thinly veiled threats.
  â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢Â Â
I fold the thick duvet around my sisterâs body and pat it until sheâs tucked into a cotton cocoon. She wriggles free and bats away the strands of hair stuck to her forehead. âJules, youâre suffocating me.â
âIâm protecting you from the monsters under the bed.â
She rolls her eyes. âIâm not six.â
No, my little sister is growing up fast. Too fast. I inch my way to the edge of the bed and study her face. Her skin is clear of the hives that alert me to when sheâs scared or on the verge of an anxiety attack.
âYouâre feeling okay?â
âI like it here,â she says.
The simplicity of her words dig deep. Emma has suffered anxiety since our parents abandoned us. None of our fosters took it seriously, even though they were part of the problem.
Stability.
The doctors tell me thatâs the cure.
I tap the tip of her button nose. âYou just have a crush on Mat.â
Her eyes widen. âI do not!â But then her dimples become craters as a slow smile creeps across her face. Something about that grin makes my heart hurtâitâs when she most looks like our mother. I hate that her happiness brings out a memory of someone I despise so much.
âOkay,â she concedes, âhe is cute.â
âAnd old.â
She burrows deeper under the covers. âNot too old for you.â
âI definitely do not have a crush on Mat.â
âBecause you like Nick.â
My breath hitches. âEmma!â
Sheâs obviously off base. Nick is obnoxious and pompous and completely unpredictable. A total dick. His attitude toward me changes so fast I could get whiplash if I let myself dwell on it. Which, of course, I donât.
âHeâs totally not my type.â
She smirks. âYouâve made questionable choices before.â
I want to believe sheâs only talking about my ex-boyfriends, but thereâs an edge to her voice that warns of something else. I look away.
Discarded clothes cover her floor like mini landmines. The towels are bunched into the corner next to an empty laundry hamper. I count three empty soda cans and two bags of chips. If I close my eyes, I can almost believe this is a normal family environment.
âYouâve got everything you want here,â I say.
Her voice clogs up. âNot everything.â
Iâm surprised to see sheâs almost in tears.
The fissures in my heart spider-web like a cracked windshield in the cold. Emmaâs crush on Mat, her awe of Chelsea, even hinting of something between me and Nickâtheyâre all symptoms of something much more tangible and raw. A desperate need to belong.
âJulia, you wonât go into the garage, right?â
I lick my lips, stalling.
She squeezes my wrist. âPromise me you wonât.â
Emmaâs not trying to be mean, but her words are a clear reminder that she somehow knows Iâm responsible for us bouncing from one bad foster home to the next.
Stability.
Family.
I want that too.
But how do I tell her this isnât the right place?
I canât. Not without spilling the whole truth. Which leaves us at a standstill, because I wonât let her see that side of me. And so for now, sheâll go on believing that this can work. And why wouldnât she? Piece by strategic piece, Roger has given my sister the illusion that we can be a family. Dysfunctional as it may be.
What Emma doesnât realize, what she may never know, is that the bastard is in a far better position to tear us apart.
8
CHELSEA STRETCHES ACROSS MY BED on her stomach, ankles crossed as she thumbs through a magazine. Itâs not her normal Vogue , but something on surveillance with tech gadgets I know nothing about.
âLetâs do it.â
The rest of us stare at her and she shrugs. âItâll be fun. Unless we get caught,
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