18 Chapter 18

Instead, Lane shook his head and said, “You sound like my dad.” He grinned and looked away from the road long enough to give Remy a wink. “When did we grow old?”

“I’m not old yet,” Remy joked. “Not until I turn forty next August. ThenI’ll be old.”

Lane laughed. “Don’t make me come back there. That was always my dad’s favorite. That and, don’t make me turn this car around. And when my sister and I were fighting, he’d do this number.”

Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Lane slapped the air blindly behind him, as if breaking up an argument between two imaginary kids. Braden pulled tighter into himself, out of reach, even though Lane wasn’t aiming for him.

“My father did this number.” Remy held his arm out in front of Lane as if to stop him from flying through the windshield. “Who needed seat belts in the eighties? If my dad hit the brakes, his arm went right across my chest to keep me in place.”