Chapter 6 #2
Words were too much right now, so I nodded.
Biscuit wagged his tail, bumping my knee, and I turned and hurried down the hall, arms loaded.
The room looked different instantly. Brighter.
I spread the blankets across the bed, then sorted the clothes into a neat row on the chair.
Everything was soft. Everything smelled clean.
I changed into one of the new pairs of leggings and matching sweater, and it was so comfortable I could barely stand it.
I kept the blanket draped over my shoulders, like a cape. The bunny went on the pillow, ears up. I stroked his head, and for a second I let myself pretend he was mine. That I was allowed to want things.
After a few minutes, I went back into the kitchen.
Blake was leaning against the counter, drinking coffee, scrolling on his phone.
He looked up, and I caught the way his gaze swept the leggings and the sweater and the bunny I still clutched because I couldn't bear to leave him. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it.
“Those fit okay?”
I nodded. The words stuck, but I tried again. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”
He shrugged, but I could see the relief on his face. “Good.”
Glancing at the counter, there was a box of cookies I’d made, and beside it, a new bag of flour with the sticker still on.
I felt the tiniest spark of pride, seeing the cookies right there, like a promise that I’d done something right.
I didn’t know what to say. So I just sat at the table, blanket tight, and waited for him to tell me what came next.
Blake set a plate of the cookies in front of me, like he expected me to eat first. “You hungry?”
I was, but I didn’t want to look greedy. I hesitated, but he sent me a soft smile and started what looked like a stir fry. I wanted to help but I didn’t dare ask, so I just sat there and tried to dream up things I could do for Blake before he got sick of me
We watched a silly film about wedding dresses later but Blake didn’t seem to mind. “You settling in okay?”
“Mm-hm.” I hesitated, twisting the bunny’s ear between my fingers. “I’m sorry for before. With the toys. I didn’t mean to mess with your things.” He took a sip of his own cocoa before answering. I’d nearly inhaled mine. “What was she like?” I asked convinced he wanted to talk about her.
For a long time, he didn’t say anything.
He just stared into his mug like he could see her there.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough around the edges.
“She was a hurricane,” he said. “Loud. Bright.
Scared of nothing." His eyes went distant for a second, then cleared.
“She lived here about a year. My parents were her foster placement. She used to follow me around the yard like a shadow.”
“What happened?” I asked, though part of me already knew I shouldn’t.
He exhaled slowly. “The state said her family was ready for her to go home. Her mom had done her classes, her dad had a job again. They said we’d done our part.”
The words came quiet, deliberate.
“Wasn’t long after that Dad got the call. Said there’d been…an accident.” His jaw tightened. “She didn’t make it. They’d been in the car and her dad was high. Ran three red lights, the third killed them all outright.”
The room went still. Even Biscuit, lying on the rug, lifted his head at the silence that followed.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He nodded once. “Yeah. Me too.”
He didn’t look at me then, just stared at the steam rising from his mug. “After that, Mom and Dad stopped taking placements. Figured we weren’t built for losing people.”
I wanted to say something that would make it better, but nothing seemed big enough. So I just held Banjo closer.
“She must have loved you a lot,” I said finally.
His shoulders shifted like he wasn’t sure what to do with that. “Maybe,” he said. “But I think I was the lucky one.”
We sat in quiet for a bit after that. The kind of quiet that felt full, not empty. The fire popped softly in the stove. Biscuit’s breathing went slow and deep.
I looked down at Banjo. His button eye caught the light, shining faintly. “I think she’d like that someone still takes care of him.”
Blake glanced at me then—really looked—and something unreadable flickered in his expression. Not pity. Not sadness. Something steadier.
“She’d like you,” he said.
The words made my throat ache.
“She was fearless, but took joy in the little things. She loved making cookies, coloring. The fridge was full of her stuff."
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded. He set his empty mug down and rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to leave for a while.”
“Okay,” I said automatically.
I stood, still clutching the bunny, and he reached over to switch off the lamp beside the couch. The room fell into soft shadows.
As I walked past him toward the hallway, I heard him add quietly, “He’s a good guard bunny, that one. Keep him close.”
I smiled before I could stop it. “I will.”