Travis.
And why he is clinging to my sister.
My imagination keeps conjuring the image of a blond boy her age, talking with her, making her laugh, sharing ice cream. Each picture cuts like a knife, and not one of them sits well with me.
Does this happen to every brother? This strange, scorching burn in the chest?
But I can’t deceive myself the way I deceive everyone else. The truth is clear. The fact that I’m her brother has nothing to do with what I’m feeling.
And I hate it. I hate all of this. Because it’s wrong.
So very wrong.
A soft knock sounds on my door.
Knowing exactly what I’m feeling, and knowing all too well how wrong it is, I still rise from the bed as quickly as I can. Within six seconds I reach the door and pull it open.
She’s standing there in yellow pajamas, a wide grin blooming across her face.
“You’re wearing Tokayo’s T-shirt!” she squeals, coming inside before I can respond, shutting the door behind her.
“Who is Tokayo?”
She runs her small hands over the cartoon characters printed across my chest and stomach. “Tokayo is a cartoon. These are Tokayo’s friends—Mili, Dia, andWanti. I love Tokayo. I also have matching pajamas.” Her amber eyes flick up to mine, gleaming. “Do you want me to wear them?”
I shake my head. “It’s already late. Go to sleep.”
She pushes me aside and moves to my bed with a grin. “I’ll sleep here.”
I shakes my head. “You’re not a child anymore. Go to your bed and sleep there.”
“I’m five years younger than you,” she counters with a pout. “That still makes me a child compared to you. And there’s nothing wrong with me sleeping in your bed.”
I walk over and sit on the mattress, but before I can argue further she grabs my arm, her small fingers curling around my bicep. With surprising insistence she tugs until I let her drag me down beside her.
She immediately wraps an arm around my shoulders, resting her head against one. “You’ve grown so much, Zoan. I can’t even reach all the way around you anymore.”
Her hand slides down, curling over my chest. “Even here, you’re so hard… and broad.”
She presses her cheek against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist. “You’ve become a thick, hard pillow. My neck will start aching.”
“Then sleep on a pillow,” I murmur.
She tilts her head up, glaring at me. “You don’t love me anymore.”
I close my eyes. “Stop talking nonsense and sleep.”
She scoffs under her breath. “You only know how to order people around.”
A small smile tugs at my lips.
Thirty-eight minutes and fifty seconds later, her breathing evens out. I wait in silence, counting every second until the fortieth minute.
I carefully move her arm aside and rise from the bed. I unlock my room door first, then hers, before returning to lift her into my arms.
After tucking her into her own bed, I lower myself onto the floor beside her. For a long moment, I watch her sleep, the faint flutter of her closed eyelids, the glow of moonlight on her cheeks. She is the most calming sight my eyes have ever known, but I also know this serenity won’t last forever. In a few years, everything will change.
chapter 8
