Page 61 of Lady and the Butcher
“I’m not laughing.”
He planted both hands on the counter. “I saw his face. That man is not built for sunlight. And again, Iknowhim.”
“He was kind last night,” I said. “He waited in a birth center lobby for hours while I coached a woman through labor. Then he carried my bag to the car and didn’t make it about himself.”
Stephen’s jaw ticked. “Look, I’ve seen the sides he doesn’t show strangers. He doesn’t wait for anyone, Sim. He doesn’t play patient, and he doesn’t play soft. If he’s doing that with you, it’s not his default.”
He pulled in a breath and let it out slow. He looked at my face like he was checking a level. “Is this Alpha Mail?” His tone thinned on the last two words.
“It began there,” I said. “It’s not that now.”
“It was supposed to be anonymous. It was supposed to be one night.”
“I know,” I said. “I broke the rules.”
“Or he did,” Stephen said. “And you decided to enjoy it.”
I felt the sting land. “I chose this,” I said. “He asked. I said yes.”
“You said yes because he makes the inside of your skull go quiet,” Stephen said. “I understand the appeal. But I don’t trust it.”
“You don’t have to trust him,” I said. “You only have to trust me.”
He stared at me a long beat. “Do you trust him?”
“Yes,” I said, certain.
“And if you’re wrong?”
“Then like I said last night, I’ll tell you before the smoke clears and I’ll let you help me.”
He shut his eyes once, hard. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate him.”
“You don’t hate him. He’s your friend.”
“I hate him enough.”
We stood in that old sibling standoff with new stakes. He was not the law. I was not a child. He was worried because love made him that way. I was stubborn because love was making me reckless.
Finally, he reached out and hooked the strap of my tote with two fingers, an old nervous habit. “If he hurts you,” he said, steady now, “I won’t call first.”
“You said that already,” I said. “He heard you.”
“I needyouto hear me,” he said.
“I do,” I said. “I heard you and I chose, anyway.”
He nodded once. A treaty.
I studied him in that moment, really looked. Stephen would be no physical match for Atticus—truth be told, almost no one would. And maybe it was just the light, or maybe I was only now paying attention, but he looked a little thinner than before he’d left town. I kept both observations to myself. I had no interest in nicking his pride or planting worry he didn’t need.
His mouth shifted. Almost a smile. He kissed the top of my head. “Love you, sis.”
“Love you, too, little brother.”
