I just nod to Loren, not sure what other options there are. I tell him my mom’s number, and after he types it in his phone, he stands. “I’ll be quick. Are you hungry?”

I shake my head, holding the coffee mug again.

“Can you get her a muffin from the front?”

I look up and realize Loren has motioned to the employee underneath the Iron Man poster. I quickly wipe my wet cheeks, wondering how much this random person saw me break down. I’m never really that emotional in front of people.

“Hey.” The gruff voice pulls my attention upwards. Ryke Meadows has entered the Superheroes & Scones breakroom with Maximoff Hale, his infant nephew that swats at his arm with a wide toothless smile.

“Hi…” I stiffen even more, watching him grab a couple comic books from a rack and then take a seat right in front of me, on the fuzzy white carpet.

Ryke rests his forearm on his bent knee—his whole demeanor confident and cool. He takes a quick glance at the closed bathroom door, the baby that tries to clutch a comic, and then me. Only as soon as we lock eyes, he doesn’t look away.

I’m so nervous I may puke.

“You should eat.” He nods to the muffin that’s frozen in my anxious hand.

I swallow again and loosen my finger joints to pick at the muffin top and eat a small piece. The blueberry is overly sweet, but it’s better than coffee.

It’s quiet for a second, only the baby making noise. I’m not sure what to say, and maybe he’s lost for words too. The tension here is different than it is with Loren and me.

We’re both half-siblings to the same person. It’s a common link, but trying to understand how we should be with each other—I think it’s just complicated. With Lo, I can simply say, you’re my half-brother. With Ryke, there’s not really an easy definition.

Because Ryke isn’t my brother. We just share one.

His brows harden in questioning. “What made you want to find him?”

“I learned the truth,” I explain, glancing at my hands and the muffin more than a few times. “And I wanted to know him—not because he’s famous or anything…” I pale. What if Ryke thinks I’m here to capitalize off his half-brother’s fame and fortune?

Ryke scratches his unshaven jaw and nods to me again. “You know I’m his half-brother, right? We have the same fucking dad, so you and I aren’t related.”

“Yeah I know about you—or of you…or you know, whatever the correct terminology is…” I clear my throat and stare intently at the muffin, grateful that I didn’t blurt out how I made a gif of Ryke tossing Daisy Calloway over his shoulder, using footage from the short-lived reality TV show.

He runs a hand through his thick, disheveled dark-brown hair. I really want to know what his palms look like. Which sounds so weird and creepy.

He rock climbs though, and Tumblr speculates whether his hands are really callused or cracked—which also sounds weird and creepy, but everyone’s curiosities run rampant online. And it’s hard not to be sucked into this all-consuming vortex that includes the Calloway sisters and their men.