The boy gives him a smug smirk and runs away. A shrill whistle and a shout of “No running!” pierce the air.
Marcel never played those kinds of cruel big brother pranks on me when I was little. I felt safe whenever I was with him. Was he a natural-born protector? Or did he feel responsible for my safety because our parents were so lax? I touch my stomach, hoping Alexa will look out for her siblings and not resent them.
A hand tickles my hip under the water. Blake’s big body rises next to me, with Alexa on his shoulders.
“Yeeee!” She lifts both arms in the air like she’s finally living out all her mermaid fantasies.
Dripping water over my shoulders, Blake leans in and brushes his lips against my neck. “You all right?”
“Did you see that?” I lift my chin toward the dad and the drenched little girl who’s still crying.
“Yeah.” He lifts Alexa off his shoulders and dips her toes in and out of the water. “That dipstick dad should’ve been paying attention to his kids instead of trying to eye-fuck the teenage lifeguard.”
“Ewww.” I glance at the lifeguard station, but it’s empty now. No sign of the little boy.
Alexa’s quiet, swirling her fingers through the water while Blake holds onto her, keeping her afloat. “Are you hungry?” I ask my daughter.
“No.”
Blake and I share a look. Intuition says she’s not far from a meltdown. It’s been a long day with a lot of excitement.
I let out a loud yawn. “The chlorine’s making me sleepy.”
Alexa yawns with me and nods.
“Let’s dry off, change, and find some dinner,” I say in my most enthusiastic voice, even though I wasn’t lying. I’m suddenly exhausted.
“Yeah!”
Blake carries Alexa out of the pool, and I stop at our chairs to wrap her in a towel.
We head to our room, dripping and making squishy noises in our new flip-flops. After a quick rinse, I help Alexa into one of the outfits we bought and fix her hair. It’s gotten darker, closer to my color than Axel’s now. I’ve grown to love my hair color, but oh, how I used to wish it was lighter. Like Marcel’s.
No wonder he and I don’t look that much alike. It’s not unusual for siblings to have different hair or eye colors, but for some reason, it’s always bothered me that Marcel and I have such different features. I chalked it up to a desperate need to fit in somewhere, a longing to maintain family ties even though my parents abandoned me.
But maybe part of me always knew the truth?