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Me: What time do you need us today, and whose house?
Declan: I was getting ready to send a search party. The twins said you didn’t come home last night.
Asshole. If the twins told him I didn’t come home, then he knew exactly where I was.
Me: Do you want a sitter today or not?
Declan: Just saying…
Me: Well, don’t.
Brooks: Dec, I think you hit a nerve.
Me: You know what. Never mind. You can find someone else. Crosby and I are out.
Brooks: Bro, have we taught you nothing? You can’t make choices for her. They get pissed about that.
Declan: He’s right. She can make her own choices.
Me: Sure, let me talk to your wives about that.
Brooks: My wife will tell you that we decide together.
Declan: Mine too.
Me: Whatever.
Me: When and where?
Brooks: Declan’s place. Give me an hour to get my ladies moving and in the car.
Me: You better check with your wife.
Brooks: …
Declan: …
Me: That’s what I thought.
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I move to the porch to head inside. I glance over at the house the twins are renting from Sterling and Alyssa, and all is calm. I make a mental note to give them shit for telling everyone where I am. Hell, they probably started a group chat, leaving me out of it. Assholes.
Letting myself back in the house, I head toward the kitchen. Might as well make us some breakfast while Crosby is getting ready. A quick glance in the fridge has me deciding on scrambled eggs and toast.
I’m buttering the toast when she walks into the kitchen. She’s wearing a pair of leggings combined with a Willow River Elementary hoodie. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and I hope that I never forget how she looks at this moment. In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve seen a more relaxed side of her, and I love every moment of it.
“Hey, you hungry?” I nod to the plates on the counter.
“You cooked?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not gourmet or anything. Just scrambled eggs and toast.” I finish buttering the toast and place it on the second plate. Picking them both up, I turn to face her, and she’s standing frozen, just watching me. “Crosby?”
“I— No one has ever made me breakfast before.” Her confession is soft, and the grit in her voice tells me the confession was hard for her to make.
How is that possible? She must see the question in my eyes. She moves to grab the milk from the fridge and holds the gallon up, and I nod before sitting down. She busies herself by pouring two glasses as she starts to talk.
“My parents died when I was four.” She grabs the glasses and places them on the table before walking back to the counter and putting the gallon of milk back in the refrigerator. “I don’t remember them, so I guess I can’t say never. I know that when I was in foster care, most of the time, we had to fend for ourselves. Many times, it was breakfast at school, lunch, and nothing at home. How some of these families got approved as foster parents, I’m not sure. Don’t get me wrong. There were some good families, and they would make sure we had three meals a day, but for me, just me, no one has ever made me breakfast just for me.” She looks up from where she’s standing next to the counter. “Until you.”
I’m frozen in my seat. I want to go to her, but I don’t know if she’s finished talking, and now that I have her talking, giving me pieces of her past that she holds close to her chest, I’m afraid to even breathe for fear that she’ll stop talking.
“I see the look on your face, Rush. It wasn’t all bad. In fact, I consider myself lucky. I was safe in all the homes I was in. Sure, there were a few other foster kids, and even biological kids of the family, that tried things. But I used my voice and threatened to tell. That was enough to scare them off. I was lucky. So many who grew up like I did were not.” She moves to the table and pulls out her chair.
“Thank you for breakfast,” she says, her eyes finally finding mine.
She’s done, and I need to hold her. Pushing back in my chair, I’m kneeling beside her in seconds. With shaking hands, I place them on her cheeks, turning her head, so she’s looking at me. This beautiful broken girl. She’s afraid to love, for fear she won’t be loved back. That she’ll be left like she’s always been. I want to vow to be right beside her for eternity, but I can’t do that. I know Crosby well enough to know she doesn’t want the words. She wants the actions, and I plan to give them to her.
