Page 51 of Unbreakable Thread

No point in arguing with him; he wasn’t there. He doesn’t know our story and has never seen what I witnessed multiple times. To stir the conversation in another direction, I mention, “Um…do you think you can come to Utah on Saturday with me? I have another secret you can’t tell Max. Not yet, at least.”

Leo exhales heavily, sinking back into the stiff cushions with his legs stretched out. “You can’t possibly be thinking of moving. Max would move heaven and earth to track you down. He was completely unhinged the day you disappeared.”

I take two deep breaths before leaning against the couch, pressing my forehead against the cool upholstery. My sister scoots herself beside me. This is why this time I couldn’t bear to walk out on him as I had done before. He deserved to know I needed space to think. This time, I owed him a proper goodbye, not another vanishing act.

“No, I’m not moving. Before all this shit happened, I went to Max’s dad’s house and talked a lot of sense into him and shipped him to rehab. I’ve visited once, and I need to check on him this coming Saturday. I don’t want to mention it to Max until I know for sure Hector is going to stay sober.”

Leo’s brows bunch up like caterpillars. “You know…” He reaches for a strand of licorice on the coffee table. “At first, when I met you, you scared the hell out of me. Once I had the chance to get to know you, I saw that you’re as sweet as honey.” He rubs his chin. “Max has tried so many times to help his father, and he’s always refused help. I’m impressed you had that man go to rehab. Now I want to know what you said or did to get him to go. Did you threaten him?” He chuckles.

He probably thinks I went crazy. Okay, maybe I did just a little, but that is the only way I could get him to snap out of it. “I took a baseball bat with me.” I smack my lips together.

“Oh, heavens, Rainey, you didn’t beat the old man, did you?” Bethany gasps from behind, followed by what sounds like her hand flying to her chest. I swear she can be dramatic at times.

I roll my eyes. “I’m wounded. Do I look like a psychopath?”

“Well—”

I snap my gaze at Leo, and he gulps.

“Look, I just need someone to drive me. It’s about two hours away and...”

“You drive like a train wreck. We know,” Leo points out with a mouthful of licorice.

Something between a growl and a sigh escapes me. Why the hell does everyone say I drive horribly? I’m not that bad. “I was going to say I get nauseous. Sheesh.”

Leo offers to make dinner, and I will say he moves fluidly around the kitchen. His knife taps against the cutting board in a steady rhythm as he transforms bell peppers into perfect half-inch squares. When he switches to the flank steak, his movements quicken, the blade flashing under the kitchen lights as paper-thin slices fall away for the fajitas. When I asked how he learned to cook, he said a foster home he lived in taught him. The foster mom was the chef for one of the casinos.

It strikes me how it all comes full circle. We all meet with similar life stories: foster home, poverty, loneliness, trauma. We all share scars. Leo, Max, Drake, and I’m not sure what life Xander has had. Sometimes I wonder if we’re connected by something real or just by the things we’re all running from.

“Hey, Sunny.” Drake walks into the café like he owns whatever room he’s in. He always did.

“Hi,” I respond, sweeping the floor. It’s near closing time, and all I want to do is go home and sleep. Carrying a tiny human takes the energy out of you. “How have you been?” It’s so odd, peering at him. My memory of Drake as a teenage boy is all sharp elbows and quiet fury, standing between anything dangerous and the people he claimed. Now he looks like that boy grew into something the world couldn’t quite contain.

“Living life a day at a time, Sunny. How about you?”

“Me too.” A low groan escapes me when I shift. Oh tits, I’m only two months along. Just imagine when I’m the size of a whale. My back aches due to the size my breasts have grown, and the backpack I carry with my computer and water jug, plus my purse. Then at work, it adds to it.

Drake takes the chair I hung on the table to sweep under. “Sit,” he demands. What is it with these cavemen?

I raise my brow at him.

“Please sit and rest. You look exhausted.” He takes the broom from my hand and starts sweeping.

I nearly giggle at how he looks. He could probably snap it in half with ease.

“How’s school going? Max said it started a couple of days ago.”

The arch of my back stretches as I lean back in the chair, easing the pressure. “It’s been an adjusting week. So far, it has been good. They have no problem piling on the work.”

He nods, his chin barely dipping, and the table’s metal legs scrape against the tile floor like fingernails on slate as he shifts his weight to one hip and moves the furniture just enough to sweep beneath it. “I bet. I tried going to school after the military, but it just didn’t work out for me.” He gets into it with the broom, lifting my legs so he can clean under them.

“Now the answer I’m looking for when I asked how you’re doing is how are you doing in there?” He points to his temple. “You know, after finding out the truth.”

It seems like that’s the answer everyone keeps seeking.

“Can I ask you a question?” The place is empty. It’s just me closing.

He shifts his muscular body onto the broom. “Sure.”