As we finish cleaning, I eye Lenny. “Good run?”
He nods, a contented smile on his face. “Yeah, it was great. You know, Wren, I’ve been thinking…”
“Dangerous pastime,” I tease.
He rolls his eyes. “Haha. Seriously, though, I’m thinking of sticking around for another year after graduation. Maybe work at Old Man Jenkins’ horse ranch. Could help out more with Lexi, you know?”
I pause, surprised. “You sure? What about college?”
Lenny shrugs. “It’ll still be there. Besides, this place… it’s good for us, you know?”
I do know.
Three freakin’ years, and I still can’t get over how quiet it is here. No honking horns, no sirens, just the occasional bark of a neighbor’s dog or the crunch of tires on gravel.
No drunk assholes picking fights outside our window at 3 AM. No wondering if we’ll have enough cash to keep the lights on this month. No checking under the bed every night to make sure our old man hasn’t snuck in to raid our emergency stash.
Shit, what a difference. Back in Chicago, we were always on edge. Me trying to scrape together enough for rent and food. Em pulling all-nighters, determined to get that scholarship so she could get the hell out.
We did it, though. Em’s safe in her fancy university dorm, probably drowning in pretentious coffee and textbooks. Last I heard, John was still stumbling around the old neighborhood, too drunk to notice or care that we’d vanished.
Sometimes, I feel a twinge of guilt for leaving Em behind. But she’s tough as nails, that one. Smart enough to keep her head down and her mouth shut. Besides, she was safer there than with us. No one’s looking for a college kid who keeps to herself. Us? We were the ones who needed to disappear.
“Uncwe Lenny, cawwy me!” Alex’s voice yanks me back to reality. His stubby arms reach up, fingers opening and closing like he’s trying to grab the air itself.
I can’t help but stare at the kid. Two and a half years old, and he’s already got half the town wrapped around his finger. His black hair’s a disaster, sticking up every which way like he just rolled out of bed. But it’s those eyes that get me every time. Arctic blue, cold and clear as the sky on a winter morning.
They’re all his father’s.
D’s.
It’s like someone xeroxed D’s face onto a toddler. Same hard jaw, same straight nose. Even the way his forehead scrunches up when he’s dead set on something—like now, trying to get Lenny to pick him up—it’s pure D. Sometimes it’s like I’m looking at a miniature version of D.
But hell, I can’t help but love this mini-version of the bastard.
Lenny hoists him up, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Christ, you’re getting heavy, squirt. What’s Momma been feeding you, rocks?”
Alex laughs, a sound that still throws me for a loop sometimes. How the hell did I end up with a kid who sounds like that? Like he’s got no clue how fucked up the world can be.
Lenny bounces Alex on his hip, and the kid shrieks with joy. His small hands grab Lenny’s shirt, holding on tight. It hits me then, watching them. This is what normal looks like. This is what we clawed our way out of hell for.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, agreeing with Lenny’s earlier comment. “It is good for us.”
I see it in how relaxed Lenny’s shoulders are, in Alex’s easy laugh. In the way neither of them jumps at every little noise. In the fact that we can just… exist.
Shit. When did I turn into such a goddamn softie?
But it’s not just me. Lenny, too.
Three years ago, he was this scrawny, wide-eyed kid, all elbows and knees, looking like a strong wind might blow him over. Now? Shit. The mountain air and small-town life have worked their magic. He’s filled out, shoulders broad, and arms corded with lean muscle from helping out at the ranch. His face has lost that pinched, anxious look, replaced by an easy confidence that makes my chest ache with pride.
Gone is the twitchy kid who’d jump at his own shadow. Now he’s got this annoyingly zen vibe like he’s some mountain guru who’s got life all figured out. His jaw could cut glass, and there’sthis glint in his eye that screams, “I can handle whatever bullshit life throws at me.”
If we were back in the city, I’d be beating the girls off with a stick.
But it’s not just the muscles and the pretty-boy face. There’s something else, something in the way he carries himself. Like he’s finally comfortable in his own skin. This hidden town’s done what years of my nagging couldn’t—turned my little brother into a proper man… And just when I’m starting to think my baby brother’s finally all grown up, I notice the socks.
Not matching.
