Page 91 of Unsteady

“She takes good care of us,” he cuts back over his shoulder, like he can’t quite look fully at me as he says it. He’s defensive, sure, but he’s scared. “Sadie—she takes care of me and Liam; and I help. We don’t need anything.”

He steps into the house without pausing, and I know that’s all I'll get from him for now. He doesn’t trust me yet, not really. But I’m keying into his words—Sadie and I. Does that mean that Liam’s mom is someone else? Is she in their lives?

Or is Sadie alone?

Oliver hangs back in the kitchen, unsure of what to do, while Liam spends every second looking at my mom, watching her every move and following each command.

I finally get him to sit at one of the barstools. He nervously taps his fingers over the marble—quiet, almost pensive in his guardianship over his younger brother. They’re both mostly quiet as my mom and Liam finally put the cookies in the oven.

They grow even quieter when my father enters the room.

He’s loud, as usual, singing some Russian song that I don’t know but have heard so many times in this exact manner that I often find myself humming it in class.

He doesn’t stop when he sees the boys, only pauses to kiss my mom and greet Liam with a pat on the head. That’s all it takes for the youngest of the Brown children.

Oliver is more cautious, observing my dad’s routine quietly. Eventually, he grabs a bag of chips from the pantry and a dip from the fridge, sitting at the counter and placing all the goods between us three.

Oliver looks at the food, then to me, before quietly informing my dad that I already gave them food and thanking me again.

“You’re a growing boy, Oliver. Rhys used to clean out the entire pantry in one sitting at your age.”

His hesitancy grows, but there’s a little smile from my father’s words working its way onto his face.

“Are you sure?”

My dad smiles, a little sadly, and drops his shoulder so his words are quiet enough that I can just make them out.

“I know how hard it can be to accept things when you’ve spent your life working very hard for very little. Saving up and being a little hungry.”

My chest clenches, and I see Oliver trying to understand how the famous man, someone he’s probably idolized in his own head, was once a hungry boy surviving in cold Russian winters.

“Yeah.” Oliver swallows lightly, but he continues listening intently.

“But, it’s okay. I want you to eat it all. In fact”—he opens the container of buffalo chicken dip—“I want you to try it first, and if you hate it, we have tons more you can try.”

Oliver softens slightly, enough that my dad manages to pat his back and he melts into it slightly.

“Okay.”

THIRTY

SADIE

I’m exhausted.

I’m sure there are tears leaking from my eyes but my skin is so clammy I don’t think I can tell the difference.

“Again.”

His voice isn’t booming, it’s calm. I wonder exactly how much pressure it would take to cut him with my blade if I spun a little too close.

“I have to—”

“I didn’t ask.”

My lips part like I might scream and whatever he reads on my face makes him gleam, practically giddy as he claps his hands.

He starts my music, the heavy beat of the instrumental wild against my chest, in my throat. Kelley doesn’t even give me a second to find my position, he doesn’t care about it. All he wants out of me is power.

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