Page 32

Thirty-Two

Luna

I’m running late, heading out of my office, an itchy feeling between my shoulder blades.

Because I’ve haven’t heard a peep from my father and my brother.

And it’s been nearly two weeks since they appeared at Kathy and Matt’s place, shouting and angry…and then leaving after Aiden confronted them.

My family doesn’t just leave—absolutely not.

They dig their heels in, stay in place, unmovable by even the most intense of mother nature’s forces.

And then they dig in a little further.

But not that day.

They just…left.

And haven’t come back—leaving me with the sinking feeling that they’re going to show up sooner rather than later, and most likely, at the most inopportune time.

Sighing, I rub my temple, hoping to ease the ache there, knowing that it’s no use to try to make sense of their actions. I’m not going to be able to figure them out, and anyway, I know their motives, know their end goals, know they won’t give up until they get what they want?—

So, yeah. They’ll be around again.

Mostly likely at the worst possible moment.

Sighing again, I grab my purse from the bottom drawer of my desk then turn and start down the hall.

Only to be stopped by Marissa, one of the shelter’s volunteers.

“Do you have a minute?” she asks after waving me to a stop.

I nod. “Of course. What’s up?”

“It’s Bri.”

Damn. After what happened at Kathy’s and Matt’s, I didn’t have a chance to catch up with her—by the time I got here, she was gone and she hasn’t been in since. “Right,” I say. “How can I help?”

“She finally came back in today, and she doesn’t look good,” Marissa murmurs. “She’s covered in bruises and if she had a full meal in the last two weeks, I’d be shocked.”

Less damn and more shit . “Is she talking to anyone?”

A shake of her head. “No,” Marissa says on a sigh. “She just clams up every time someone asks—just gets her food, gets her shower and a few nights of good sleep, and then, she’s gone again.”

I exhale. “Right,” I whisper. “I’ll try to talk to her.”

“She can have a permanent bed here if she wants. And there’s an opening at the bakery—it’s just for sales during the morning shift, but if she has an interest in something in particular, we can work toward making that happen,” Marissa tells me, and God, this is why I love this place.

We do our best to change things, to make good happen.

“Right,” I say. “I’ll see if she’s open to any of that.”

“Thanks, Luna.”

I nod and exchange my goodbyes then head through the double doors that lead to the youth center.

Bri’s in her usual corner, curled in on herself as she reads a book.

And the sight of the bruise on her cheekbone makes me want to commit murder—here I am worried about rich people problems of inheritance and company control, and she’s living a nightmare.

I push down the guilt, the fury, and pause near an open chair next to her. “Cool if I sit here?”

She jumps, eyes flicking up from the book for only a second before they go right back to the page—and Christ, the bruise is bad. So bad it starts my rage boiling again.

“Whatever,” she says after a long moment.

Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but I take the empty chair, pick up the book I started the last time Bri and I sat here, exactly like this, words few and far between—but still more with me than anyone else—and begin reading.

The book is a good one, a young adult novel featuring a broody hero, a sassy heroine, and there’s plenty of magic, yearning and angst, and kickass fight scenes.

So even though it takes a full chapter for Bri to break, I’m not impatient.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” she mutters.

I keep my place on the page with a fingertip and glance over at Bri. “Clue me in on what exactly it is that I’m doing?”

“Trying to make sure I’m okay.” She lifts one bony shoulder then drops it. “I’m fine.”

“Aside from the fact that you have a bruise the size of a grapefruit on your cheek?”

Her shoulders hitch up and she scowls. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something ,” I tell her. “But, as always, you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.” Those shoulders relax slightly and she exhales in relief. “There’s a bed here that can be yours permanently, and a job in the bakery if you want it.”

Something flickers through her eyes and I think, for a second, that I’m actually getting through to her.

Then she shrugs, says, “I’m fine.”

I stifle a sigh, but know that little flicker in her eyes is a chip in the thick shield around her, that I’m slowly getting through, that eventually we’ll get somewhere.

Eventually.

I have to believe it will be eventually and not never.

Otherwise… no. I can’t think about what might happen to this girl if it’s never.

Still, for today, I know that flicker is likely all I’m going to get. She’s a tough cookie and I’ve barely scratched the surface of her and?—

“You got married?”

I jerk, nearly drop my book.

Then look up at her. She’s staring at my ring. “Yes,” I say softly. “A few weeks back.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

That’s because I didn’t.

“His name is Aiden,” I tell her instead of that. “He plays for the Grizzlies.”

