Page 35

She stays like that for far too long.

I set the water down and walk over. “Hey,” I murmur, crouching next to her. “She’ll be back on Monday.”

Her little lip wobbles, and shit, that’s not allowed. Not on my watch.

Before the tears can make an appearance, I scoop her into my arms. “Don’t worry, baby,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head. “She always comes back.”

Rosie sighs and lays her head on my shoulder, one chubby fist gripping the fabric of my shirt.

I pat her back gently, already walking toward the bathroom. “Now…” I say as I push open the door with my foot, “I think someone needs a bath.”

She makes a sound that’s either agreement or disapproval. It’s hard to tell. But she doesn’t fight me, which is a small miracle in itself.

“Let’s wash the glitter off your forehead, give your hair a good rinse, and maybe scrub off whatever the hell that is on your knee.”

She lifts her head to look at me, then blows a raspberry.

“Okay,” I mutter, running the water. “Noted. You feel strongly about Lena and the glitter.”

And I do too.

Unfortunately, my feelings involve a lot less glitter and a lot more ass.

Twelve

Lena

I’m halfway through applying a swipe of lipstick when rapid-fire banging rattles my apartment door, startling me so much I smear a bold red streak right across my cheek.

“Seriously?” I groan, grabbing a tissue to salvage the damage.

With a frustrated sigh, I shuffle toward the door and fling it open. Standing there, flushed and panting, is my fourteen-year-old sister, Tess. She’s all skinny limbs, ripped jeans, and dramatic teenage eye-rolls.

“Tess?” I blurt. “What the—How the helldid you get here?”

She hitches her overloaded backpack higher onto her shoulder and pushes past me without waiting for an invitation. “Took the bus.”

I can practically feel my blood pressure rise. “The bus? You’re fourteen. Dad let you get—”

“Does Dad ever let me do anything, Lena?”

“Oh for—You’re aging me, Tess.” Anxiety churns in my stomach as I grab my phone from the coffee table to text my father. It’s no secret we barely speak. The tension between us is permanently set to frostbite-level since I moved out. Regardless of our relationship, he needs to know that his youngest child hasn’t vanished into thin air.

“I need to text him. He needs to know you’re safe.”

Tess sets her bag down, looking away. “He doesn’t care.”

My father might not be the easiest person, but we both know that’s not true. He loves Tess.

My thumb pauses over the screen. “He’ll care if you disappear.” I swallow down the ache rising in my throat. “I’m just letting him know you’re okay.”

She shrugs but doesn’t argue.

I quickly type out a stiff message:

Me:Tess’s here at my apartment. She’s fine. I’ll keep her overnight if she wants. Let me know if you want her home.

My heart knots as I send it, but I toss the phone aside before I can second-guess myself.