“Pest,” I warn.
“Seriously, Reed? You’re never going to tell her what you did for her. How you got her out of that whole stupid juvie situation with D —”
“Keep talking and I’ll hang up,” I cut her off.
Her sigh is long and loud. “Fine. Fine. Whatever. I won’t say a word. Except.”
“Except what?”
“Except to tell you that I love you,” she says sweetly.
I’m suspicious. “You love me.”
“Yes,” she chirps. “And I think you’re the best brother in this whole world. Even though you broke my best friend’s heart.”
Despite everything, my chest warms, but I do have to ask, “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” She’s outraged. “I just… I know how much you hate seeing Dad and now you’re back there. So I don’t wanna fight with you.”
I swallow.
The only good thing about the past two years is that I was in New York, close to Pest. So if she wanted me, I could go to her immediately. I could be there for her.
But now I’m here and it fucking sucks.
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
“You always say that. But I know. I know you hate Dad.”
“As I said, Pest, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” I say because she doesn’t have to.
She’s my little sister. I’m supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.
“But I do,” she replies. “You’re my brother. Actually, you’re not only my brother, you’re my everything. You’re my person, Reed. And you’ve been there for me like no one else has. Not Mom, who doesn’t really have the energy for anything other than Dad. And definitely not Dad and —”
“That’s because he’s an asshole.”
I don’t really care how he treats me. How he uses me or manipulates me or fucks with me. How he wants to control me. I don’t even care about the fact that my mother doesn’t have the time or energy for me.
I don’t need their time or love or affection or whatever the fuck kids get from their parents.
But Pest is sensitive. She needs them. It hurts her that Mom doesn’t care about her and that Dad has no use for her. All she’s really got is me.
The guy who knows nothing about love or how to be sensitive and shit.
But I made a promise when we were kids. When she’d come to me, crying and upset, that Mom wouldn’t play with her or that Dad wouldn’t see her science project, that I’d be there for her.
I’ll protect her, and that’s one promise I intend to keep.
“Yes, he is,” she says, breaking into my thoughts. “But I don’t need him. Because you take care of me. You’re my hero.”
“I am, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, then you should listen to me and stop calling me in the middle of the night for no fucking reason.”
She growls. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
