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If all of that changed, maybe it’d be easier.
My heart thuds harder and beats faster—their gazes suddenly zeroed in on me. Looking down while I look up. I can’t really unmask their expressions. Ryke is stiff and unmoving while Loren shakes his head a little, his eyes flitting over my awkward frame.
I truly feel seventeen. I truly feel like Loren’s little sister.
Please let him believe so too. I made it this far—I made it to him. It only took almost a month of scavenging Philadelphia for Loren Hale, and the closest I came before today was a house party that amounted to a beer-stained shirt and mortification.
It took me a solid five-minutes to even climb out of my car and enter that house, my first ever high school party, mind you.
I felt in the way. I never knew where to stand, where to scoot to, and even then, I bumped four or five elbows and shoulders. I left with my stomach twisted like a pretzel. And it solidified what I’ve always known: Willow Moore is not meant for high school parties. I’m just not built to live through them.
Fast forward to today: My bank account is creeping close to just $50, barely enough for another night in a Philadelphia motel. I’ve already spent five nights in my car to save money, and my last hope was staking out Superheroes & Scones. Which proved to be the winning strategy, even though I always thought it was a long shot.
But I’ve found him.
Loren Hale is standing right in front of me.
Now for the hardest part. I open my mouth and adjust my backpack on my shoulder with a sweaty palm. “Hi,” I say. I lick my lips repeatedly. Hi—is that really all you have, Willow?
I had more planned, I think. I just—I’m looking at my brother. This is the second time I’ve met him, and I start to see a greater resemblance between us.
We have the same light brown hair. I subconsciously touch my nose.
We have the same slender nose—
Ryke’s rough but sincere voice breaks my concentration. “Do you want an autograph or a picture or something?”
I try to meet his expression, but he raises his eyebrows at me like, we can get anything for you. Oh my God. I immediately look away and push my glasses up. “No…thanks.” I cough a little to hide my nerves, but maybe that just makes it worse.
I’m used to seeing Ryke in video footage, yelling and throwing out F-bombs at paparazzi, trying to block cameras from his brother and girlfriend’s way.
Seeing him now—with an unshaven jawline, crinkled brows, brooding eyes, and overwhelming masculine energy—it’s like meeting a scruffy god in the flesh.
I’m surprised I haven’t combusted into flames yet.
Ryke turns to Loren, probably wondering what to do with a crazy, awkward fan like me.
Say it, Willow. Tell him that you’re his sister. Why is this so hard? I blow out a breath, prepared to let this truth out and desperately hoping Loren Hale will believe it.
I meet his amber eyes, our gazes locked for a strong, tense moment. And I say, “I’m—”
“My sister,” he finishes.
The hairs rise on the back of my neck, a chill snaking down my spine and arms. My eyes burn as tears try to well.
Loren barely flinches. “Willow, right?”
My mouth keeps falling. All this time, I thought he’s been looking at me like who is this girl? But he’s been really looking at me in disbelief like this is my half-sister, standing right here. He’s been piecing me together with the middle school girl he once met, so long ago. In Caribou, Maine.
“You…remember me?” is all I manage to say.
“Yeah.” His lips rise, and my heart warms. “The day I met my birth mother is one I really can’t forget.”
“Oh…” That was the first time he met my mom? I mean, our mom. My eyes drop for a second. She really did abandon him then…
I take a quick glance at Ryke. His lips are parted in surprise, eyes a little wide as they go from me to Loren and back to me. I wonder if he knew anything about me. If he knew I existed out there, or if Loren just kept it to himself. Because my mom told him to leave Ellie and me alone.
“Do you want to talk over coffee?” Loren asks. I whip my head back to him, a chill never disappearing. Coffee. “Maybe in the break room?”
I nod over and over, and the tears just keep rising. I blow out another breath, my strained shoulders loosening.
He wants to talk. He’s not going to kick me out. He’s not going to tell me to get lost, kid. I feel like I’m reaching out to someone who’s not only clasping my hand but drawing me closer, so I don’t fall backwards on my own.
