Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Summer
Rain pattered against the roof as I stepped inside the foster home, shaking out my umbrella.
The air smelled like old furniture and reheated food, and the fluorescent lights overhead flickered slightly, like they were too tired to stay on.
The place wasn’t cozy, not in the way a home should be, but I was starting to get used to it.
My mom had worked in a lot of different group homes over the years, but Westbridge was the only one I actually wanted to come back to.
And if anyone asked why, I’d say it was because I was a generous and kind-hearted person.
But in reality? It was because of him.
I found Malcolm in his usual spot, sitting against the window, watching the rain like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
His arms were crossed, his hoodie pulled up over his head, but I knew he saw me.
He always did. I had learned by now that Malcolm noticed everything. He just pretended not to.
I grinned and walked over, dropping a bag of chips onto the table in front of him. Then, with the smoothest move imaginable, I pulled out my deck of cards and placed it right on top. “We’re playing.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t even turn his head. “No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are.” I plopped down beside him, stretching my legs out. “It’s a rainy day. You have to play cards on a rainy day. It’s the law.”
He finally looked at me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s not a law.”
I gasped dramatically. “What? Yes, it is! Right after the one that says you have to eat cookies with milk and the one about never trusting someone who wears socks with sandals.”
He blinked. “Where do you get this stuff?”
I shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”
“You literally just said you did.”
“Details.”
He exhaled through his nose but didn’t argue, which meant I was winning. Slowly, he reached for the cards, picking them up like they might bite him.
I grinned. “Finally! Some enthusiasm! Wow, Malcolm, I never knew you were such a wild card.”
He stared at me. “That was a terrible joke.”
“I disagree.”
Shaking his head, he started shuffling the deck, his fingers moving smoothly over the cards. I watched, a little impressed. “You’ve done this before,” I noted.
“I’ve played cards before. Shocking.”
“I mean, the way you shuffle. It’s, like... fancy. Like something a casino dealer would do.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “One of my old foster homes was run by a guy who loved poker. He taught me how to play. Said it was the only useful thing I’d probably ever learn.”
I frowned but didn’t say anything. Instead, I grabbed a chip from the bag and popped it into my mouth. “Well, that’s depressing. And also incorrect. I mean, knowing how to fold a fitted sheet is way more impressive.”
His lip twitched. Almost a smile.
I pointed at him. “That was close! I saw it!”
“Just deal the cards.”
I laughed, but I did as he asked. We played a few rounds, the soft rhythm of rain against the window filling the silences.
At first, Malcolm played like a robot—expressionless, barely reacting when he won or lost. But then I started commentating, which, in my opinion, was a very important part of any game.
“Oh wow, folks! Malcolm ‘Mysterious and Broody’ Chambers is taking the lead! But wait! What’s this? Summer ‘Definitely More Fun’ Adkins is making a comeback!”
Malcolm gave me a look. “You’re the worst.”
“I am the best, actually.”
He shook his head but didn’t stop playing. And after a few more rounds, something even crazier happened. He started getting competitive.
“You’re cheating,” he muttered after I won again.
I gasped. “How dare you. I would never.”
“You just switched that card from your sleeve.”
I held up my arms. “Where would I even hide a card? I’m wearing a tank top.”
His lips pressed together like he was holding back a smirk. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I prefer the term ‘delightfully entertaining.’”
We played again. And again. And every time, I won.
After the fifth round, he set his cards down with a sigh, leaning back against the window. “I never win anything.”
I stilled, my grin fading. Something about the way he said it—so casual, like it was just a fact—made my stomach twist.
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. His fingers traced the edge of a card, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he said, “No one ever picks me.”
I felt like someone had knocked the air out of me.
He kept his eyes on the table, his voice flat. “No one ever chooses me. Not families. Not people. Not anyone.”
I swallowed hard. “That’s not true.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Name one person who has.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to fix it. But I couldn’t. Because I didn’t have an answer.
For a long moment, we just sat there, the rain tapping against the glass.
I wasn’t used to seeing Malcolm like this—not just quiet, but tired.
Like the weight of his own existence was something he had just gotten used to carrying.
And it made me angry. Not at him, but at the world.
At every person who had made him feel like he wasn’t worth choosing.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I scooted closer and wrapped my arms around him.
Malcolm tensed immediately, his entire body going rigid. I wasn’t surprised. He probably wasn’t used to people touching him, let alone hugging him. I expected him to pull away, maybe even snap at me.
But he didn’t.
After a few seconds, his shoulders loosened slightly. Not completely. But just enough.
I rested my chin on his shoulder. “You’re not unwanted, Malcolm.”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t push me away either. And that was enough.
After a moment, I pulled back, giving him space. He looked at me, his face unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes were different. Like maybe—just maybe—he wanted to believe me.
I smiled. “Oh, and by the way... I totally let you win that last round.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“I did.” I stood up, stretching. “But don’t worry, I’ll destroy you next time.”
He rolled his eyes, but I caught a tiny flicker of amusement before he turned away.
And later that night, when I was lying in bed, staring at my ceiling, I realized something.
Malcolm didn’t push me away.
And that meant, somehow, I was winning.