Free The Handoff (Big Play #3) by Jordan Ford Page B

run around to Layla’s side. She’s already scrambled out of the car and is gagging into a patch of grass by the mailbox.
    It’s not as bad the second time around; most of what was in her stomach is back at school. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, I hold it back for her until she’s finished.
    She’s puffing and crying by the time she’s done. Snot’s dribbling from her nose and she wipes it away before flopping to the ground like a rag doll.
    I lurch forward, but I’m not fast enough to catch her head before she hits the grass.
    “Oh, Layla,” I murmur, crouching down and brushing the dark locks of hair off her pale, round cheek.
    Shuffling my arms beneath her, I lift her off the ground. Her head flops against my shoulder and her legs bob up and down as I walk her up our front steps and through the bright red door with the big oval glass panel in the middle.
    Mom chose it, along with the sunny yellow paint that covers the weatherboards and the white trim that frames it all so nicely. Not my first choice, but as my dad always says, “Happy wife, happy life,” so we live in a yellow house.
    I turn the handle, then lightly kick the door open with my foot.
    “Oh, good, you’re back early. I might get going—” Mom’s voice cuts off as she bustles into the front entrance and spots me. “What in the world?” Her wide mouth pops into a perfect ‘o’ and then her eyes do that bulging thing that tell me I’m about to get a talking to. “Finn Branson Jones, why are you carrying a girl through my front door?”
    “To put her into bed,” I murmur.
    She crosses her arms and gives me a pointed look. “Better not be your bed.”
    “Come on, Mama, she’s sick. She needs to lie down.”
    “Can’t she do that at her place?” Mom walks over to me, her wide hips swaying, then places the back of her fingers against Layla’s forehead. “Hmmm.”
    “She doesn’t want to go home.”
    “Why not?”
    “She won’t tell me.” I shrug then hitch my arm as Layla’s head starts to flop back. The move jolts her and her eyes flash open, landing on me first before scanning her surroundings. She takes in the neat entryway with its old-fashioned hat stand in the corner and the wicker basket of shoes beside it. Her gaze then tracks over the archway into our living room and she flinches against me.
    I look up to see Dad walking into view.
    “Who is this?” His voice goes high with the question and his eyebrows dip low as he stares at her. Yes, he’s seen her before, but I’m not about to remind him. Layla’s right here and I don’t want him saying anything to embarrass me.
    Layla shrinks away from his curious appraisal, leaning into my chest as I answer his question.
    “This is Mack’s little sister, Layla.”
    I look down at her and she catches my eye. “Are those your parents?” she croaks. “I don’t like parents. Take me back to the gym.”
    I snicker while Mama rolls her eyes and feels her forehead again. Layla shivers and lets out a little whimper.
    “Oh, okay. Go on, put her in the spare room.” Mom nods towards the stairs.
    “Thanks, Mama.” I wink at her, knowing her reluctance is all for show. My mother has the biggest heart on this planet and she’d never turn a sick, whimpering girl away.
    Layla closes her eyes as I walk her up the stairs. Her fingers curl into the back of my shirt and she lets out this little sigh. I wish I could tell her that everything’s going to be okay and she can totally relax now, but I can’t.
    Poor Layla doesn’t know it yet, but she’s gonna have to tell us the truth at some point. Because although my mother has the world’s biggest heart, she’s also got the world’s biggest attitude, and she doesn’t settle for flaky answers. If anyone’s gonna find out why Mack’s little sister is hiding out at our place, it’s gonna be her.
     

 
    #13:
    Don’t Mess With Mrs. Jones
     
    Layla
     
    Finn lays me down on a soft, squishy bed before sliding my purse