Page 99 of Left on Read

“Here.” River handed me one of the containers.

“Are you sure?” He’d given me the fries and had Frankensteined a sandwich together with the bread and meat. That left him the rice and lasagna.

“Yeah.” He used his spoon to separate the two piles of food in his container. “It’s good.”

“But you don’t like lasagna.”

“Neither do you.” He motioned to my food. “It’s fine. I can eat it. It’s just not my preference.”

Zane snort-laughed into his drink.

“What?” River slid his gaze to his brother.

“This is how you know Riv has claimed you.” Zane looked at me pointedly. “He doesn’t share food or eat stuff he doesn’t like unless you’re his.”

“It’s true.” Noah put the pickle from his meal on Zane’s plate and swiped a piece of Zane’s garlic bread. “I thought he was going to stab me with his fork the first time I asked if he wanted to trade food.”

“That’s because you’re Zane’s. It’s on him to make sure you’ve got enough to eat.” River peeled the cheese off the top of his lasagna and rolled it around his fork. “You haven’t earned sharing privileges.” He glanced at me. “Is yours okay? We can stop for something on the way if you don’t like it.”

“It’s good, thanks.” I took a bite of the sandwich as he stuffed the cheese in his mouth.

Zane’s comment wasn’t just an off-the-cuff thing. River was particular about his food. He didn’t like his food to touch unless the meal was supposed to be mixed together like a stir-fry or a casserole, and he had a ‘nope’ list, as he called it, of things he didn’t like because the texture felt strange to him. Ricotta was on one of his nope foods.

The fact that he was eating something he didn’t like, and his food was all mixed together, meant the world to me. It showed just how much he cared about me.

River was like that. He took care of everyone, but he always went out of his way to make sure I had what I needed and was okay, even if that meant he went without. And it wasn’t just food.

He texted me every day when he woke up to say good morning and sent me a funny meme or anecdote at lunch.

I loved those texts because they showed how much he thought about me during the day, and I’d started texting him when I got to work in the morning to remind him to drink water and again when classes were over to ask how his day was.

The routine was comforting, and he told me he liked looking forward to hearing from me as much as he liked the texts.

He also randomly brought me small gifts, like a pretty rock because I used to collect them as a kid, or a red stationery set because I mentioned that I loved the look of red paper.

It made me feel seen and special for the first time in my life.

Trying not to let all my mushy emotions show on my face, I dug into the makeshift sandwich and focused on eating.

The four of us were going to an event at the club tonight. Well, Noah and I were going to the event. Zane and River were part of the entertainment.

I’d spent more and more time hanging out with River’s friends over the past few months, and they were the most accepting and amazing group I’d ever known.

They loved each other fiercely, protected each other, and did whatever they could to encourage and support each other. They truly were a family, and they’d welcomed me with open arms, especially his friend Nick, who was as much of a ray of sunshine as River. Quinn had also taken a liking to me, and we geeked out over books, sharing recommendations and discussing things we’d read.

Noah had gone out of his way to make me feel welcome, but Zane was still reserved. River said that was because he was protective and didn’t let his guard down easily. I hoped that’s all it was because I knew how important Zane’s opinions were to him.

As though he sensed the direction my thoughts had gone, River shot me another of his dazzling smiles and dug into his dinner.

Once we finished eating, I hung out in the living room while Zane and River got ready for work and Noah went to call his sister.

My eyes lingered on one of River’s sketchbooks, which was sitting on the coffee table.

River had multiple books in use at any given moment. He’d told me I was welcome to look at them whenever I wanted. I still hadn’t done more than flip through the one he kept at my house, but only when he was there and knew I was doing it.

Noah, who was also an artist, had said that an artist’s sketchbook was like their diary, and asking to see it would be the same as asking to read their journal or go through their phone. That had stuck with me.

“What’s up?”

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