Nothing. Her face is a blank mask.

“The NHL team.”

A long pause. “I know.”

Right. Okay then. “Do you want to see a picture of him?”

I don’t mind staring at that gorgeous face of him and maybe sharing this piece of me will get her to share in return.

“No.”

The word is spoken tersely enough that I immediately change tactics.

No boy talk. Got it.

“Okay,” I say easily. “How’s school going?”

“Same as always. Teachers are dicks sometimes. Kids are assholes.” She scowls. “But I like my history class.”

My lips quirk. “What’s different about history compared to the others?”

Suspicion in her eyes, but when I don’t press her further, she gives me a little something. “He doesn’t just make us memorize shit. He tells stories, and they’re interesting sometimes.”

Interesting…sometimes.

My lips twitch again.

“What type of history is it?” I ask. “U.S. History? Or World History? Or something else I can’t think of because my history teachers were supremely boring and most of the time just made us memorize dates of battles and what general was fighting for what side.”

“That sounds lame.”

“It was.”

I feel like cheering when her mouth turns up, then again when she gives me a glimpse of her wicked sense of humor. “When was that again?” she teases. “The Stone Age?”

I nudge her foot with mine. “Rude.” A beat. “It was clearly the Bronze Age.”

She laughs.

Fuck, yeah.

Then answers, which is even better. “It’s World History. I like Mr. Crenshaw’s stories about Ancient Egypt.”

I nod sagely. “Objectively the best part of World History.”

“Exactly.”

Our gazes lock and I hold my breath—the flicker in her eyes has grown, emotions I can’t read swirling in the rich brown depths. Maybe she’ll take the permanent bed? The job?

But she doesn’t speak.

Just glances back down to her book.

And, deflated, I follow a heartbeat later.

We read in silence for long moments, the draw of the teenage angst slightly tempered.

This girl deserves more, deserves?—

“What was your favorite subject in school?”

My fingers tighten on my book at the quiet question, hope and frustration, rage and softness all tangled together.

I want to push her to open up.

I want to demand she take action to make herself safe.

I know that will get me nowhere.

So, I go back to our usual—humor.

“Back in the Stone Age?”

“I thought it was the Bronze Age?” She giggles.

“PE,” I say after I’ve soaked up the joyous sound of her laughter. “Followed closely by science.”

“Probably why you married the hockey player,” she mutters, flipping to the next page in her book.

“No,” I tell her baldly, knowing that no matter how complicated the circumstance of my marriage are, she needs to hear this, she needs to understand that her reality isn’t the only future that exists.

And maybe…I need to remind myself of it too.

“I married Aiden because I’ve been in love with him since I was thirteen and he’s the one person in my life who’s never let me down. ”

She closes her book and sets it to the side. “Really?”

“Really.” My heart is pounding. It’s the truth, but it’s a big one, a scary one.

Still, I nod at her, closing my book too.

“We lost touch for a bit when he went off to play professionally, but now that we’ve both been in the same city, we reunited.

And…it’s the same—he always was my best friend, the one person who saw me as me. He’s all of that and more now too.”

“What about your Grams?” she asks, her eyes going a bit suspicious. “I thought you two were close.”

“We were. So close that I still miss her every day.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat.

“But the truth is that while Grams loved me and I really loved her, neither of us were perfect and sometimes”—like, say, with the whole get married to get her shares thing—“I think that her past influenced my future far too much.”

Bri is quiet for a moment.

Then says with far too much certainty, “I can see how that could happen.”

“Yeah,” I tell her softly. “I know you do.”

We’re quiet for a long moment.

Those flickers in her eyes growing, filling the brown depths, softening them.

So, I take a chance to ask, “Do you want me to tell Marissa you’ll think about the bed and the job?”

And it feels like another victory when she nods slightly, mutters, “Yeah.”

So…I take another chance.

I write the address to Gram’s place on my business card. “We’re having a party next Saturday afternoon. I’d love for you to come and meet Aiden.”

She nibbles at her bottom lip, but takes the rectangle of paper. “I don’t know,” she whispers, but at least she tucks the card into her pocket and doesn’t yeet it straight into the trash or something.

“No pressure.” I say, sensing she’s had enough for today and starting to gather up my stuff. “But there will be cake.”

Her eyes light up.

Because it’s cake.

It’s delicious.

And maybe because I haven’t forgotten that it’s her favorite food.

I wave goodbye, head out to my car, and I do it with my heart a little lighter.

Because I’m going home to someone who knows mine too.