Page 47 of Star-Crossed
The barb of guilt landed squarely in Cy’s chest. Exactly where his sister had meant to.
“If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind,” Lyra said. “I haven’t quite kitten-proofed my room yet, and—”
“I’m positive,” Kiki insisted. “These guys will be no trouble at all.”
He doubted if this was the case, but felt an intense surge of gratitude for his sister despite his lingering irritation.
“All right, then.” Lyra leaned over the box, scratching below Larry’s chin to tilt her sleek black muzzle upward. “I’ll be back for you tomorrow morning. Under absolutely no circumstances are you allowed to pull your usual bullshit,” she said with great affection. “You’re a custodial parent now. You need to set a good example.”
Larry’s copper eyes met Lyra’s for a slow blink.
Watching her murmur encouraging things to the cat produced feelings in Cy much like those he’d experienced when his father relayed to him that Lyra had helped little Ben navigate an episode of sensory overload. She had absolutely no idea what a balm she was. That, far from icy or rigid, she was like a long, cool draft from a hidden spring.
The thought sparked an idea.
“Ready?” Cy asked.
Lyra nodded, quickly blinking away the sheen that had glazed her eyes as she gave the cat’s fur a last affectionate ruffle.
Kiki walked them out to the front porch, where they lingered beneath the caged light hooked to a bright orange extension cord that snaked the length of the railing.
His sister was always,alwaysworking on something. Even when they were kids, and those somethings often meant co-opting supplies in ways that didn’t necessarily reflect their original intended uses.
A trait she’d inherited directly from their father.
Looking out over the darkened property, Cy felt a familiar pang.
For several years now, they’d been trying to convince their father to move into the bougie tiny house Kiki had built by hand on their property with that express purpose in mind.
Maybe, they’d reasoned, if they could downsize his house, they could downsize his household. Convince him that it was time to transition to a volunteer foster grandpa instead of a foster parent.
Marty Forrester was having none of it. His stubbornness was as ingrained as the roots of the trees that surrounded their childhood home.
“You’ll call me if anything happens?” Lyra asked, hesitating on the top step.
“Of course,” Kiki said, giving Lyra a quick, friendly side-hug. “But you have nothing to worry about.”
Turning her attention to Cy, Kiki leaned in, looping her arms beneath his. “Dare you to not fuck this up,” she said before smacking a kiss onto his cheek.
“Dare you to mind your own goddamn business,” he muttered back.
“Night!” Kiki called brightly as they made their way to Cy’s truck.
Once inside, he punched the ignition and backed out of the driveway his sister had paved earlier that summer, waiting until they hit gravel to turn to Lyra.
“You okay?” he asked.
Stupid question, really.
Her hands sat in her lap, knotted tightly enough to leave her knuckles white-tipped. Her mouth was pulled down into a worried line, and she kept darting glances out the side window as if debating whether to sprint back to the house.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice tight.
“We can go back,” he suggested. “I can turn the truck around right now and—”
“No,” she said sharply enough to startle herself. “No,” she repeated, softer this time. “I know that Kiki’s house is the best place for Larry to be if something happens.”
“But?” Cy asked.
