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I swallow roughly, scared that I’m so transparent. Relieved that I’m so transparent. That someone who loves Ziggy sees how I want to love her, too.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, earnestly. “That’s right.”
Oliver drops back against the shed’s wall on a hmph, folding his arms across his chest as he glares at Viggo.
Viggo gapes at his remaining brothers, as if for moral support. “C’mon, guys. Help me out.”
Axel shakes his head. “Nope. I was against this. There are great uses for Bergman Brothers Summits. This is not one of them.” He stands, dusting off his thighs. “I’m going back home to my wife and the quiet. You are too goddamn loud.”
With that, Axel slaps open the shed door and strolls out.
Ryder sits forward next, elbows on his knees, looking at me. “I’m uh…sorry for the Godfather move back there, but I just wanted the chance to say, before you walked in there—every time I talk to Ziggy, she talks about you. With so much love. She loves you.”
My heart jumps against my ribs.
“I don’t know what kind of love it is,” he adds, shrugging, lifting a hand to his hearing aid curled around his ear and seeming to make some sort of adjustment. “But I know all kinds of love matter and are beautiful. Whatever it is that you two share, I just want to know you’ll be good to her, the way I know she’ll be good to you.”
Now that I can respect. I nod. “I can promise that.”
Ryder smiles, a bright grin behind his dark-blond beard. “Excellent. Then I’ll be going.”
“Wha—” Viggo gapes at him.
Oliver pushes off the wall and stands, too. “I’ve said my piece. I’m out.”
The shed door swings shut, listing a little on its hinges as the wind moves it. Which leaves me and Viggo. Just the two of us.
Sitting back against the wall, I cross my ankles, arms folded across my chest. “So, here we are. I feel like we’ve been working our way toward this for a while.”
“No you don’t.” Viggo stands and starts pacing. “You don’t get to lead this meeting.”
I glance around, eyebrows raised. “You see anybody else here? I’m just talking.”
Viggo knocks back his ball cap and tugs at his hair, spinning and facing me as he slaps it on again. His eyes are tight, his face hard. “From one self-admittedly glib person to another, I really don’t appreciate how cavalier you’re being.”
I sit up slowly, perking up to that. He’s not wrong—at least, he’s not wrong about who I used to be—brushing off what mattered to people, to myself, being flippant and sarcastic, hiding myself from earnest sentiment and genuine feeling. “Okay.”
Viggo seems to deflate a little at that. He turns and half-heartedly kicks over a bucket. “I’m probably not the brother you thought you’d be left to talk with. But Ren’s not here, so I have to do this—”
“Ren trusts me. I’m not worried about what he’ll think of this.”
I have no doubt that if Ziggy wants what I’m about to ask her for, and we tell Ren, he’ll be nothing but happy for us, that he’ll wrap us in that big wingspan hug and crush us to him.
Viggo drops onto a box that lets out a little puff of dust as he lands. “You aren’t?”
“I’m not.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “But I am worried about you.”
Viggo sniffs, glancing off. His jaw’s hard, I can see that, even beneath the beard. “She’s my baby sister.”
I smile, oddly moved. “I know.”
“She’s…she’s the best person, and if you hurt her, I swear to God…” He wipes his nose, then glares at me. “I worry about her, okay? She had a really tough time when she was younger.”
“I know.”
Ziggy told me around Christmastime, one night after family dinner at her parents’, the fire burning, letting out soft hisses and pops, what she’d started saying months ago that first night we hung out—how hard middle and high school were, how much her mental health suffered, until she got her diagnosis, and even for a little while afterward. How Ren picked her up and took her to Betty’s Diner, bought her as many milkshakes and fries as she wanted and just listened to her as she told him everything she was too scared and anxious to tell anyone else. How Frankie came into her life right around then, another autistic woman with a job she loved and clothes that felt good and a wicked sense of humor; someone who showed her it might be hard then, but it would get easier, that she’d find a way forward and learn to be happy in the life she was figuring out.
I loved Frankie and Ren before that already, but after that conversation, I loved them infinitely more.
