Evanescent - By Addison Moore Page 0,71

I hold back a laugh at the thought. I don’t need some simple blood test to confirm what I already know is true. The Hattie Tobias that stands before me is no more human than a potted houseplant.

That sterile look in her eyes dissipates, and I swear she just flickered an emotion—pain.

“Flynn,” she says his name and nothing else.

“I’m ready to roll.” Wes wraps an arm around my waist, and we head out the door.

It’s time to prove that Hattie the Fake is nothing but a lying Fem. And, once Wes sees I’m right about this, he’ll see I’m right about everything else.

I hope.

Cooper

The wind blows the autumn leaves around the front yard, creating a red and orange tornado. The branches of the maple scrape against the window like an animal trying to claw its way inside.

An all too familiar Range Rover pulls into the driveway, and my blood turns to ice.

“Is Laken here?” Marky calls from the kitchen. She’s been baking cookies for my “date,” and now Laken brought someone entirely different to eat them with.

“Yeah, I think so.” My stomach drops like a stone. I should brace Marky, coach her on what to say and what not to say—lock her in her bedroom—but Wes and Laken have already sprung up to the porch, and I open the door without bothering to wait for them to knock.

Wes huffs a quiet laugh at my overeagerness. I’m a fool if I think he’s not onto us—that he doesn’t have the upper hand like he does with everything else. And I hope to God, he doesn’t have it with Laken.

“Come in,” I say, holding the screen open for them.

“Smells like heaven,” Wes chirps. “You bake those for me, cupcake?” He gives a playful wink in my direction, and the urge to sock him in the nuts goes up tenfold.

“Who’s this?” Marky appears next to me with a spatula frozen midair. Her tiny brown eyes are already filling with grief.

Laken swallows hard. “This is Wesley.” Her voice shakes. “He’s my boyfriend, Marky. He’s really nice.”

Shit. She’s pulling out all the stops.

I take Marky and spin her back in the direction of the kitchen.

“Hey, shortstop.” I press a kiss over her head, walking her the hell away from Wes.

“What does she mean he’s her boyfriend?” Marky’s lips quiver with a resolute sadness as if all her sisterly dreams of Laken becoming a part of the family have been pulled from underneath her.

“Laken likes him, too,” I whisper. No use in offering her false hope anymore than she’s already been privy to. “But he’s sort of an ass.”

Marky looks past my shoulder at the two of them and shoots Wes the stink eye.

“He looks fake,” she whispers. “I can already tell he’s not as nice as you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m one of a kind.” I give her shoulder a squeeze as Marky and her fragile heart slink back into the kitchen.

“Rumor has it you have the results.” Wes darts a suspicious glance around the room as if I’ve jammed the place with ninjas ready and willing to take him out once his guard is down.

“Results are in the office,” I say it low, sad. Laken’s right. I can’t let my emotions or anybody else’s, ruin her ability to get into the Celestra tunnels. Lives are at stake. And once we set them free, an entire river of truth will be unleashed, including whom Laken really wants to be with. Deep down inside I’m hoping I’m that person, but realistically I don’t even know if she considers me a contender.

I lead us back and give a knock to the office door before the three of us step inside.

“Wesley.” Dad gives a placid smile. He’s got on his thick cable sweater, his oversized glasses that frame his face like cartoon outlines. “Nice to see you. Nice to see you, too, Laken. Please, take a seat.”

I pull out a chair for Laken and Wes, before leaning against the wall.

“I don’t know the results,” I say, grazing Laken with a glance. “I wanted to find out with you—the both of you.” I add that last part for the safekeeping of my balls.

“It’s curious.” Dad looks over the notes as if they were written in hieroglyphics.

“What’s that?” I peer over his shoulder. I wouldn’t mind speeding up the process, especially since I left Marky in cookie distress. Wesley is pretty much screwing things up all around.

“This girl, Hattie”—Dad glances up at me before reverting to Laken—“she’s a purebred Celestra.”

The room stills.