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“They are getting so big,” I murmur as she closes their door halfway, and I take one last glance at them.
“They are.” She smiles proudly, happiness shining from her eyes and pride written in every line of her features. I’m so happy for her and the family she has created for herself. No one deserves happiness more than my sister.
“Pretty soon they won’t want me to read to them anymore,” I complain wistfully, glancing back at the door and debating sneaking back in.
“Or they will take a page out of your handbook and make you read to them well into their teens.” She giggles softly as she walks downstairs with me behind her, reminding me how I had Alaric read me bedtime stories until I was thirteen.
I snort. “Doubtful. I only did that to mess with your husband.”
She arches a suspicious eyebrow, calling me on my bullshit.
“Fine. Maybe I liked it too,” I concede with a shrug. “Still, pretty soon your kids won’t want to hang out with me,” I mumble, passing the living room and heading over to the kitchen in search of something to drink. A beer or whiskey would be my choice to take the edge off, but I’m in my sister’s house, which means water or soda is all I’m afforded here.
Alaric would shit a brick if he saw his underage kid drinking hard liquor.
And for all intents and purposes, I’m his just as much as Gage and Sophie are.
“Give them a few more years, and they won’t want anything to do with me,” I add, my melancholy rearing its ugly head.
“That’s nonsense. Both Gage and Sophie love you too much,” she protests, sitting on her favorite stool on the kitchen island and picking up her glass of red wine. “Where is all this coming from, Zoey? You’re not usually this insecure.”
She’s right. I’m not. But lately, I feel like I’m drifting, like I’m lost at sea with no safe port in sight. If I say any of this to Layla, though, she will only worry, and Layla has worried about me enough to last a lifetime.
I refuse to give her any more reasons to keep her up at night. I’m beyond happy she has found her forever, and they have never given me any reason to doubt what we have, but watching them raise their kids makes me wonder if, before long, I will even fit in it.
“It’s nothing.” I shake my head with a fake smile. “I guess I’m just a little bit nostalgic tonight. Sometimes I miss living here.”
“Well, the door is always open for you. You can always come live with us instead of the dorms. I know Alaric would sleep a whole lot better if he had all his kids sleeping under his roof.”
Yeah, that’s not happening. Living at the dorms finally gave me some sort of freedom. As much as I love Alaric to death, his constant overprotectiveness can be a bit stifling. If my adopted father had his way, he would have kept me under house arrest and only let me out when I was forty. Maybe not even then.
Layla loves that side of him. His possessive streak does it for her, but that’s because she’s his wife. If she were his kid, she wouldn’t find it so amusing.
When he found out I had my first kiss, he tracked the kid down and threatened to kill him if he touched me again. I was twelve. That poor boy couldn’t even look at me again without pissing his pants.
“Speaking of which, where is Alaric tonight?” I change the subject quickly, not wanting the worry in her eyes to bloom any further.
Layla runs the pad of her finger over the rim of her wine glass, not making any eye contact with me. To say my sister is the worst liar on planet Earth is an understatement, so before the words have left her mouth, I already know they are her diluted way of telling me the truth.
“He was called into work tonight. He should be home soon.”
“Work?” I raise my eyebrows. “For a guy who’s retired, his previous job sure keeps him busy.”
“You know how it is. His employer views him as indispensable and was sad to let him go, so Alaric promised to train someone to take his place, and until that person has shown he can pick up the slack, they want Alaric to keep an eye on him. After those loose strands are tied up, then I’m sure he can enjoy his retirement in peace,” she explains vaguely, her words hurried.
“Right,” I mumble, turning my back to her so I can grab a bottle of water from the fridge and prevent myself from calling my sister out on that whopper of a lie.
I would have to be living under a rock not to know what my sister means when she says Alaric still has unfinished business to attend to. As much as they tried to hide it from me, I know exactly what Alaric does for a living.
Or at least, I did.
Not only do I still have the memory of him blowing my prick of a father’s brains out, but I also have other lingering memories too. Like how Alaric would jump out of his seat and fly out the front door at all hours of the night anytime his burner phone rang. Or how when it was my turn to do the laundry, I would always find specks of blood on his clothes. Not to mention whenever we threw a party at our house, his friends and so-called coworkers were less than the unsavory kind.
They all had this air about them, like they had seen their fair share of death. It’s like the grim reaper kissed their forehead, leaving his permanent mark, and some, more than others, can’t seem to shake that imprint.
That’s what death does to a person. It clings to you like an oversized coat, swallowing you whole until the fucked-up fabric chokes the very life out of you.
I would know. Death’s black hand has paid me plenty of visits in the past too. I was marked on the day I helplessly watched my mom and brother die before my very eyes.
