“Not your story.”
“I know.”
“I told her enough for her to know I love you.”
Her fingers stopped.
“She asked if it was you,” I said. “The girl.”
“Smart woman.”
“Terrifying woman.”
“Efficient combination.”
“She also told me I’m not my dad.”
Aura’s expression softened.
I looked at the ceiling because saying it while looking at her felt too exposed, even after everything. “My dad died, and I started acting like every empty space he left came with my name on it. Mom. Skylar. Vivi. The house. Money. Everything. I turned being needed into proof I was useful, then got pissed when I had nothing left that felt like mine.”
Aura’s hand found mine again. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I want to.” I dragged in a breath. “Vivi is twelve. She has autism. She needs more support than some people expect when they hear the word. She’s funny and stubborn and particular about everything. Routine matters. Texture matters. If someone moves her blue cup to the wrong cabinet, the whole house pays for it emotionally.”
Aura’s mouth softened. “Blue cup supremacy. I understand.”
“She loves numbers. Hates loud rooms. Thinks Briggs is suspicious because his voice changes too much when he jokes.”
“She is correct.”
I laughed. “She told him he talks like a cartoon pirate once. He still hasn’t recovered.”
Aura smiled against my shoulder. “I adore her already.”
“Skylar is fourteen. She acts like she’s grown because she has anxiety wearing lip gloss. She loves music. Wants to do this summer program she pretends she doesn’t care about because she heard Mom talking about the cost.”
Aura’s face shifted. “And you were trying to pay for it.”
“I was trying to help.”
“Easton.”
“I know.” I looked at her. “I know what you’re about to say.”
“Do you?”
“You’re about to tell me I’m allowed to be her brother instead of her father.”
Her eyes softened. “Look at you, emotionally literate and everything.”
“I had a mother-assisted breakthrough.”
“Those are powerful.”
“She told me she loves me more than my ability to fix things.”
Aura’s hand stilled on my chest.
