Page 7 of Wants and Needs
She did, only thirty minutes ago.
I breathe out slowly, cross my arms tightly over my chest, and look back up, this time focusing only on the descending escalator, or the lower half that’s visible.
When she comes, it’ll be from those stairs.
She managed to get through to the plane using the private entrance at Heathrow, and they let her board before anyone else. She told me all of that hours ago when she was leaving England to come back home, so I know she wason that plane.
And she just texted me, I remind the paranoia in my head.
Another slow breath out.
Paco, my sister’s driver, is waiting for us in the parking lot, and all she has to do by herself is get through customs then walk over here.
She’s sixteen, more than old enough to be traveling by herself, and she isn’t reckless.
I keep reminding myself of all the things I know, and all the facts as I wait for her, and I push down the self-hatred that I didn’t manage to stand here even for ten minutes without needing my earbuds.
But that’s the whole point, I hear Dr. Becky’s voice in my head.You’ve found something that helps you, and using that tool is never a failure.
I’m not a failure, I remind myself, and this time the exhale is less shaky.
I feel my shoulders drop, my fingers extend, and I know I’m relaxing.
London will finally be back home after four long weeks, and I’ll stop worrying about her. I’ll have control of my thoughts back, and once again be able to focus fully on finding more investors for ESoothe, then finally get more programmers on the team to finalize the first version of the app.
Just as that thought flits through my mind I see her, my littlesister, the most perfectly imperfect human on earth, and she’s not alone.
A frown mars my face and all the tension returns to my body like a flood.
I hurry to take off my earbuds and shove them carelessly in my pants, not caring about putting them in their case—which gives away just how alarmed the sight makes me.
She’s smiling up at the man with caramel skin and rich black hair while he gestures elaborately with his hands. They’re on different steps of the escalator, him one below her, but she still has to look up at him. She’s a short one, just like Mom.
It all seems innocent enough, but he has to be close to my thirty-six years—definitely closer than he is to London’s sixteen—so it’sdefinitelynot innocent at all.
Then her bright blue eyes, same as our mother’s, focus on me and her smile widens. That alone helps with the rising panic, but when the man turns to look at me, he’s not smiling, but instead looks... curious?
In that moment I want to be able to get to her more than anything, but I’m not allowed since I’m not a passenger. I curse the damn airport security even while she picks up her pace until she’s practically running to me.
Her arms wrap around my torso as soon as she’s close enough, but though I wish I could, I can’t enjoy it. With the joke of a barrier that are the Tensa bands set up by the airport between us, I keep my eyes firmly on the man who’s now smiling softly at the back of my sister’s head.
“Who the hell are you?” I growl at him.
His eyes widen in alarm—good—but for some reason I canonly focus on how absolutely black they are. It’s like you could fall into them and never get back out—not good. Thankfully, eye contact with strangers has never been my thing, so instinct has me looking away before it’s too late.
“I’m Carter Din,” he says in a hurried tone that mollifies me just slightly, though my arms are still holding London to me a bit too tightly by the way she squirms. I don’t let her go, and she doesn’t protest.
She more than anyone knows that when I don’t let go of a hug, telling me to let go is a bad idea.
“Why were you talking to my sister?” I demand, my voice still sounding animalistic. Some part of my defective brain wonders what playlist I need right now—and okay, I know it’s not defective, but sometimes I slip and fill up with self-pity, sue me—but I make sure to keep as much of my focus as I can onCarter. Even if it is only on his forehead.
“He saved me from an old pervert.” London’s voice comes softly, and I know why, what she’s trying to do.
The deceptiveness of her tone is to offset the rage.
“What?” I snap, pushing her back by the shoulders so I can take a good look at her.
“I’m fine, Liam.” She keeps talking softly.
