She scans my face, then looks down at her fidgety hands. “Will Hayden be here?”

I tilt my head, dipping my brows. I’m a bit taken aback by her question. Is he what she’s most worried about?

“Would that make you uncomfortable?”

Her eyes snap up, meeting mine. “Yes,” she answers immediately.

I take her hand and rub my palm over hers, watching her eyes cloud with animosity.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like the way he makes you feel.”

Me?

He made her uncomfortable, I’m sure. His eyes traveled her body and the way his words disregarded her made me ill with hate. Still, I joined him, saying things I couldn’t possibly mean, just to guide his attention elsewhere. She has every right to be upset. She has every right not to want to face him because of our conversation, but I never expected her to feel so protective of me.

Bringing her hand to my mouth, I kiss a trail from her palm to her inner elbow. “You protecting me, Winter?”

Her mouth quirks into a smirk. “Of course, Aleck. I protect what’s mine.”

Fire—my chest stings with it. A burning heat I’ve only ever felt once; when my adoptive parents told me they loved me for the first time.

It didn’t happen right away. At first, I was a stranger living in their home. A stranger who was clearly cut from a different cloth and struggling to fit in. It took four months to hear the words I had never heard from another person. Not even my birth parents said them to me.

The words came from Mildred first. She said them while I was setting the table before dinner, and I stilled, turning toward her to observe her expression. I wasn’t sure I actually heard what I thought I heard. When I internally battled with myself to garner the right reaction, she repeated herself and tears filled my eyes. I told her I had never been loved before and she cried, too. From that moment on, she’s said it every single day. Even if it’s just in a text, even if most of the time, I don’t say it back.

Later that week, Richard called me “son” for the first time, and said he loved me, too. She had talked to him, I was sure, but I figured he wouldn’t have said the words if he didn’t mean them. I soon after started calling them mom and dad.

The fire burning in my chest now is a lot like the one I felt then, and I guess I can attribute that feeling to someone I so admire deciding I’m important enough to care for. And no matter my age, no matter how many years pass, I’m still stunned when I’m shown genuine affection.

Meager scraps to a rat is a feast, I guess.

I clear my throat, feeling a myriad of emotions clinging to my insides so they don’t rise to the surface, and take a deep breath. “Uh, he won’t be here. He has plans.”