Page 140 of Unsteady

I wake up to a loud bang, and turn over to cold sheets.

Both which prick my irritation. But mostly, at the lack of 6’3” muscle that should be naked and curled around me asleep.

Instead of shouting for him, I roll out of bed and into my little bathroom, slipping on one of his old t-shirts that I practically live in now, and a pair of long pajama pants because it’sfreezing.

Born and raised in the northeast and still, I’ll never get used to how cold it can feel.

After brushing my teeth and combing through my shortened hair, I bump up the heat a little as I pad towards the kitchen, pausing when I hear a familiar giggle.

I hover just around the cover, seeing Rhys in sweatpants and a navy Rangers sweatshirt that’s big enough for the renewed broadness of his shoulders, setting plates onto my little breakfast table right outside the green tiled kitchen that sold me on the entire apartment.

He looks larger than life, just like I’ve always thought he would. The NHL has beefed him up even more, his body in peak condition, and my mouth waters despite still feeling the ache from the multiple times he took me last night.

But with him, it’ll never be enough. I’ll crave every part of him inside and out forever.

Oliver, fifteen and so tall he towers over me now, sits at one of the chairs, shaking his head at eight-year-old Liam grabbing pancakes with his bare hands and ripping into them like a dog with a steak.

He laughs and looks up at Rhys, making sure the guy he idolizes more than anyone is still watching. Rhys laughs wholeheartedly, mussing his auburn curls playfully.

It doesn’t matter that Liam doesn’t play hockey anymore—now fully obsessed with Marvel comics and art, spending most of his time drawing his own superhero stories onto endless art pads provided by Anna Koteskiy—he still looks at Rhys like he put the stars in the sky.

Our therapist believes the hero-worship comes from Rhys’ treatment of me in front of the boys, the way he cares for me. For Liam, he’s the first male role model he ever had; the first adult man to take care of him. To sayI love youto him.

Oliver is different. HelovesRhys, and since Oliver is still playing hockey, he sees him as someone to look up to, something to aspire to be. But it’s the Koteskiys who’ve made him feel safe for the first time in his life.

Which I’ve had to learn doesn’t mean I did a bad job with them. I did the best I could; I protected them. But Oliver was too old, and he understood everything—which meant that he wanted to protectme. So he always lived on edge, ready to fight for me.

When my father went to jail over the drunk driving incident, and a backlog of warrants that I had no clue about, he gave up custody easily. I signed as the primary guardian, with Anna and Max at my side.

From there, after several months of discussions—and a promise that no matter what, I would always be their real guardian, Anna and Max Koteskiy adopted my brothers.

Still, it’s been a journey for the three of us, and therapy has made it better.

But now, I get to be their sister. Love them, lift them up, watch them grow up—and not worry about where their next meal comes from or how I’ll pay for our rent.

Now, Oliver gets to go to private hockey academies and training camps, if he wants. Now, Liam gets to see his grades and art projects displayed on a fridge that doesn’t contain beer bottles and empty promises.

Now, I can watch them flourish and know that when I sleep at night, they’re happy.

ThatIdid it. I got them out.

I lean against the entryway arch, relaxed while I watch my brothers ask question after question about his games, which they watch on TV religiously, decked out in his jersey—his jersey that’s been a top seller everywhere. They nearly rival Rhys’ dad in their energy level on the couch, when he’s not traveling to Rhys’ games.

“Pancakes today, huh?” I ask, smiling as I come up behind Oliver and comb my hands through his shaggy dark hair.

“Means it’s gonna be a good day,” Rhys answers, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Right, boys?”

“Yep,” Liam sings, taking a gargantuan bite of pancakes dripping with syrup, bopping in his seat like he’s dancing to music that’s not playing. “Gonna be a good day cause Rhys is asking you to marry—”

Rhys’ hand plops over Liam’s mouth, while I feel a thud of Oliver kicking Liam under the table. Liam looks thoroughly embarrassed and apologetic as he swallows and ducks his head.

“Sorry.”

A smile slips across my skin, happiness bubbling in my stomach until I’m practically giggling, watching as Rhys rubs the back of his neck anxiously, but fights a laugh himself.

“Let me get your pancakes,” he mumbles, turning towards the alcove of the little kitchen.

I follow behind him, quietly and quickly slipping my arms around his trim waist from the back, my face pressed into the middle of his back and inhaling his clean summer rain scent.

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