27
" How about you?” I asked, trying to keep words happening. “Play any sports?”
“I might have.”
“Instruments?”
“No.”
“Did you grow up in a state that starts with the letter A, M, or T?”
Her lips did this twisty thing to the side.
“Isn’t that how we’re doing this? Process of elimination?”
Daryn brushed some sand off her jeans. “The less we do of this, the better it’ll be for both of us.”
I started laughing. I didn’t know what had just hit me. Daryn laughed too, more at me than with me, but it didn’t matter. I enjoyed it.
“You run a pretty good defense, Martin. You know that?”
“I’ve gotten better.”
“Does this mean you’re not going to tell me about the downloads you get? Or how often you get ’em? Or how long you’ve been doing this? Like, is this your first assignment, or have you been seeking—seekering?—your whole life? And, like, when you saw me—you said you saw me—was I excelling at protecting secret powerful objects? Doing epic War shit? How amazing was I, is basically what I want to know. But in specifics. Did I look really-really awesome or just kind of good? Wait, wait—I looked prime. Didn’t I, Martin?”
“Are you done?”
“With my opening questions?”
She shook her head. “Wow.”
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I know I don’t.” She reclined her seat and put her feet up on the dash. I thought the subject was closed because she shut her eyes, but then she said, “It’s not often you meet people who are so persistent.”
“How often do you meet people who are War?”
She peered at me and gave a little shrug, like you’re really not all that special. Then she closed her eyes again. "
― Veronica Rossi , Riders (Riders, #1)
29
" Behind me the radiator goes on, giving yet another encore performance. Tink, tink, tink, tink.The warmth slowly comes up on my back. Hard worker, that heater. The bulb, on the other hand, is doing a flickering thing, showing some signs of fatigue. You’re losing, bulb. "
― Veronica Rossi , Riders (Riders, #1)
31
" What’s wrong, Mom?” Anna asked.
Mom looked like she’d been crying, but she said, “Nothing, sweetie.”
“Who is Dad talking to?” I asked. I knew she’d protect us from whatever was happening, so I went straight for facts. If I gathered enough facts I could figure it out on my own.
“Some friends of his from work.”
“Uncle Jack?” I asked. Jack wasn’t an uncle but we called him that. He was my dad’s foreman in the roofing business.
“No, honey. From the Army. His old work.”
It was September 11, 2001, and the call he’d made was to his commanding officer in the Reserve. I’d figure that out later.
And I’d learn that he’d done ROTC through college, then served with the Fifth Special Forces Group in Desert Storm. I’d learn that his shoulder injury had come from shrapnel embedded in his rotator cuff. I’d learn, just from watching him, from listening to him talk to his buddies, about Ranger School. Jump school. The Ranger Battalions. The Scroll. The Creed. That Rangers lead the way.
But I didn’t know any of that then. I knew my dad as a roofer. A fisherman. A lover of Pearl Jam and Giants baseball. He was the guy who launched me over the waves on the beach, and who bench-pressed Anna because it made her giggle in a way that nothing else did. He was my mom’s best friend, with some additional elements like kissing that seemed pretty gross because, you know, I was six. But I learned something new about him that morning.
I learned that when bad things happened, my dad stepped forward first.
I learned he was a hero. A real one.
And that I wanted to be like him "
― Veronica Rossi , Riders (Riders, #1)
32
" Sitting up in the saddle, with Daryn and the guys watching me, I was feeling pretty big-time, but my first instinct was to play everything down. Just a regular morning, tearing around a fjord on my gigantic fiery steed.
It didn’t work. I felt a grin coming on and I couldn’t hold it back for anything. I knew I looked amazing up there, with my armor and horse. All burning. I mean, how often did you see that?
“What’s up, guys?” I said, and reached down to pat Riot’s neck.
I heard someone snicker, and I peered at them. “What?”
Marcus scratched his jaw. I could tell he was trying not to smile. “Your horse, man. It’s the way he moves.”
“It’s called knee action,” Daryn said.
“Riot’s is quite high,” Jode added. He frowned and pressed his lips together, but I could hear him sputtering.
“It’s cool, G,” Bas said. “He sort of … prances. Reminds me of those Irish river dancers. You know, the ones that—”
He couldn’t even finish. He started howling. Suddenly they were falling all over themselves.
“It’s ’cause he’s so big, you idiots,” I said. “He’s like a tank. And look at all this mud. He has to have permanent four-wheel drive.”
I shut myself up, because I was only making it worse. Riot and I had to just wait it out. But I didn’t really care. I knew we were the best. "
― Veronica Rossi , Riders (Riders, #1)
