“There,” he says, pushing his wet hair back from his face. “Better.”
And damn him, he’s right.
The hoodie clings to me like a second skin, heavy and soaked, but for the first time all day, I feel unburdened. I laugh. An honest, startled laugh that actually feels like it belongs to me.
Pink whoops in triumph, and even Blue joins in, his smile wide and gleaming.
For a heartbeat, it feels almost easy. Almost possible.
Maybe tonight, when I see Flyn, I can let myself believe in that possibility.
Maybe, just maybe, I can let him see me. Not the mask, not the shadow of my past, but the real me beneath it all.
Maybe he’ll stay.
“Thanks,” I say to Pink, my voice rough but real.
He just smiles softly in acknowledgement.
And for the first time in too long, I let myself hope.
Chapter eight
Flyn
I’m early. Ridiculously early.
The balloons are still half-inflated, the streamer bag is dumped in a heap on the kitchen counter, and the big cardboard castle Dad and I wrestled together yesterday afternoon looks like it’s leaning just a bit too far to the left. It’s not a safety hazard yet, but give it ten minutes and one overly enthusiastic five-year-old, and we’re probably looking at structural collapse.
“Thought you said three,” Cara calls from somewhere behind a mountain of wrapping paper. She emerges a second later, hair up in one of those messy knots she always pulls off without trying. There’s a purple streak of icing across her forearm, and she looks at me like she’s trying to decide if she’s grateful I showed up or if she wants to make me blow up the rest of the balloons as punishment.
I grin and hold up the bag of pastries I brought as a peace offering. “Technically, it is three. I’m just fashionably punctual.”
“You’re thirty-five minutes early.”
“That’s within the acceptable range.”
“Maybe if you’re eighty.”
I set the bag down on the counter, narrowly avoiding a sticky puddle of what I hope is jam and not some kind of crafting mishap. “Come on, you love having me early. Admit it.”
Cara snorts, but there’s a little tug of a smile at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t say it out loud, but I can see itin her eyes. Yeah, she’s glad I’m here. Things have been heavy for her lately. Heavy in that way they get when you’re a single mum of a firecracker kid and trying to juggle work, life, and planning a miniature princess-and-dragons themed blowout in your too-small apartment.
I roll up my sleeves and gesture grandly at the chaos around us. “Right. Where do you need me?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Streamers. I gave up about twenty minutes ago.”
“Streamers, my mortal enemy.” I grab the tangled mess and start sorting them out, looping them through my fingers like I know what I’m doing. Truthfully, I’ve never been great at party prep, but I’ll be damned if I let my niece’s birthday bash fall apart on my watch.
Cara moves around the kitchen, wiping icing off her arm with a damp cloth. She’s watching me the way she always does when she knows I’ve got something simmering under the surface. It’s a big sister thing. Like she’s got some built-in radar for my moods, even when I’m keeping things light.
“Alright,” she says, too casually, “Out with it.”
I feign innocence. “Out with what?”
“The thing that’s making you smile like an idiot.”
“Maybe I’m just happy to see my favorite sister.”
