Page 14 of Rhodes

Just having her here makes new sounds in the house and foreign, but admittedly better, smells. I don't love how much I notice that.

My phone buzzes on the counter. I pick it up to a text from Coop.

boarding in an hour. I forgot how brutal going through security is. she settle in ok last night?

She's good. Still asleep.

Three dots appear immediately.

good

He doesn't respond for a second, which is actually a relief. I want him to go on his trip and not constantly check in and worry.

if something feels off with her, you know you just need to call me. anything at all. just pay attention.

I look at the words. I don't need him to say the rest. We've spent more hours talking about Tallulah, about her addiction and how fast things went sideways, than about anything else. He isn't asking me to run her life. He's asking me to be close enough to catch a thing before it turns into a thing.

Dude, I've got it. Go learn about whatever you're supposed to learn, but more importantly, meet lots of beautiful Spaniards over lots of wine and cheese. Don't let me down.

Ha. Lots of wine and hopefully lots of beautiful women.

That's better.

A handful of texts, and the handoff's complete. I stand there and let it sink in. In an hour, a plane lifts my best friend off the ground and puts a whole ocean between him and his sister, and the closest person to her isn't Coop or her father or even her twin. It's me. I'm the one who keeps the bad nights, the worse guys, and her own worst instincts from knocking her flat. I'm the one who has to notice early if she starts to go down.

I tell him I've got it, but I'd be lying to myself if I didn't worry a little about my ability to not fuck this up.

Coop gave me exactly one rule, and it is the same one she made me swear I wouldn't follow.

The whole thing almost makes me laugh. Me. The Stone nobody hands anything that can break is the one who has to save this girl from herself. This is Coop's kid sister, the girl who threw sand in my mouth when she was nine, and here I am drafting myself a code of conduct over her like I'm not the world's biggest fuck up.

The phone goes off again in my hand, and I look down to see it's Ridge.

I want thirty minutes with you. Just us. Say Saturday.

That's twice in a week, after twenty-two years of never once. I read it, but I don't answer. I tell myself I'll answer it later, which is what I say about most things.

I put my phone in my pocket and look down the hall.

Shit's real now.

I come in from the garage starving. I spent the whole afternoon out there on purpose, giving her room, trying not to crowd her in my own house. Now my stomach is about to eat itself.

"You want to order something?" I call out toward her room. She doesn't answer, so I keep going. "I'm about to order something for myself. There's that Thai place off Oak that isn't garbage. Or pizza. Either of those appeal to you?"

"I already ate," she says from the kitchen, not down the hall.

I walk in and see her at the counter with a fork, scraping the last of what looks like rice and vegetables and shrimp off the plate. Only after seeing her do I realize the entire kitchen smells like garlic and ginger.

"Oh, you cooked. Nice."

"That's usually how food happens." She takes another bite.

I set my phone down and open the fridge to see what I've got. The light comes on over a shelf that isn't mine anymore. A carton of eggs I didn't buy, a bag of spinach, two lemons, and a glass tub of yogurt cups sit next to my beer.

Shit. Do I need to get rid of the beer in my house? It didn't even occur to me.

"When did you go grocery shopping?"