Page 18 of Fragile Lives

“Are you alright?” he asks into the top of my head. Every man in my family dwarfs me.

“Yeah.” I sniffle into his shirt. It smells like family.

“Didn’t sound so,” he chuckles.

“I’m really okay, Ken.” With that, I pull away. “Just a little tired.”

His piercing eyes watch me for another moment, and he lets go of me with a slight nod. “Let me know if it changes.”

“I will.” I smile at my big brother and turn to Archie, just so my attitude toward him won’t raise any suspicion. “It was nice meeting you.” I give him a weak smile and walk away.

When I’m inside my car and start the engine, a body shows up by the passenger window, making me scream.

“Sh-sh, chill.” Archie’s eyes roam my face, puffs of air coming from his mouth with every word he says.

I roll the window down. “What do you need?”

“I feel like an asshole.” He rakes his hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “It wasn’t my intention to end your family’s dinner. I should be the one to go if you’re uncomfortable.”

“If I am?” I quirk a brow.

His eyes squint. “When. When you are uncomfortable.”

“You’re off the hook.” I pull my hat off and place it on the passenger seat. “I didn’t leave because of you.”

“You left because you’re tired?” He waits for me to look at him. “Yeah, I heard that part.”

“Eavesdropping?” I ask accusingly.

“Not when you’re practically shouting into my ear.” His flirty smile is back.

I sigh loudly. “I’m tired, Archie.” He winces at me using his name, and I wonder why—after all, he wanted me to call him that when he introduced himself to me today. Again. “I need to go home.”

“I thought you live here.” He glances at the house.

“I don’t,” I reply, staring ahead.

“Surprising,” he says.

“Why?” I glare at him.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe because you’re so young.”

“I’m twenty-four. Where were you when you were twenty-four?” I challenge.

“In Iraq.” His face darkens.

“Yeah, exactly. Go inside.” I nod toward the house. “You’ll freeze to death.”

His cackle is too happy at the prospect, and for the umpteenth time I remind myself that Archie’s brain worksdifferently—his own value is nonexistent in his eyes. He suddenly leans through the window. “Go back, Leila. I was about to leave anyway.”

I lean closer to him. Seems like all we do is lean toward each other. Like magnets.

“Contrary to your belief, my life doesn’t revolve around you, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” His voice sounds seductive, and his tongue peeks out to lick his lower lip. “You think I’m pretty?”

I pull backward. “I think you like to play with fire.”