“I’ll see her. Only for you, though.” My chest felt tight. I’d spentyears making peace with the fact that I didn't need a mother. But one look at Jessa’s hopeful face, and some of that bitterness floated away.
Jessa threw her arms around me in a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get mushy on me, kid.”
She smacked my shoulder. “Not a kid.”
“I guess you’re too old for ice cream then?”
“Not a chance.” Jessa handed me her bags, digging into her purse. “Ice cream’s on me.”
I shook my head. “You don’t have to do that.”
She narrowed her eyes, resting her hands on her hips. “You just spent, like, a thousand dollars on me. I can afford an ice cream,” she sassed.
Her attempt at independence made me smile, so I let her win that argument. As we approached the roadside ice cream shop, I heard a familiar yip.
“Hatchet,” Merci yelled from across the street, waving at us.
Chaos danced on her dainty paws, excited to see me. Merci crossed the street and then released the leash, allowing her to scamper to my feet.
“There’s my girl,” I said, picking up the ball of wiggling fur. She licked my face. “Jessa, this is Chaos, my pup.”
“Ourpup,” Merci said, reaching out a hand. “You must be Jessa. I’m Merci.”
“Hi,” Jessa said, suddenly shy. She took Merci’s hand in a hesitant handshake.
“Wow, you do look a lot like Hatchet,” Merci exclaimed. “Coast told me you were his spitting image.”
“Coast is the guy you tried to punch,” I explained.
Jessa giggled. “He deserved it.”
Merci threw me a look that said everything running through my head—this kid would be trouble in the clubhouse when she got older. My protective instincts kicked in. I’d have to make it real fuckingclear that my little sister was off-limits when she turned eighteen. It was funny how fast I’d gone from a complete stranger to big brother.
“We’re getting ice cream. Want to join us?” I offered.
Merci shook her head. “I have to run. Besides, Chaos already got a pup cup today.”
I kissed the pup on the top of her head, and she nipped at me, teeth grazing my cheek.
Merci said goodbye and carried Chaos away. I watched her go longer than I should’ve, and Jessa’s knowing little smirk told me she caught it, too.
With her cookie dough and sprinkles concoction and my strawberry waffle cone in hand, I considered how to start the conversation rattling in my head.
“So, I was thinking,” I started.
“Sounds dangerous,” Jessa needled. “Does your brain overheat when you do that?”
“Ha ha. You’re so funny.”
“I know,” she quipped with a big grin.
I shook my head. “I’m working on getting my own place. With a room for you.”
“Really?” Shock colored her expression.
“Yeah. I grew up in foster care. I don’t want that for you.” I couldn’t stand the thought of her moving through a series of strangers’ homes with a trash bag for her things.
