Page 56 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
The words hit in a place I have not built armor around yet.
“I said I would.”
“People say lots of stuff.”
That comes from Heath, not Erin.
He doesn't look up from the book.
I cross the room slowly and sit on the floor near the edge of Erin’s colored-pencil empire. Not too close to Heath. Not too far. With him, distance is a negotiation, and I am startingto understand that winning means letting him think I am not trying to.
“They do,” I say. “That’s why doing it matters more.”
Heath turns a page.
It is upside down.
I do not point that out.
Erin scoots closer to me on the carpet, all knees and elbows and bright, fragile interest. “Omar said you couldn’t come before breakfast.”
“Omar says many sad things.”
“He said rules exist for a reason.”
“Omar also believes couches aren’t hostile, so his judgment is questionable.”
That earns me the smallest sound from Heath.
Not a laugh.
Not even close.
But not nothing.
I take it.
Erin holds up the stuffed rabbit. “We named him Mr. Buttons.”
“That is a very serious name.”
“Heath wanted to name him Knife.”
I glance at Heath.
He still doesn't look up. “It was funny.”
“It was odd,” Erin says.
“Rabbits have teeth.”
I keep my face solemn. “He has a point.”
Erin gasps like I have betrayed her personally. Heath’s mouth almost moves.
Almost.
I decide I will chase that almost-smile for the rest of the day if I have to. So I lean into it.
