Page 115 of Unsteady

So I pat his shoulder once and angle us towards the kitchen, following behind him.

We singHappy Birthdayat the top of our lungs, and clap as Liam adds his own little version at the end that seems completely made up as he goes, adding lots of silly noises with his mouth until he’s laughing at his own joke so hard he can’t keep it going.

I kiss Sadie on the temple when she goes for another cookie and she lulls into my touch for a moment.

I’m in love with her.

THIRTY-NINE

RHYS

We’re laying in her bed, just breathing each other in and I can tell she’s trying to read me.

I’m doing the same to her.

After tucking Liam into bed, which took three bedtime stories at minimum, and making Oliver swear he’d go to his own room after one more hour of scary movies, Sadie led me to her room.

It was hard—seeing the pretty blue sheets and little figure skating trophies and medals, photos from competitions and of baby versions of Liam and Oliver—to pretend I hadn’t been imagining her in this room every time I called her from the road. That my dream fantasies when in the hotel shower or bed at an away game weren’t of me pleasuring her for hours, of taking her slowly from behind while gray cat eyes looked over one delicate, freckled shoulder at me.

But that isn’t what I want now.

I brush my hand through her hair, her head on my chest while my other arm is wrapped around her, skating circles on her back beneath her oversized threadbare shirt.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your birthday?”

She mildly shrugs. “It never came up.”

Liar. I kiss her forehead again. “Oliver thinks it has to do with your mom.”

Silence.

“You never talk about her.”

I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it, but knowing it’s coming doesn’t hurt any less as she pulls her body away from me, sitting up.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she snaps, whispered venom echoing in the dark of her childhood bedroom.

“Sadie—”

“Drop it, Rhys.”

If she expects me to slink back and let her work whatever she’s feeling out on my body—like I’m sure many boys before me have—she’s about to try something new.

I sit up, leaning back to relax against the headboard.

“I won’t. What happened on Halloween?” When she doesn’t speak, I continue. “I’m not here forjusthappy Sadie in my bed. I’m here for my frustrated, angry Gray. For my scaredkotyonok.”

“That fucking word again,” she huffs beneath her breath. She keeps asking me what it means, so I know she hasn’t looked it up yet. If she really knew what it meant, she’d probably slap me.“I’m not scared of you, Rhys.”

I wonder if she knows she’s worked herself into a fetal position, arms protectively wrapped around herself.

“What happened on your birthday?” I ask again. My voice stays just as gentle and soft.

She eyes me like a stranger in her bed, and though the look burns, I endure it.

“My mom left when I was probably Liam’s age. And then, she came back. Got pregnant with Oliver, and for a few years… it was amazing. And then, she just started to disappear.”

“What do you mean?”

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