“And no more champagne for the birthday girl.” Dad kissed her on the mouth and guided her away from us talking softly into her ear the entire way.
They loved each other so much.
A pang of envy shot through my chest.
“Hey,” Louis whispered. “I’m not feeling so great. I might go back to the?—”
“I’ll go with you,” I said quickly. “It’s lots of people, plus the men will all go into the offices later, shoot pool, talk business, the women will gossip—which normally I love—and make sure the kids stay alive while the bosses meet—we have time.”
“Time…” he repeated, “is one thing, that’s hard to promise, Tempest.”
It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it. Did I already know him well enough to be able to tell when he was full of guilt and sadness? That even the tilt of certain words dripped with sadness?
The drive from my parents’ house felt wrong—like the sands of time had slowed, like the inevitable was dragging its feet just to be cruel.
“Will I hate you tomorrow?” I asked.
Louis stared out the window. “I liked her smile first.”
What?
“And then I thought she was… sweet. Kind. But she had fire too. The kind that wants to protect you from the world—and from everyone else.” His jaw tightened. “I never understood it. Her need to protect you. If anything, I envied you. Your carefreeattitude. Your notorious one-night stands. Your drunk texts to her. Your ridiculous stories and?—”
“Do you have a point?” I cut in. “Other than comparing me to my sister and making me want to murder you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted.
He took a turn—the wrong one. Away from our house. Toward downtown.
“I finally figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“Why you’re worth protecting. Cherishing. Saving.”
My chest tightened.
“Take your pick,” he continued. “You want something that’s yours. You want to stand out. You want to project strength while feeling too weak to hold it—and yet you try anyway. Again and again. Without fear.” His voice softened. “Protecting someone who knows they’ll probably fail a dozen times and still does it? That’s someone I can respect. Someone I can admire.”
I swallowed.
“Someone,” he finished quietly, “I find myself wanting to protect too.”
The words were chosen carefully. Delivered perfectly.
“And you had this epiphany when?” I asked lightly. “While my dad was strangling you, or?—”
He smirked. “You study people long enough, you learn patterns. But you know how you really understand someone?” He glanced at me. “The people who love them. The people who know them best.” He exhaled. “That’s where character lives. And yours is flawed. Deeply.”
I snorted. “Wow. Thanks.”
“And so damn attractive,” he added, “that someone should tell you—before it all goes to hell. More importantly, before you hate me in the morning.”
My stomach settled despite everything. Warm. Safe. Cared for.
“You know,” I said as he took another exit.
He pulled up in front of the Roosevelt Banks Hotel in downtown Chicago.