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“Astro!” The boy runs in, aiming a dimpled grin at him, and then he turns to Dal. “Dal!”
Surprising me, Dal picks the little boy up and swings him around. “Hey, Theo.”
I watch them with disbelief, and Cil leans in. “Astro’s nephew. His sister lives here. Her husband was an abusive asshole and we got her away from him. I bet she’s working right now. She’s studying to be a doctor.”
I look at the kid, wondering what he’s seen or been through, and something twinges in my heart when he turns to me with a smile. “I’m Theo.” He sticks his hand out, and I shake it softly.
“Reign.”
“Are you that singer my mom says Uncle Astro is obsessed with?”
I laugh as Astro coughs and blushes. “Shh, don’t ruin my rep, kid.”
“Off to bed with you,” Gloria says.
“But I can’t sleep. Will you sing to me?” He pouts up at her.
Oh, this kid is good.
“Now, Theo.” She props her hands on her hips. “We have talked about this.”
“Yeah, she sounds like a bag of cats being hit by a wall.” Glein laughs, and they all join in.
“Reign, you sing, so will you sing me to sleep?” Theo turns to me, so hopeful.
“Oh, um—”
“She’s a guest, Theo, and tired. Maybe another night,” Glein says, but I swallow, looking into those baby-blue eyes that remind me so much of my little brother, it almost makes me cry. Besides, singing always makes me feel better, and right now, I need some peace, and the guys probably need to talk to Astro’s parents.
“Sure.” I stand, offering my hand. “Show me to your room?”
“Oh, Reign, you don’t have to,” Astro’s mom protests, wringing her hands in worry.
“It’s okay, I promise.” I grin as Theo tugs me down the hall and upstairs as they laugh. Once in his room, he leaps into a bed made with dinosaur bedding and shuffles down, patting the chair next to it.
Grinning, I sit. “What do you want?”
“A story or….a song!” he yells and passes me a book.
I freeze, staring down at the title. “Peter Pan?” I whisper, throat tight.
“It’s my favorite. Do you like it?” he asks.
“I do.” Biting my lip, I stare down at the familiar cover. Mine was a little more worn and stolen from the local library, and when my dad destroyed it in anger one night, I had to get creative. “It was my little brother’s favorite.”
“Really?” He sits up.
“Really. When he couldn’t sleep, I would read and then sing it to him,” I reply, stroking the cover.
“Was he scared of the dark too?” he whispers trustingly, and I jerk my head up and smile softly.
“Yes and no. He was scared of what hid in the dark in our house.” He frowns, and I shuffle closer. “Your house is filled with good things, though. I can tell.”
“He liked it though, so it helped?”
I nod once more. “I would sing him to sleep so he could dream of adventures and good things and be anywhere but there. It’s why I became a singer actually, why I started to play—to give us an escape.”
“You love him.” He nods, peering up at me.
