Page 214 of The Encore’s Crown

“I love Ma, but she did exactly what she’s doing in there. She made excuses. She clung to the person hurting us and acted like surviving him was the same as being loved by him.” He rubs his thumb against the cigarette filter. “You were the only person who tried to protect me. The only one who made me feel like I wasn’t insane for wanting out.”

“Rith—”

“You and Rafe, then Ronan. I know I talk a lot of flowery bullshit, but that’s the truth.” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard. “You’re the reason any of this exists. The reason I’m still here or ever picked up a guitar. You aren’t just one part of it, Kiri. You’re the whole fucking thing.”

My throat closes. I stare at him, trying to find some way around what he’s just handed me.

“Shut up before I get them to stick you in a room with a pair of grippy socks.”

A laugh bursts out of him, raspy and startled.

“I could use a vacation.”

“Same. Think they offer a family package?”

“I bet we could convince Marisol.”

“She’s already looking for an excuse to sedate you.”

“She’d miss me.”

We’re both laughing now, tears caught in it, neither one of us making any real effort to hide them. Even with his swollen eyes and the remains of a cigarette between his fingers, Rithy somehow looks like he’s posing for some high fashion Vogue spread. My famous little brother makes every stage his playground and tears sounds out of a guitar I’ve never heard anyone else come close to. It’s like every piece of his heart, all the pain, trauma, joy, and talent, found a way to bleed through the strings. And he thinks I’m the reason any of it exists?

I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

I reach over and pull him into me and he comes without fighting. For a while, neither of us pretends. His face presses into my shoulder, my hand locks around the back of his neck, and we let ourselves cry for every version of us that had to survive long enough to reach this bench. Then I shove him away before we turn into complete assholes.

“Put that out.”

“You’re not my real dad.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

He crushes the cigarette beneath his shoe. I hold up my right hand and extend my pinky.

Rithy looks at it.

The old promise sits between us. The one we made when we finally left that house behind. Never going back. Never letting him own us again.

“We did it,” I say. “For good this time.”

His pinky hooks around mine.

“We did.”

I pull him into another hug, tighter and shorter this time.

“Now let’s go save her like we always said we would,” I murmur against his neck. “She needs us.”

Rithy nods against my shoulder. When we separate, his eyes are still red, but some of the rage has drained out of them. He stands and brushes ash from his coat.

“I look too good to be this sad.”

I roll my eyes. “There's plenty of sad supermodels.”

“Yeah, but they’re sad because they can’t eat.”

“Fuck, I’m starving, actually.”