His shoulders relax almost immediately, his head dropping against my chest as his eyes close. I keep playing until his breath eases and those little fingers unclench one by one, the tension draining out of him like it finally found somewhere else to go. The last notes fade into the quiet, but my hands stay on the keys, not wanting to undo what we just fixed.
“Chevo stala?”What happened?“Can you tell Papa what made you upset?”
He shifts on my lap, fingers gripping my shirt again.
Brows pinching, he swallows, the effort visible on his face. “S-S-Sloane okay?”
A muscle in my jaw twitches. “Are you worried about her?”
His nod is immediate.
Of course he is. Lev doesn’t let things go the way other people do. Moments don’t just pass for him. They lodge and replay. A man raising his voice at her, the way she recoiled, the way the whole diner turned…that isn’t something his mind will set aside.
“She’s okay.” I make it sound like a fact, because he needs it to be. “What that man did will never happen again. Papa promises.”
His cheek presses to my chest and the breathwork I taught him kicks in, like he’s counting without counting. My hand moves along his back as seconds drift and the stiffness in his shoulders eases, but the worry doesn’t disappear completely.
“Do you want to go see her? I know it isn’t our day, but if you want to?—”
He nods instantly, practically vibrating with excitement.
A smile pulls at my face. This is not how Lev typically does things. Routine is the scaffolding of his world. All closets and doors have to be closed the right way, shoes lined up just perfectly, the same path, the same booth, on repeat. If one thing is off, he fixes it, or he spirals until I fix it.
But somehow Sloane found a gap in his life and filled it without asking permission.
And it hits me again, the same thought that has been stalking the edges of my mind since the first time I saw the way Lev softened to her.
What is it about Sloane that makes her so different?
CHAPTER NINE
SLOANE
Mandy leansagainst the counter beside me, talking nonstop about her birthday party this weekend while I top off the coffeepot, wearing the new manager tag on my shirt. She continues to tell me all about how we’re going to have the best time, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t plan on going.
I’ll just pretend I’m sick like all the other times she’s invited me out with her friends. There’s no way I can go. For starters, I have nothing to wear to a club. Second, I don’t even like clubs. I don’t drink, and I barely know how to dance without looking foolish.
She has other friends. She’ll be fine.
Sometimes I wish I had her life. Good parents, a house to call home, going to beauty school and making something out of herself. But that’s never going to happen for me. I’ve never even had dreams to begin with.
“I can grab us an Uber and we can go together,” she says while I try to figure out how to disappoint her. She nudges me with her hip. “I swear if you pretend you’re sick again, I will show up at your house and drag you out.”
Ugh, crap. That can’t happen. Also, how in the world did she know I was making it up?
My face falls. I hate lying, but telling her the truth is humiliating. So I go with a half-truth.
“Look, you know I love you, but money is super tight right now and I just can’t afford it. And I don’t even have anything cute to wear.”
She scoffs. “That’s it?”
“What?” Confusion settles over me.
“That’s why you never wanna come out?”
Well, that and the fact that I’m homeless…
But I nod instead.
