Page 13 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

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 hell did 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.

“You okay?” I ask, turning to her again.

She shrugs, chewing the inside of her cheek as she studies my tiny living room. “I guess. I just wanted to see you.”

My heart clenches. This kid drives me insane one minute and breaks my heart wide open the next. “I missed you, too. But seriously, you can’t just hop on buses across town—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

I set down my hairbrush and run a hand through my half-styled hair. “Okay, well, you can’t stay here alone tonight. I have plans.” My voice falters with guilt I’m trying desperately not to feel.

Her gaze lands on my outfit laid neatly across the bed and the heels beside it. “Got a date or something?”

“No. It’s gig night at The Velvet Room. You remember?”

She perks up slightly. “You’re still singing? Thought you had that nanny job now.”

“I do both.” I don’t say how much I need it. Music is something I keep guarded, even from family.

She shifts, biting her lip. “Please don’t send me home yet, Lena. I really missed you.”

And there it is.

She hits me square in the chest with those big eyes filling with unshed tears, and I’m toast. Big sister sensibility evaporates instantly.

“Fine. You can come. But you have to behave, okay? No sneaking drinks or pulling any teenage rebellion shit.”

“Promise. I’m not that rebellious.”

“Tell that to the bus ride you just took.”

Her returning grin is almost sheepish as I head back into the bedroom to change.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking down the street with the early-evening chill nipping at our skin.

Tess groans as she trails behind me. “Couldn’t you have driven?” she whines. “My feet are literally dying.”

“It’s three blocks.” Throwing my arm around her shoulder, I pull her close. She hates it immediately. “Welcome to city life. It builds character. ”

She mutters under her breath about blisters and torture, but I just guide her gently by the elbow to cross the street.

“So, how’s Dad been?” I ask, bracing myself.

She kicks at a loose stone, eyes fixed on the pavement. “Dad’s... Dad. Always working, always in a bad mood. It’s like living with a really hormonal ghost.”

I gnaw my lower lip. “He cares. Losing Mom just broke something in him.”

“Yeah, broke his ability to be a dad. Why’d you have to leave anyway? It’s like you escaped and left me behind.”

My heart twists. “Tess, I was twenty-three when I moved out. It was time for me to build a life of my own. I’m only a phone call away,” I tell her, even though we speak every day.

“Yeah. Whatever.” Her voice is flat, but I see the hurt lingering beneath her teenage bravado.

We walk the rest of the way in silence until the bright neon sign of The Velvet Room comes into view.

Mack, the towering bouncer with a teddy bear heart hidden beneath layers of muscle, eyes us.

“Lena, baby, she ain’t twenty-one,” he grunts, giving Tess a skeptical once-over.

“I know, Mack, but it’s an emergency. She’ll stay in the back. Zero trouble, I swear.”

He quickly gives in with a sigh. “On you, Lena. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Thank you.” I kiss his cheek and pull Tess inside. She glances around in awe, taking in the low lighting, intimate booths, and small, inviting stage.

“You sit here,” I warn, guiding her to the backstage area. “No wandering, no trouble. Promise? ”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Good.” I narrow my eyes. “Stay put.”

Tess lets out a dramatic sigh, already bored, before flopping onto the couch and pulling out her phone. I leave her to it and head for the stage to coordinate my set list with the band.

∞∞∞

On stage, my anxiety melts away. The soft glow of the lights, the low murmur of the crowd, and the warm hum of music wrap around me. It’s like stepping into a version of myself I only find here. Confident. Sure. Untouchable.

The first chords of Wicked Game by Chris Isaak pulse through the room. Song after song follows, sliding from my lips with practiced ease until I’m completely lost in it, drifting between memory and rhythm, heartbeat and harmony.

Halfway through my set, I step down to grab some water.

Arlo, the resident bartender-slash-persistent flirt, leans casually against the polished oak bar. “Another flawless set. Need anything other than hydration tonight?”

“Just water, Arlo.”

“You sure you don’t want something stronger later? Maybe some quality time with yours truly?”

Okay. Wow.

Arlo and I went on exactly one date, and there was zero spark on my end. Unfortunately, Arlo seems convinced sparks can spontaneously generate through sheer persistence.

“Thanks, but still a no,” I say firmly, taking the bottle from him. I hate any confrontation, and saying no usually involves me cringing about it for hours later, but it’s the only way to handle Arlo.

He shrugs and throws a towel over his shoulder with a flick of his wrist. “You know where to find me.”

My lips smack together, fighting the urge to say what’s really on my mind. “Sure do.”

As I step up to the mic again, a flicker of memory stops me.

It’s of my mother, barefoot in the kitchen, swaying to the crackle of her old vinyls, and singing like the whole world was listening even when no one was.

Her voice had that kind of magic that made people pause, but she never sang for them.

She sang because it made her feel alive.

That’s what it feels like for me now. Like I’m reaching back through time, threading my voice through hers, and holding on to the parts of her that haven’t faded.

By the final note, my heart’s racing and my breath is thin from the adrenaline. Applause breaks over me as I step away.

Backstage, Tess is still curled on the couch, scrolling her phone like this is just another Tuesday.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods and unfolds herself. “You sounded amazing, by the way. I haven’t heard you sing in a long time.”

I grab her shoulders and smack a kiss on her cheek. “Tess? Is that you? You’re letting your emotions show. Should I check for a fever?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s the tiniest smile tugging at her mouth. Victory.

Once we’re back at my place, I hand her a pair of spare pajamas. She changes and climbs into my bed, curling up and pulling the blanket tight around her. I slip in beside her, careful not to take up too much space.

She’s quiet for a beat, then shifts slightly, her voice small. “Hey, Lena?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you tell me a story about Mom? Like you used to?”

My chest tightens because suddenly it feels like she’s four years old again and sneaking into my bed. “Once upon a time,” I whisper, “there was a garden filled with flowers…”

I keep my voice low as I turn old memories into something softer for her to hold onto. I tell her about Mom’s laugh. Her singing. How she used to dance around the kitchen with socks on, even when she had no rhythm. How she always smelled like coconuts.

Tess doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her start to relax beside me.

By the end, my voice is rough around the edges, but I manage to get the words out until her breathing evens out.

I lean in and kiss her temple. “Goodnight, Tess. Sweet dreams.”