Cherish Hard
Page 39
Catie leaned so quickly into her sister’s body, into her touch, that Sailor realized just how desperately the teenager had needed Ísa to be here tonight, holding her. Jacqueline might’ve birthed Catie, and Clive might call himself her father, but Ísa was her rock. Sailor’s redhead knew how to love her people.
Sailor’s heart clenched, a raw craving in his gut.
Turning her dark brown eyes toward Sailor without pulling away from Ísa, Catie said, “So, you two are friends?” A waggle of her eyebrows, dimples peeking out in both cheeks. “What kind of friends?”
“Catie.”
Sailor grinned and folded his arms. “The kind of friends who can road-trip together without fighting over the music, Brown Eyes,” he said to a delighted smile from Catie. “So, any idea when we can we spring you from this joint?”
A plump older woman bustled in from the corridor right then. Her hair was dark and her features a mix of what Sailor would bet was Chinese and Samoan. She reminded him of one of his younger cousins on his dad’s side, his middle aunt having married an engineer from Shanghai after meeting him during a language-exchange program.
“Oh, Ísa, you’re here,” she said, her face breaking out into a smile. “I just went to grab a muffin for our girl. The café was closed, so I drove over to the nearest convenience store.”
“Thanks so much for looking after her, Martha,” Ísa said, enfolding the older woman in a tight hug. “And for calling me. Do you know if the doctors are ready for her to go home?”
“Oh yes.” Martha handed Catie a brown paper bag. “Another half hour’s observation and they’ll sign off on her release.”
“That’s fantastic.” Ísa stroked back her sister’s unbound hair.
Catie tucked herself up against Ísa again while stuffing her face with what appeared to be an enormous orange chocolate chip muffin. Seeing Sailor’s interested glance, she held out the bag. “Want some?”
Sailor shrugged and tore off a piece. “Thanks.” No sane member of the Bishop-Esera clan ever brought only one muffin—the ensuing riot would end in bloodshed.
When Catie smiled at him this time, it was a little devious. “Are you going to stay the night?” she asked with utmost innocence. “It’s just that we only have one spare bedroom.”
“I expect you have a sofa,” Sailor responded with deadpan solemnity.
Catie pulled away her muffin with a scowl so reminiscent of Ísa that Sailor knew he’d have to be very careful not to be charmed. “This is not like how it goes in the romance movies.”
“Eat your muffin, Catiebug.” Ísa tapped her sister on the nose in what seemed to be an affectionate holdover from Catie’s childhood. “We’ll go get your discharge papers sorted.”
Sailor stayed with Catie while Ísa and Martha stepped out. The kid decided to share more of her cake-sized muffin with him while bombarding him with questions. During the interrogation, she managed to figure out that he was working for Fast Organic and that Ísa was technically his boss.
“No way.” A long whistle. “How does that work? I mean, having your girlfriend be your boss?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Sailor found he didn’t enjoy speaking that sentence. “Though if she was, I’m man enough to handle it. Only wimps fear strong women.”
Catie held up a hand for a high five. After he’d returned it, she said, “Thanks for driving my sister. She worries a lot about me.”
“And that’s not good?”
A shrug that was very teenage in nature. “I mean, it’s not her job, is it? I feel like I’m always calling her when it’s my dad I should be calling.” Her lips turned down at the corners. “Martha couldn’t even get hold of him after my fall.”
Not so much as a mention of Jacqueline.
And while dear dad didn’t appear much better than Catie’s absentee mother, the man was Catie’s father. Some things were set in stone, and trying to change one of those immutable facts was a sure way to get a cracked skull and a bleeding soul.
Sailor knew that all too well himself.
“Your sister told me you’re an athlete,” he said, shifting the topic before he said something he probably shouldn’t. “I’ve got a few in my family.”
For the first time, Catie’s response was a touch wary. “Yeah?”
“Rugby.”
Her eyes narrowed… then widened. “Holy freaking crapazoids! No wonder you look familiar!” A poke to his abdomen. “Your brother’s the Bishop. Admit it.”
Sailor grinned. “Yep. Fan?”
“Are you kidding me? He’s the best! Did you see how he took down that opposition player last week? Just mowed him down. Boom, Bishop slam!”
