It made my chest ache.
“That was my mom’s birthday two years ago.”
The brown hallway carpet was patchy and worn, and the door to Felix’s bedroom creaked ominously. The walls were yellowish, and there were posters and pictures torn from magazines taped haphazardly over them. A double bed and desk sat against the far wall and two bunk beds were against the near. Felix dropped his backpack on the floor next to the double bed and fell backward onto it with his arms outstretched. It let out an ungodly scream.
“Home, sweet home.” He winked at me and tried to pull me down on top of him. I resisted, legitimately concerned I might break the bed.
But when Felix looked up at me with those big eyes and said, “C’mere,” I let him tug me down. The bed sank threateningly but Felix didn’t seem worried, and I guessed he’d know better than me. Besides, when he wrapped his arms around me and cuddled me into a hug, I couldn’t really do anything but relax against him and press a kiss to his neck.
“My brother under there somewhere?” a voice said at the door, and I jerked my head to see a real-life version of the boy in the picture, years older, standing in the doorway, staring at me with a wry smile.
There was no dignified way to roll myself off Felix and back onto my feet, so I did the best I could.
“Hey, Lucas,” Felix said, climbing out of the bed too.
He hugged his brother, who was a few inches taller than him and had a gawkiness that suggested he might grow a few more.
“This is Dane. Dane, Lucas.”
I held out my hand and Lucas shook it, giving me a look that seemed appropriately skeptical, given he’d found me on top of his brother just moments before.
“Good to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said. “Hope you let Felix be on top sometimes. I’d hate to lose him in a freak sex accident.”
He delivered it with such a dry, deadpan tone that it took me a moment to realize he was joking.
“He’s always exactly where he wants to be,” I said, equally deadpan.
Fortunately, Felix laughed.
“Is Adrian coming?”
“Yeah, he’s working, but he’ll be here in a bit. Ramona’s staying over too. Think she’ll want to stay in here with us or in the rock star room?”
He winked. Apparently news traveled fast in the Rainey family.
“Can’t believe Coco Swift’s gonna be in my house. She’s wicked hot.” He screwed up his face. “Can’t believe she’s dating my sister instead of me.”
“You’re not staying in here,” Felix said.
“It’s my room, bro. Where do you think I’m sleeping?”
“Couch.”
“Come on!”
“Listen,” Felix said, leaning in close to Lucas. “Dane’s really, really loud.”
I snorted and decided I’d let them figure it out.
“I’m going to see if your mom needs help,” I told Felix.
Mostly, I didn’t want to hear what else they’d resort to in the debate over sleeping arrangements. I found Maya in the kitchen, grabbing things out of cabinets and the refrigerator.
“Need a hand?”
She gave me a leisurely once-over.
“Thanks. Usually Felix can’t stop himself from helping me.”
“He’s, uh, negotiating with his brother.”
She grinned, eyes crinkling like Felix’s did.
“Smart move getting out of there. Usually they end up wrestling for it, whatever it is.”
“Who wins?”
She put a hand on her hip and cocked her head. Her eyes were shrewd, but not unfriendly.
“Who do you think wins?”
Lucas was bigger than Felix, probably stronger. But Felix had certainly been bigger for years when they were young.
“Lucas wins because Felix never wants to hurt anyone.”
Maya smiled at me.
“That’s right. You can chop those for the sauce, please.” She pointed to the vegetables on the counter. “I’m making spaghetti and meatballs. Do you cook?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Another long look, then we began to work side by side. I kept waiting for her to ask me all the questions—the ones I imagined parents asked when they met their child’s partner—but she didn’t. I was sure it was just a matter of time.
“Felix always helped me a lot, and when he was little he wanted to learn how to make meatballs. When he saw that it was ground meat balled up he was so disappointed, because he thought it was going to be like ice cream and he would scoop the balls of meat right out of the cow.”
I barked out a laugh and Maya smiled.
“He said he used to make spaghetti with hot dogs.”
“Oh, God, yeah,” she groaned. “I hope I die without ever tasting that again. It was truly vile. But.” She shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers. My mom was a great cook, but I was never very interested in learning, so I always made whatever was easy. I always thought she’d teach my kids to cook instead, but she died when Felix was three. I remember the first time he made that hot-dog thing for the kids. I got home from work and he’d saved me a bowl with tinfoil over it. God, he was so little. He was waiting for me, so proud of himself. He watched me take a bite to make sure it was okay. I choked it down and told him he did a good job, and he smiled at me in that way he has. You know?”