The Long and Winding Road (The Seafare Chronicles 4)

“He loves her. As much as you or I do. And we’ll make sure she knows that.”

He hugs me then, and I remember when he was just a little guy, sitting in my lap in the kitchen of the shitty fucking apartment, tugging on my fingers, telling me that everything would be okay. Dom was right. We’ve come so goddamn far.

“Just call if you need anything, okay?” he says near my ear. “Even if you just need us to take her off your hands for a little bit.”

“We will.”

He grins at me as he pulls back. He turns and opens the door to Izzie’s room, leaning his head in. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” she says, and I close my eyes because she fits.

“I’m going to head out, okay? Bear’s got some stuff to talk to you about. It’s going to be okay. You hear me, kid?”

“I’m not a kid.”

“They grow up so fast,” he says, voice a little fluttery.

“Get out.”

“You call me if you need me, okay? Always.”

“I know. Now leave so Bear can come in and reassure me like I know he wants to, even though I’m fine.”

“You hear that?” Tyson asks, glancing back at me. “She’s fine.”

“You are so annoying!” she shouts. “God, why do I even put up with you?”

“I love you,” he says.

“I know you do. It’s disgusting. Shut up and go away.”

He laughs. “Will do.”

But before he can exit the doorway, she says, “Thank you. You know. For coming here. For me.”

And I can see how much that affects him by the way he swallows thickly. “Yeah, kid. Sure.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he shakes his head instead and turns toward the stairs. He doesn’t look back.

She’s sitting on the four-poster bed that she insisted she didn’t need but kept looking at longingly when we took her furniture shopping. Otter had been the one to notice that, and even though the price tag had made me a little cross-eyed, he’s a big pushover, and that was that.

She’s wearing jeans and a shirt with an image of Nikola Tesla on the front, her version of a celebrity crush. It’s weird, but I survived Tyson and his Anderson Cooper phase, so I don’t think too much about it. Her hair is braided back, something Otter had done for her this morning. He’d gotten so good at it, and I found it ridiculously endearing, feeling the need to record it every time on my phone. At last count, I had twenty-three videos of just him braiding her hair, both of them with their tongues sticking out between their teeth.

She glances up at me before looking down at her hands.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she says, voice soft.

“He didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

“I know you do,” I say. “But I think you deserve to hear it out loud. So. He didn’t mean it. And I can promise you that when he’s done feeling sorry for himself, he’ll come back and tell you exactly that.”

She picks at the frayed edges of her jeans. “Okay.”

“Can I sit on your bed?”

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to ask.”