“Oh ...o-kay,” she says finally.“We’ll be there if it’s that important.If you give us an address?—”
“There are rules,” I cut in.“One of them: you get picked up tomorrow.No questions asked.”I press my lips together.“Can you do that?”
“I can do rules,” Kit answers.“But you’ll owe me a better explanation when I get there.”
“We’re just—” I stop.‘Protecting’ might set off alarms, and I don’t want to give them anything that sounds dramatic over the line.“It’s necessary, because of the way things are.”
“So you two are never going to come out ...as a couple?”
“That’s a great question, Kit.When the time is right and everyone’s ready,” I say.“The three of us.”
“You ...but she—” Kit chokes on the rest.
“Just trust us and come, okay?”I cut her off before the worry can widen into something worse.She knows which three I mean.
“I’ll see all of you?”The question cracks into a sob.
“Yeah,” I say.“But keep it together, Kit.For me, okay?Not a word—not even to Rod—until you get here.”
“I can do that.”She swallows.“I’ll keep my mouth shut until morning.”
I hope she can keep that promise, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she tells Roderick.I guess that’s what you do when you’re in a couple.Maybe that’s why things haven’t worked out that well between us—Cleo, Eddie, and me—up until now, we kept secrets from each other, and they have a way of eating you from the inside.Can we change and become better versions of ourselves?
ChapterTwenty-Three
Barret
The pilot kills the engine before the door opens.One second, the world is a drumbeat of rotors and diesel.The next, the blades slow and the noise collapses into a stunned, cold hush.The blast of wind dies away and leaves a thin, clean air that smells like fuel and frost.I blink and see Kit first—Arlo tucked against her collarbone, his tiny fist caught around her thumb.
Roderick hovers a half-step behind her, checking the carrier straps with two quick, practiced motions.Kit hands me a diaper bag and a small carry-on; the diaper bag sags where a bottle and rolled onesies press against the fabric, the carry-on zipped tight.They travel like parents who have rehearsed disaster and still refuse to be surprised.
“Hey, Kit.”
She looks up and gives me that slight smile.“I hope that it’s good to be here?”She glances at Roderick, then back at me.“He’s hoping that everyone is here—including Cleo.”
I sigh.“You told him, didn’t you?”
She shrugs.“Hinted that everyone might be here but wasn’t too direct.”She presses her lips together.“I remembered what Rhodes mentioned the other day.If we speculate and it gets to the wrong ears, we could be in trouble ...”The way her voice trails off with the last words makes my heart hurt.
“Let’s go inside,” I suggest, tapping Roderick’s arm.“Thank you for trusting me and coming.”
He glares at me.“I still want to kill you.”
“You look good.”I ignore his threat and grin.It’s a stupid grin, probably the pleasure of seeing someone you care about looking like they’ve won something hard.
Arlo makes a tiny scratching noise in his sleep, and turns his head, lashes dark against his cheek.I crouch without thinking, the bag sliding from my shoulder to my opposite hip, and offer my hands like everyone does: awkward, hopeful, the universal ask to meet a child.Kit shifts him closer, careful as always.
“You can hold him,” Kit says, like she’s offering me an honor.Her voice is thin with the late-night kind of tired only new parents carry.
I take him.He’s a lot bigger than I remember.He smells like boiled milk and faint, clean powder.His mouth opens in a tiny, inquisitive line and for a second—because nature is a savage, perfect comic—he grimaces as if to protest my fingers and then settles, breathing slow and even.
“So, I take he likes to protest about everything like his father?”I joke.
And Roderick glares at me.
Kit snorts, a real, bright sound.“He can be sweet like his father.Likes to protest because he believes everything should be about him.”
Roderick takes Arlo from me.“Everything is about my boy and his mama.”