Always ready to talk rugby, Sailor discussed the game with Catie before nodding at the prosthetics he could see sitting against a chair on the other side of the bed. “Those your walking legs?” The metal parts were sleekly robotic with no flesh-colored exterior.
“Yeah. I had really awesome skins on my last ones—dragons and stuff blowing up, but then I grew again. No point making these look amazing when I’m still growing. Argh!” She fell back dramatically against her pillow. “It’s such a major pain to get new prosthetics fitted. It takes forever to get everything just right.”
Even though she was lying down, Sailor could tell that Catie was already over Ísa’s height, would probably nudge five eight or nine on her prosthetics. He chuckled. “My youngest brother has the opposite problem. He’s fourteen and still waiting for his growth spurt.” Catie would tower over Danny.
“Ouch.” Catie winced. “That must be sucky.”
“Danny’s pretty chill about it.” He took another look at the prosthetics, which appeared articulated for fluid movement. “When you run, do you use blades? I’ve always wanted to see what they look like in real life.”
Catie’s face lit up. “I have running legs, but no blades yet. My mother said she’ll pay for them as soon as I’ve stopped growing. They’re insanely expensive.” Bouncing in her hospital bed, Catie added, “I’m going crazy waiting for them, but she’s right—it’d be dumb to waste the money when I’m beanpoling. And I’d be sooooo mad if I got some fitted just right, only to have to switch.”
The two of them were talking the specifics of running blades when Ísa and Martha walked back into the room. Sailor, still sore about having been forced to deny that Ísa was his girlfriend, reached over to tweak a lock of her hair. As Catie giggled, Ísa stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth softly over his.
His gut clenched, his heart melting right into her hands.
* * *
THEY REACHED HOME AFTER ONE that morning. Martha’s phone beeped with an incoming message just as they were about to walk into the house Catie shared with her father and the caregiver.
“It’s my daughter wanting to talk,” Martha said. “I texted her to say I was up.”
“Tina’s got a new baby who keeps her up,” Catie volunteered. “But Martha only babysits sometimes because she thinks Tina should take responsibility for her own baby—Martha’s not a nanny, and she raised her daughter on her own, didn’t she?” The last words were spoken in a near-perfect mimicry of Martha’s voice.
Sailor’s heart clenched, a raw craving in his gut.
Turning her dark brown eyes toward Sailor without pulling away from Ísa, Catie said, “So, you two are friends?” A waggle of her eyebrows, dimples peeking out in both cheeks. “What kind of friends?”
“Catie.”
Sailor grinned and folded his arms. “The kind of friends who can road-trip together without fighting over the music, Brown Eyes,” he said to a delighted smile from Catie. “So, any idea when we can we spring you from this joint?”
A plump older woman bustled in from the corridor right then. Her hair was dark and her features a mix of what Sailor would bet was Chinese and Samoan. She reminded him of one of his younger cousins on his dad’s side, his middle aunt having married an engineer from Shanghai after meeting him during a language-exchange program.
“Oh, Ísa, you’re here,” she said, her face breaking out into a smile. “I just went to grab a muffin for our girl. The café was closed, so I drove over to the nearest convenience store.”
“Thanks so much for looking after her, Martha,” Ísa said, enfolding the older woman in a tight hug. “And for calling me. Do you know if the doctors are ready for her to go home?”
“Oh yes.” Martha handed Catie a brown paper bag. “Another half hour’s observation and they’ll sign off on her release.”
“That’s fantastic.” Ísa stroked back her sister’s unbound hair.
Catie tucked herself up against Ísa again while stuffing her face with what appeared to be an enormous orange chocolate chip muffin. Seeing Sailor’s interested glance, she held out the bag. “Want some?”
Sailor shrugged and tore off a piece. “Thanks.” No sane member of the Bishop-Esera clan ever brought only one muffin—the ensuing riot would end in bloodshed.
When Catie smiled at him this time, it was a little devious. “Are you going to stay the night?” she asked with utmost innocence. “It’s just that we only have one spare bedroom.”
“I expect you have a sofa,” Sailor responded with deadpan solemnity.
