Page 28 of Enzo

“Fuck, Robbie…” The second the words left my mouth, horror consumed his expression, and he shoved away from me so fast the chair rocked.

“I mean—shit—never mind, forget it.”

In his rush to the sink, he was close to tripping over my feet, gripping the edge as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. The tension in his shoulders drawn tight enough that I half expected him to snap.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He didn’t look at me, his knuckles white where his hands clung to the counter. “I mean… I don’t know why I said that.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” I insisted. “I was the idiot who spoke first. If anything, I should be the one embarrassed.” I paused. “Your eyesarebeautiful, Robbie. But I didn’t mean to dig up anything. I just…” I shook my head. “I just said something stupid, okay? We’re good.”

Finally, he turned to face me, flushed.

“I’m a mess,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t believe it himself.

“You’re not a mess.”

“I am.” He rubbed his hands down his face and his breath hitched, and for a second, I thought he might cry.

“Good Mac and Cheese,” I changed the subject, trying to keep it light.

“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice low.

We’d usually read at the table after we’d eaten, Robbie lost in one of his books, while I skimmed through a car magazine. Other times, we’d watch a movie. He liked familiar ones, things he’d seen before—like they brought him comfort. Some nights we’d hug, and he’d read on my lap. It was just the way it was. He was mine to care for, and my complicated emotions were put on hold for every second he was in my arms.

I’d set up a movie and get him upstairs to chill.

I needed that.Heneeded that.

I was halfway to the stairs when his voice stopped me. “Enzo?”

“Yep?”

“Before you go, can I have one last hug?”

I turned back. Robbie was already standing, fidgeting as though he’d made a mistake and expected me to say no.

“I’m not going up. I’m… Yeah,” I said, stepping forward and opening my arms.

He barely hesitated before pressing into me, his head tucked to my chest. He wasn’t small, but he felt fragile like this; if I held him too tightly, he might break. I wrapped my arms around him, steady and sure, giving him time to decide when to let go. His breathing slowed, his grip tightening before he relaxed against me.

“You’re okay, kid,” I murmured.

He stiffened at the word, and I knew I’d messed up. He hated that nickname, hated anything that made him feel small.

“Not a kid,” he reminded me.

I didn’t correct myself because ‘Kid’ meant he was ours—part of this mismatched family we’d built at Redcars. It meant I was here to watch out for him, no matter what.

When he pulled back, his eyes were clearer, less haunted.

“Good hug,” I said as though this were normal.

He rubbed his face as if he could scrub away whatever he felt. “Yeah. Thanks.”

I headed for the stairs again, figuring that was enough for tonight. But I paused at the bottom, glancing back. “Wanna get ourLord of the Ringsfreak on?”

He blinked in surprise, then tested me. “Which one?”

“Two Towers?”

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