Page 164 of Faking the Goal

"Why would I mind?" She gives me a small frown, like the question itself is ridiculous. "I would rather have her sleeping safely down the hall than frightened and alone in her apartment."

I nod. "Yeah. Me too."

"And make sure she eats when she wakes up. She'll probably say she's fine even if she isn't."

A quiet breath of amusement leaves me because that sounds exactly like Taylor.

"I already made breakfast."

Mom looks over the table, then back at me. "Good."

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

"I hope the police find whoever is doing this soon," she says quietly.

"So do I."

Except hope doesn't feel like a strong enough fucking word anymore.

Later, when Taylor finally wakes up, Mom is already fussing over her, though I don't think she even realizes she's doing it. Taking care of people has always come naturally to her.

One minute Taylor is standing in the doorway of my room with sleep-mussed hair and that slightly dazed look people get when they wake up somewhere unfamiliar, and the next Mom has already ushered her toward the dining table, pulled out a chair for her, and started asking whether she wants coffee, tea, water, more fruit, or something warm first.

Taylor keeps smiling and saying thank you, but I can tell she doesn't quite know what to do with any of it.

She's polite. Grateful. But there's this tiny stiffness in the way she sits and the way her hands keep folding together in her lap between bites, like being fussed over this much is something she's forgotten how to receive.

Maybe something she's never really had.

"Eat some more," Mom tells her, nudging the plate closer.

Taylor looks down at the food. "I already have a lot."

"You barely touched it."

"I've had like... four bites."

"Exactly."

Taylor blinks at her, then glances across the table at me.

It's quick, but I catch it.

Help me.

I almost smile.

I want to step in, but Mom's already hovering enough for both of us, and the last thing Taylor probably needs is two Azumas trying to feed her and ask if she's okay every thirty seconds. So I stay where I am, coffee in hand, and let Mom handle it.

Unfortunately, Mom notices Taylor looking at me.

Taylor glances across the table at me again, and Mom follows her gaze.

"Don't worry about Ken-chan," she says, lowering her voice like she's letting Taylor in on a secret. "He always looks grumpy in the morning."

I look at her. "I'm sitting right here."

Mom ignores me completely. "But he made all of this before you woke up."