Catie pulled away her muffin with a scowl so reminiscent of Ísa that Sailor knew he’d have to be very careful not to be charmed. “This is not like how it goes in the romance movies.”
“Eat your muffin, Catiebug.” Ísa tapped her sister on the nose in what seemed to be an affectionate holdover from Catie’s childhood. “We’ll go get your discharge papers sorted.”
Sailor stayed with Catie while Ísa and Martha stepped out. The kid decided to share more of her cake-sized muffin with him while bombarding him with questions. During the interrogation, she managed to figure out that he was working for Fast Organic and that Ísa was technically his boss.
“No way.” A long whistle. “How does that work? I mean, having your girlfriend be your boss?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Sailor found he didn’t enjoy speaking that sentence. “Though if she was, I’m man enough to handle it. Only wimps fear strong women.”
Catie held up a hand for a high five. After he’d returned it, she said, “Thanks for driving my sister. She worries a lot about me.”
“And that’s not good?”
A shrug that was very teenage in nature. “I mean, it’s not her job, is it? I feel like I’m always calling her when it’s my dad I should be calling.” Her lips turned down at the corners. “Martha couldn’t even get hold of him after my fall.”
Not so much as a mention of Jacqueline.
And while dear dad didn’t appear much better than Catie’s absentee mother, the man was Catie’s father. Some things were set in stone, and trying to change one of those immutable facts was a sure way to get a cracked skull and a bleeding soul.
Sailor knew that all too well himself.
“Your sister told me you’re an athlete,” he said, shifting the topic before he said something he probably shouldn’t. “I’ve got a few in my family.”
For the first time, Catie’s response was a touch wary. “Yeah?”
“Rugby.”
Her eyes narrowed… then widened. “Holy freaking crapazoids! No wonder you look familiar!” A poke to his abdomen. “Your brother’s the Bishop. Admit it.”
Sailor grinned. “Yep. Fan?”
“Are you kidding me? He’s the best! Did you see how he took down that opposition player last week? Just mowed him down. Boom, Bishop slam!”
Always ready to talk rugby, Sailor discussed the game with Catie before nodding at the prosthetics he could see sitting against a chair on the other side of the bed. “Those your walking legs?” The metal parts were sleekly robotic with no flesh-colored exterior.
“Yeah. I had really awesome skins on my last ones—dragons and stuff blowing up, but then I grew again. No point making these look amazing when I’m still growing. Argh!” She fell back dramatically against her pillow. “It’s such a major pain to get new prosthetics fitted. It takes forever to get everything just right.”
Even though she was lying down, Sailor could tell that Catie was already over Ísa’s height, would probably nudge five eight or nine on her prosthetics. He chuckled. “My youngest brother has the opposite problem. He’s fourteen and still waiting for his growth spurt.” Catie would tower over Danny.
“Ouch.” Catie winced. “That must be sucky.”
“Danny’s pretty chill about it.” He took another look at the prosthetics, which appeared articulated for fluid movement. “When you run, do you use blades? I’ve always wanted to see what they look like in real life.”
Catie’s face lit up. “I have running legs, but no blades yet. My mother said she’ll pay for them as soon as I’ve stopped growing. They’re insanely expensive.” Bouncing in her hospital bed, Catie added, “I’m going crazy waiting for them, but she’s right—it’d be dumb to waste the money when I’m beanpoling. And I’d be sooooo mad if I got some fitted just right, only to have to switch.”
The two of them were talking the specifics of running blades when Ísa and Martha walked back into the room. Sailor, still sore about having been forced to deny that Ísa was his girlfriend, reached over to tweak a lock of her hair. As Catie giggled, Ísa stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth softly over his.
His gut clenched, his heart melting right into her hands.
* * *
THEY REACHED HOME AFTER ONE that morning. Martha’s phone beeped with an incoming message just as they were about to walk into the house Catie shared with her father and the caregiver.
“It’s my daughter wanting to talk,” Martha said. “I texted her to say I was up.”
“Tina’s got a new baby who keeps her up,” Catie volunteered. “But Martha only babysits sometimes because she thinks Tina should take responsibility for her own baby—Martha’s not a nanny, and she raised her daughter on her own, didn’t she?” The last words were spoken in a near-perfect mimicry of Martha’s voice.
