Even in the chaos, I took a minute to note what a good guy he was.
“Home,” Carter grunted and then turned to look at me. “I’ll take her back to your house and keep an eye on her for the rest of the night.”
I shrugged. “Okay.”
Evan’s mouth gaped open and he shot me a scowl. “Okay?”
“Uh…I mean. Is that cool with you, kid?”
She never once looked up as she grumbled, “It’s gonna have to be, apparently.”
“There. Decision made.” Carter nodded at me and then at Evan before storming out the front door with Robin in his arms.
Evan closed the door behind them and then raked a hand through his hair. “What the fucking hell was that about?”
“No clue.”
“And, just to be clear, you’re not concerned at all that maybe letting her go with him was a bad idea? He was pissed and she didn’t seem all that excited about going.”
I waved him off. “Nah. She’ll be fine. Carter and Robin are tight and fight like siblings. He’s good to her. He’s just pissed she’s using again. Trust me. She’s safer with him than any other person in the world.”
He twisted his lips skeptically and glanced back at the door. “If you say so.”
I smiled at his concern. “She’s fine.”
He strolled over and cupped my jaw. “And what about you?”
“I’m better now.” I brushed my lips over his.
“Good. You want to tell me who she really is now?”
Leaning away, I cocked an eyebrow. “She’s my sister.”
“Really? Because she told me you were her dad.”
A LOUD GROAN rumbled in his throat. “She has got to quit telling people that shit.”
On our little trip back, I’d learned that Robin was twenty-one—only ten years younger than Henry. There was no possible way he was her father. But, after having witnessed Henry’s breakdown over her, I was incredibly interested to hear more about the dynamic between the two of them.
“So, then why don’t you tell me who she really is?”
“I already told you. She’s my sister,” he said defensively.
Gripping the back of his neck? I tipped my forehead to his. “We’re a ‘we’ now, remember?”
His eyes flared and his lips parted. “We.”
I nodded. “I’m just trying to understand what happened tonight. I hated seeing you like that, and I’m going to need all the facts if I’m going to prevent it from happening again.”
With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around my hips and pushed his hands into my back pockets. “She was my foster sister.”
I pressed my lips to his and then pulled him over to the couch with me. He settled into the corner, and I sat beside him with my leg curled up on the couch so I could face him. He was notably uncomfortable with the conversation, and I needed him to understand that he had my undivided attention—and support.
Taking his hands, I encouraged him. “Keep going.”
He glanced down at our linked hands and trailed his thumb over my knuckle, smiling like I’d just offered him the world. “She was five when she was placed in my foster home. I was fifteen and had a job washing dishes at a dive restaurant. The owner’s daughter had a bakery across town, so he sold her stuff as dessert. I can’t even tell you how addicted I was to those damn peanut butter cookies. You’d never catch me leaving work without one.”
He puffed his cheeks, insinuating he’d been fat. My only response was a teasing side-eye. He shook his head and continued.
“I got home one night and found her crying in the bathroom because she’d wet her bed. Poor kid was scared to death. I helped her clean herself up and fix up her bed. She was so damn cute it didn’t take but one sentence for her to wrap me around her finger. But it was what she asked that changed my life.” He paused and sucked in a shaky breath. “She asked me if I’d stay with her until she fell asleep. It was the first time anyone had ever needed me.” He swallowed hard. “I wasn’t a burden to her. I wasn’t a gay kid who needed to be fixed. I wasn’t a poor, pitiful foster kid no one gave a damn about. When those big, brown eyes looked up at me, I wasn’t Henry Gilchrist. I felt like Superman. That little girl saved my life, because she made me feel worthy.”
“Jesus,” I breathed, leaning forward to kiss his temple. I officially hated this story, but I adored that he was telling it to me. That made me feel worthy.
“Every night for the next three years, we shared a peanut butter cookie before she went to bed.”
“That’s why she calls you cookie,” I filled in as it dawned on me.
“Yeah. I was her Cookie Monster.” He laughed at the memory. “I had a whole lot of nothing back then, but she was always there, waiting for me with a huge, goofy grin. She used to beg me to play my guitar for her—even when I sucked at it. It took me a week, but I learned the theme to Sesame Street for her. God, I loved that little girl.” Pain was etched into his face, but he swayed toward me as though I could take it all away.