Her anguish blindsides me because I feel it, too, and I’ve never given a shit about anything before. Not really. I do care about Bree, and I care enough about my dog to have had the decency to drop him off with her on my way over here, so he wouldn’t be alone during the storm.
But my sister’s pain has never been my pain. Her heartbreaks and setbacks have never kept me up at night. I’m desensitized to other people’s misery because I’ve always been too wrapped up in my own.
Not now, though. Not right now while she gazes up at me with those wounded, green eyes, like her whole world is nothing but shambles and faded embers.
I feel it, too.
And it’s kind of a sickly feeling—a kick to my gut, a searing lump in the back of my throat. I want to cut it out of me. Reject it.
Reject her, just like I’ve been trying to do since the day she stumbled into that meeting like my own personal tornado, determined to wreak havoc on me with her endless smiles and happy little sunbeams.
We hold our stare for another beat before Melody turns her attention back to the front window and zeros in on the elderly woman. She inhales sharply. “Mrs. Porter…”
I watch as Melody doesn’t think twice, doesn’t even fucking hesitate, before slipping into her shoes and running out the front door and across the street, dodging scattered debris and fallen tree branches along the way. My own feet carry me to the open doorway, my eyes following her petite figure as she meets Mrs. Porter on her front lawn and envelops the frail woman in a tight hug. No faltering, no indecision, no thought to herself or her own burdens.
Just empathy.
As I linger in the entryway, my fingers tapping restlessly against the frame and my insides humming with feelings I don’t recognize, I do something I’ve never done before.
I make my way into Melody’s kitchen, and instead of packing up my shit and bolting, I sift through her cabinets until I find a box of garbage bags.
Then I step out her front door and get to work.
—SEVENTEEN—
Bree barrels through my foyer later that week with a box of doughnuts, interrupting my afternoon nap on the couch with Walden, who is curled up in a ball near my feet. I’m pretty sure it’s the first time he’s ever actually made the effort to hop up here with me.
The backside of my arm is draped over my forehead as I grumble a hello to my sister, peering over at her with only one eye open. This is the first day off I’ve had in months, so I kind of just want to go back to sleep.
“Oh, my God… look at your dog, Parker.”
Bree’s chipper voice has me blinking both eyes open as I pull myself halfway up by the arms. I glance at the black and white furball at the end of the couch, all withered and bony, with dark moles and skin tags casing his skin. “He looks old as fuck,” I mumble, then scrub a palm down my face.
“His hair is growing in,” Bree beams. “I thought he looked different when you dropped him off the other day.”
She dashes—legitimately dashes—over to us, her brown curls bouncing with each step. My eyebrow arches with skepticism. “Doubtful.”
“I’m serious. Look at these fresh patches of hair. Did you change his diet?”
“No. He eats the kibble you bought a psychotic amount of, and sometimes that nasty shit in a can that looks like gelatinous slug guts.”
“Seems to be working. Keep it up.”
“Slug guts noted.”
Bree leans over the back of the couch, giving Walden a scratch between his ears that causes the poor animal to startle awake because he’s deaf as bricks. “Sorry, pup. Didn’t mean to scare you,” she coos, her smile wide.
Walden lets out a heavy sigh and goes back to sleep. Lucky bastard.
Heaving my legs over the side of the couch, I scratch at my overgrown stubble and throw my sister a quick glance. I do a double-take when I discover her studying me with that knowing smirk, her chestnut eyes glittering. “What?”
“You’re finally getting laid, aren’t you?”
“What the fuck?”
Bree puckers her lips, staring at me, all squinty and scrutinizing. “You are.”
“You’re clearly under the influence of something.”
“So are you,” she quips. “What’s her name?”
“Bye.”
“Parker, come on. Your house is the cleanest it’s probably ever been, your dog is suddenly sprouting fur like a Chia Pet, and…” She paces over to my side of the couch and twirls a manicured finger in front of my face. “This.”
“My perpetual scowl?”
“You look… different.”
An aggravated groan escapes me as I push myself up from the couch cushions and storm away, already knowing she’s going to follow. Relentless. “Wishful thinking, Bree. I’m still the same old joyless curmudgeon you’ve come to know, and for some unknown reason, love.”
Bree trails me into the kitchen, her never-ending optimism trailing with her. She coils her fingers around my wrist to stop my intentional avoidance. “Hey. Stop for a second.”
Closing my eyes, my jaw tight, I slowly spin to face her.
“Parker.”
“Bree,” I drawl.
“Will you look at me, please?”
Fucking hell. I appease her request, but make sure I do it as miserably as possible—eyebrows pinched, lips pressed together, glare indignant. Bree’s gaze slides over me like she’s studying for a final exam, soaking up each line and crease, memorizing every detail. She’s in research mode. Her little nose scrunches up, making it look like the freckles peppering her high cheekbones scatter and spread. Her thick, dark eyebrows wrinkle with curiosity. I let out something that falls between a sigh and a huff, laced with exasperation, and fold my arms over my chest. “Are you done?”
Bree’s taupe-tinged lips curl up. “Who is she?”
“I’m not sleeping with anyone.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I open my mouth to speak, then clamp it shut. My teeth grind and grate, the muscles in my arms twitching. I’m not planning on indulging Bree because it means nothing—she means nothing—but it slips out anyway. “She’s just someone I met at those dumb fucking meetings you forced me into.”
“Oh, my God…”
I’m appalled when she starts to cry. “What are you doing? Don’t fucking do that. Why are you doing that?”
Bree throws herself at me with a strained whimper, wrapping me up in a bone-crushing hug and weeping into the front of my shirt. Her hair smells like it did when we were kids, something like baby powder and wild orchids, and I can’t help but deflate a little as the crimpy curls tickle my nose. “It’s nothing… and it’s not going anywhere.”
“It’s not nothing, Parker. It’s not.” She pulls her cheek from my chest, wiping away tearstains with the back of her wrist, then she presses her palm up against my heart. “One year ago, I thought I was going to lose you, but you were given a second chance. A chance I never thought you’d ever learn to appreciate.”
I stiffen, glancing away and blowing out a hard breath. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”