Page 215 of Ruin Me Gently

“You know,” I murmured. “When I was a kid, I used to take my sisters up on the roof.”

She tilted her head, her gaze settling on me.

And just like that, I was back there. Back on that rooftop of our rundown, shitty little house, legs crossed, arms draped over my knees, listening to my sisters fill the night with sound.

“Vita would make up these ridiculous stories about the stars,” I continued. “How each one was a person who got stuck up there for doing something stupid—like stealing the last cookie or lying about finishing their homework.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Harsh sentencing.”

I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Gigi would try to count them all. She’d get frustrated after a couple dozen and swear she’d get it right next time. I’d just sit there and listen. Let them do their thing.”

I could still see them—Vita, dramatic as hell, gesturing wildly as she spun some story about a baker who stole his own bread, and got sentenced to an eternity in the galaxy.

Gigi, squinting at the sky, furiously whispering numbers under her breath before throwing her tiny hands up and declaring it impossible.

And I’d staythere, playing dutiful big brother. Making sure they didn’t climb too high, making sure they didn’t get too close to the edge. Making sure they had that moment—that memory.

The silence stretched between us for a few minutes before Lilith turned her head toward the sky, eyes reflecting the stars scattered like spilled sugar across the black.

“My dad used to tell me they were wishes.”

I stayed silent. Not because I didn’t want to respond—but because I didn’t want to break the fragility.

“I don’t remember a lot, not really. Just bits and pieces,” she said. “I remember sitting outside with him at night. He’d point up at the skyline and tell me very star was a wish that someone had made, and if you looked hard enough, you could find your own.”

She furrowed her brows slightly, curling her fingers around her locket.

“I remember thinking I had to pick the biggest, brightest one—because that had to be the best wish, right?” Her laugh was bittersweet. “And then he’d just shake his head, all pretend-stern, and tell me thatno,the best wishes weren’t always the biggest ones. They were the ones that shined just for you.”

I slid my hand over hers, squeezing slightly.

My eyes flickered to her collarbones, the ink etched delicately into her skin, a trail of tiny constellations spanning the soft curve of bone and skin.

I tilted my head slightly. “Is that why you have the—?” I gestured toward them, my fingers grazing just close enough without touching.

She strayed a finger over one of the stars, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “These? Yeah,” her voice softened. “Wishes from my dad.”

I squeezed her fingers gently. “What did you wish for?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” she said, shrugging. “A pony. More cookies. That Evelyn would let me stay up past my bedtime.”

She glanced down at where my hand covered hers before turning her gaze back to the sky. “I remember the last time we sat outside together. He told me to pick a star, so I did. And then… I don’t know. After he was gone, I just—” she exhaled sharply. “I just stopped.”

Her fingers brushed over the locket around her neck. A nervous habit. Something she did when she didn’t feel quite right.

“This was his locket too. Well, it was Evelyn’s. But she threw it away when she married Wayne.”

She swallowed, fingers curling around the delicate chain. “I dug it out of the trash, and it’s been mine ever since.”

I stayed quiet. Didn’t push. Didn’t ask. This was the most she’d ever given me, and I wasn’t going to fuck it up by speaking too soon.

“Back when Evelyn was… nice,” she murmured. “She would tell me about him all the time. He was a good guy, from what I heard. Called Jude,” she said it like the name was something foreign on her tongue, like something she never got to use. “He was a veterinarian. Everyone loved him. Apparently, he was just as much of an ass as I am.”

A huff of laughter broke from her lips. I knew what she was doing. Trying to soften the blow with humour.

“He got really sick when I was six and died. He was only twenty-nine. It felt weird after I turned that age. Like I was surpassing him.” She swallowed, thumb rubbing over the worn locket. “Like he’d never know what it was like to be the age I was. That I was living in years he never got to have.”

Gesù Cristo.

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