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But I knew my sister. I knew that had she been in the right frame of mind, she wouldn’t have done what she’d done that night.
See, my father had come home from work—a private government contracted job that paid ridiculously well and kept him busy—and told us that our grandfather had passed away.
He’d then said that he refused to go to the funeral, and that if we wanted him to, he’d send flowers.
He’d send flowers.
To his dead-wife’s father’s funeral.
Instead of letting us fly home to help my grandmother and be there for her.
My papa was our best friend growing up. After Mom died, it was Papa and Grams that took care of us. Papa and Grams that raised us.
Then my father had overheard something that he didn’t agree with one night, and the next night we were all but gone. A week later, we were in the states, completely and utterly lost, and trying to find purchase where there wasn’t any to be found.
As an afterthought, he’d then announced that we would be entering into an arranged marriage. Then, when we’d both questioned him, he’d shut us down with a swift, sharp word and left before either of us could say a word.
So yeah, I knew the reasons behind Delanie getting drunk off her ass—or whatever the hell happened that she either wouldn’t admit, or really didn’t know about—and sleeping with the one person that made me feel alive again.
“Yes,” I croaked. “He’s there.”
She blew out a steadying breath. “If you wouldn’t mind still taking Asa…”
“I’m closing up now,” I said as I took one last glance at the television. “I’ll take him some lunch.”
“Thank you, Dill. Love you,” she whispered.
After saying the same to her, I closed up shop early, ran by the sandwich shop, and grabbed Asa a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chips, and a sweet tea.
Then I sent a text to Booth and hoped that he’d be okay later to get it.
I arrived at the school in record time, walking into the office with a smile on my face.
“Hello, dear.” The school’s receptionist smiled warmly. “Bringing your son some lunch?”
I didn’t bother to correct her that I wasn’t Delanie.
It really, really wasn’t worth it.
The last time I’d corrected her, we’d had a lengthy conversation about how hard it was on Asa. How it must be confusing to have two sets of twins in his life play such important roles.
Then, I’d missed half of Asa’s lunch all because the woman didn’t know how to shut up.
“I’m here to eat lunch with Asa,” I replied.
She nodded her head, did something on the computer, then printed off a nametag.
I nearly rolled my eyes when it said ‘Delanie Davidsdottir’ on it and not Dillan.
But again, I didn’t bother to correct her.
“Thank you,” I said as I walked to the office door and waited for her to open it.
She did, and I zipped out, heading straight for the lunchroom.
I found my Asa sitting all by himself at a little table against the back wall.
I smiled sadly, then walked up to where he was sitting with no plate in front of him.
With ten minutes left of lunch, there was a commotion at the door of the lunchroom and I looked up to see Booth and Bourne barreling down on us.
Booth had a pizza in his hand, and Bourne had one, too.
I couldn’t stop the relieved breath that left my throat at the sight of both of them happy and healthy.
Even though Bourne didn’t like me all that much, my sister liked him, so it was hard for me not to care that he was okay, too.
And Asa seemed to love him.
“Daddy!” Asa screamed loudly.
All the other second graders that were around him looked at him, then at the two black-clad figures walking our way.
Booth hadn’t even bothered to take his ski mask off completely. It was on the top of his head, resting like a beanie instead of covering his face.
And Bourne had black paint on his cheeks.
I saw all the second graders looking at the two men in awe.
I also saw the moment that Asa became the ‘cool kid’ in their eyes, all because of his uncle and his dad.
Asa bolted toward his father.
Booth handed his pizza off to Bourne and scooped up Asa, bringing him in close to his chest.
I watched, admiring the steady gait of Booth, as he sauntered back toward our table.
His eyes latched onto mine when they were a few feet away, and my breath caught in my throat.
God, was he gorgeous.
Booth was six-foot-three inches of tanned, sexy skin. Black hair shaved into a high and tight—just long enough to give him a mohawk if he so chose—and the biggest hands that I’d ever seen. Then there were his eyes.
His eyes were the windows to his soul. They showed when he was mad. When he was sad. When he was happy.
