My keys dig into my palm. Nothing about this is funny and we both know it. I've spent years keeping distance from everyone in this town. Fat lot of good it does when I can't create distance from Lily no matter how hard I try.
"She is all the family I have." Rome's voice drops, and when Rome's voice drops, I pay attention. He's usually a vault, hard to read. This is him cracking it open.
"And this gap year of hers has me so stressed and worried she'll lose her future. Since she was little, all she ever wanted was to be a doctor, and I'm not handling her burnout as well as I should. I admit that. But she's only twenty-two, man. That means she's still figuring out who she is and what she wants, and the last thing she needs is..."
"Is what, Rome?" I ask flatly, blood rushing in my ears. "A friend? Because that's all there is."
He pushes off the wall, steps closer. Never aggressive, but Rome knows how to fill a space.
"I told you to stay away from her and now you're friends?"
"And I have." I am pissed now.
"You have no clue how far I stay away from her. She comes to my house to see my dad. I don't invite her. I don'ttext her. I don't show up where she is. I go to work, I come home, and she's on my living room floor arguing with my father about spreadsheets. So don't put that on me. Your sister decides where she wants to be."
"You need to set better boundaries then. She doesn't know..."
That one pisses me off even more.
"Yeah, she fucking does. She's twenty-two, not twelve. She graduated top of her class and she's going to be a doctor and she runs circles around everyone and she's sharper than half the people in this town, including you and me. Don't talk about her like she can't think for herself."
Rome's eyebrows go up. I hear myself, hear the heat in my own voice. The way I just defended her to her brother with more fire than a man with "nothing going on" should have.
His brows pull together into a frown, more the Rome we all know.
"I just mean she's not stupid," I add, quieter now.
"No. She's not."
He studies me with an expression I can't read.
"I won't ask her not to come by," I say, firmer now. "When she comes by for her friend. My father."
I see him working through it, trying to find a hole, an angle to push. There isn't one.
"If you've got a problem with how often she's there, that's a conversation you need to have with her. Not me."
"Oh, I will. But I'm having it with you, too."
"There's no need for this. You made yourself loud and clear. Crystal clear, in fact. And I have zero intention of starting anything with your sister."
Every word comes out sure and true. They taste like ash.
Zero intentions. And yet I can't sleep without thinking about her. Can't close my eyes without seeing that sweater slipping off her shoulder, bare skin catching lamplight. I replay every time she walked past me, then spend the next hour thinking about gripping those hips, pressing her against the counter, finding out what sound she'd make if I put my mouth where her neck meets her shoulder.
Zero intention. But the want lived in my hands, my jaw, my teeth.
His shoulders drop half an inch. He's protective, but not unreasonable. He knows I don't bullshit. He knows I don't break promises.
He holds me in that stare for a long moment. The parking lot is empty except for the B-shift guys loading equipment too far away to hear. Late afternoon sun hits the firehouse and I stand there, keeping my face still.
"Okay," he finally says.
"Okay?"
He nods once, scrubs a hand through his hair. The closest he gets to looking uncertain.
"Erin says she's happy here. In Harbor Hill."
