Page 9 of Lost Boy
FALLON
“You,” I somewhat growl out. My voice isn’t used to this much strain on a daily basis.
What the hell is he doing here, ringing my doorbell and standing on my front porch with that giant, dazzling fucking smile of his and what appears to be an overnight bag.
I hear more car doors slam, and my eyes flick into the darkness behind Ryder. An even larger shadow and another half the size emerge, and things start to click into place as they stroll into the soft yellow glow emanating from the front porch light.
No.
Fuck.
A younger girl, maybe fourteen, and a man in his forties make their way up the steps until they both stand next to Ryder, all three with matching, radiant smiles.
They’re too happy.
Just like Uncle Joel.
I don’t understand it. Not sure I’ve ever felt that.
I prop the screen door open with my bare foot and rub my arms; it’s too cold to stand here in just a T-shirt.
Ryder notices and frowns at the movement. “Let’s get inside.” Then his bright eyes dart to mine in surprise. “Uh. I mean, this is your house now. We can come in, right?”
He’s funny. But I don’t laugh. Not sure I can anymore. The numbness takes it all away. The bad and the good.
“Of course,” I reply before letting him grab the door and hold it open for his dad and little sister.
As soon as we’re in the warmth of the foyer, the man turns to me.
“Fallon, it’s so good to meet you,” he enthusiastically declares before giving me a big bear hug with my arms pinned to my sides.
“Dad. No hugs. Not everyone’s a hugger,” the girl chastises, causing her dad to chuckle and release me from the awkward embrace.
She’s right. I’m not a hugger.
“I’m Sofia,” she says, introducing herself with another gleaming smile.
“And I’m Alejandro, but please just call me Al,” her dad says.
I glance at Ryder, expecting him to say something, even though we met at school today.
He didn’t bother to tell me he’s the boyfriend’s son.
And that means he was the shadow in the hallway last night too.
Sneaky.
I narrow my eyes on him.
What’s he playing at?
He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
“Talk later?” he whispers, flicking those pale olive-green eyes toward his dad and sister.
I nod. I’ll listen, and he can talk. Explain himself.
Uncle Joel takes this opportunity to come bustling out of the kitchen with his own smile lighting up his face.
