“Her baby sister?” he questions. “Something you haven’t told me, friend?”
He’s kind of a mess. His light brown hair is shaved close to his head, and he looks like he hasn’t showered or shaved or slept even in days. His clothes are just as crusty-looking as the rest of him.
“The baby isn’t his,” Skylar says dismissively, and wow, that stings. I know how she’s saying it and what she means by that, but still. She must realize this because she looks at me, and an apology instantly flickers in her eyes. She crosses the room right in front of her brother and touches my cheek. “I’m sorry. That’s not how I meant it.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean to imply it’s not yours. I know it is. I was just explaining… ugh. You know.”
I grin down at her. “I know. It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
I nod and bend to kiss her, and that’s when Micha kind of loses it.
“Are you kidding me right now? When were you going to tell me that you’re fu—er”—he glances down at Zoey—“messing around with my sister?”
Instead of addressing Micha in front of my daughter, I bend to face Zoey. “Hey, Zo-Zo, you’ve got school in the morning.”
“But I’m not tired,” she whines in protest.
“I know, but you’ll get to see Uncle Micha in the morning. Give him another hug and then scoot back up to bed.”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “Night, Uncle Micha.”
“Night, Zoey-Zo. I’ll make sure I’m up in the morning to see you before school, and then after school we can hang out.”
“Okay,” she chirps, gives him a hug, and runs back upstairs. I’m shocked that it was so easy as it was. I was expecting a fight and tears, but right now I’ll take it.
“Why don’t we go into the kitchen?” I suggest. “You look like you’ve been flying since Jesus was an infant and could likely use a drink.”
“Since Jesus was an infant?” he deadpans.
“It was my polite way of saying you look like shit.”
He smirks and shakes his head but actually walks into the kitchen without an argument, and now I’m two for two. Hopefully this keeps going. Skylar squeezes my hand, and we walk into the kitchen, but I end up grabbing one of my oversized hoodies from the sofa and handing it to Skylar for her to put on, which she does with a grateful smile.
Micha heads straight for his liquor cabinet while Skylar climbs up onto one of the stools. She’s smiling, not the least bit concerned with any of this. Micha pours two small glasses of whiskey and slides one across the stone counter to me.
“No poison?”
“Not yet,” he tells me, and I laugh.
“Welcome home.” I raise my glass to his, and we clink them before we both drink our large shots down. The whiskey is hot and harsh as it slides down my throat, and I use that to drive me forward. “Why did you tell me you weren’t going to make it?”
He shrugs. “Surprise.”
Skylar rolls her eyes. “Then you get what you deserve. It’s after ten.”
“Explain to me what’s going on,” he demands, leaning against the counter as he pours himself another. “Because this isn’t what you told me. Neither of you.”
“I love her,” I tell him simply.
He stares at me for an eternity after that. “You love her?”
“And she loves me.”
“I do,” Skylar confirms. “It’s true. He’s hot and good in bed.”
