Page 25 of Off the Post

Heinrich covers his mouth and laughs, and I see the joy in his eyes when they alight on his hockey idol. Rossy, for all his idiocy and childish behavior, has a real soft spot for my nephew and has become fast friends with him over the past two weeks, taking him under his wing as his little buddy. Rossy has even taken to calling him Henry instead of Heinrich. My nephew beams proudly whenever he hears the nickname and has specifically told me to “Call me Henry from now on.” As a devoted uncle, I have been doing my best.

Aside from that, now that he’s older, Anna has given him more freedom out from under her watchful eye, which I’ve taken advantage of. Henry has joined me and the guys out on the golf course and even on a four-wheeler day in the forest last week.

I realize I can’t replace his father, but my hope at the very least is to be a good male role model, someone who will teach him all the things he needs to learn to become a good man. Both kids need someone in their lives besides their mother to guide them and provide direction on how to maneuver through life.

It brings back the conversation that Anna and I had last night once the kids crashed out after our pizza, popcorn, and movie marathon.

She sits on the couch, long legs covered in black leggings and stretched out comfortably in front of her, heels crossed and planted on the leather ottoman. She runs a finger over the rim of her wineglass, looking contemplatively out my living room windows as the city lights twinkle and shine and bounce off the water below.

“I worry about you, Soren,” she says softly, a look of sadness washing over her face. A face that’s so familiar to me. We’ve known each other since before I even hit puberty. She and Günther began dating when he was fifteen. Anna was the love of his life.

“Me? Why?” The comment takes me by surprise. “You have enough on your plate. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Anna has been able to pick up the pieces and move forward after Günther’s death.

I simply broke and neglected to fix it.

She narrows her eyes at me. “I see right through you. That mask you wear may be hard for others to get a glimpse inside, but I know what’s going on.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that, dear sister?” I quirk a brow. “What do you think is truly going on inside me?”

She wags her finger and there’s pity in her eyes. “You, dear brother, are lonely. It breaks my heart to see you living this way. You are far too young and have too much to offer to live life a recluse.”

I scowl, then roll my eyes hard. “Whatever. I’m fine.”

My chest constricts from the acute pain I feel in my heart, the anger growing inside me. Anger at Anna for calling me out. Anger at the loss I’ve lived through. Anger at my brother for his stupid, selfish need for adventure.

But mostly, I’m angry at myself because I know she’s right.

I inhale a deep, exaggerated breath and let it out slowly between my lips.

“Okay,” she says, keeping her gaze directed on me and quirking her brow. “If you’re so fine”—she uses finger quotes—” then it shouldn’t be a big deal to ask out Ali on a date.”

I make a strangled noise, as if my throat has been sliced with a blade.

“What? Who?”

She snickers at my stupidity. “You know who I mean. Ali, the gorgeous redhead from the calendar shoot. The one you were trying to flirt with—and failed miserably at, I might add.”

“I didn’t flirt,” I say adamantly. It’s true. I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to flirt even if my life depended on it. “And why do you assume I like her?”

“Oh, Soren. It was written across your face, plain as day. You are smitten.” Anna pats my hand patronizingly and shakes her head ruefully.

I snort-laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

She tsks. “What’s ridiculous is you choosing to not ask that sweet girl out as soon as possible.”

I consider this for a moment, crossing my arms over my chest with a resolute sigh. “I’ll think about it. I’m not sure she’s that into me, though.”

Anna’s eyes open wide and the city lights reflect in them.

“Trust me,” she says with a shrewd grin, sweeping a hand over her bangs to brush them off her forehead and glancing at me under her lashes. “That woman is smitten as well. Lord knows why.”

I give her a mocking shove against her shoulder and she laughs. It’s so easy to hang with Anna, falling back into our old patterns, teasing each other like brother and sister.

But then she grows quiet and contemplative, closing her eyes as her expression morphs from silliness to profound sadness.

“I still miss him, Soren. I miss him so much.” She wipes away a tear that’s escaped the corner of her eye. “Don’t ever doubt how much I loved him.”