“Explaining ourselves.”

“Hmmph,” Layla grunted, saying without words that no explanation would be sufficient to make this go away.

That’s right, girl. I couldn’t agree more.

“Are all our parents coming?” Hunt asked, his question monotone, as if he were keeping his feelings locked up just like I was.

“Yes,” my mom answered.

“So they’re all involved, then?”

Neither my mom nor dad answered, telling us very loudly that every single freaking one of them was as much a traitor as the next.

Griffin was right. This was as bad as it got. All I could do was hope there was no way it could get any worse, because just then I wouldn’t bet on it.