She sighed and sat on the concrete against the garage. “Fifteen minutes.”

But Gabriel held out a hand. “No way. We play, you play.”

She blushed. “I’m not really athletic—”

He snorted. “Come on.”

Then he had her hand, and then she was playing basketball.

Playing might have been a little strong. The boys were patient, letting her take time to make a basket. When they had the ball, it was a free-for-all of shoving and good-natured ribbing. But the best part was when she had to shoot, and Gabriel’s arms came around her, his voice gentle in her ear. “Like this . . .”

She was having so much fun that she didn’t realize their fifteen minutes had passed, didn’t even register the crunch of tires on pavement until Michael said to Gabriel, “Expecting more company?”

Layne glanced at the driveway. A black BMW was rolling up the hill.

She actually felt the blood drain from her face.

For a split second, she hoped Gabriel was expecting more company. Even a girl. Even Taylor Morrissey herself. Because right this instant, Layne would rather face anyone than the one person she knew drove a black BMW.

Her father.

Her palms went slick on the basketball. She didn’t even remember catching it.

Simon was there beside her, his breathing as shallow as hers.

“What am I missing?” said Michael.

Layne had to clear her throat to find her voice. “It’s my dad.” God, how had he known where they were? She shook herself and looked at her watch.

Still early! How . . . what . . .

“Layne!” Her father was already out of the vehicle, standing there in the driveway, the door standing open. His tone could slice through steel. “Both of you. Get in the car. Right now.”

Her backpack was still in the kitchen, but she didn’t dare say she had to go inside to get it. “Dad.” Her voice broke, and she tried again. “Dad, we were just playing—”

“Trust me. I know exactly what’s getting played here.” Layne had never seen him look so livid.

Yes she had—the night her mom left.

It hurt to breathe. Her voice wouldn’t rise above a whisper. “Dad—”

“Leave her alone,” said Gabriel, right at her shoulder. His voice was even. Steady. “We were just playing ball.”

Simon signed the same thing, his gestures full of fury. We were just playing ball. You were working.

Her father looked like he was forcing himself to stay behind the car door. He gestured, his words punctuated by fury. “Get. In. The. Car.”

Layne swallowed. “Okay.”

“Hey.” Gabriel caught her wrist, his eyes still fixed on her father, his voice still unrelenting. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Gabriel,” said Michael.