“So no one would think it’s odd that I’m walking in with you?”

Sloan shakes her head. “I think the employees are so used to seeing me alone, they’d only be curious that I finally showed up with someone. But they wouldn’t be suspicious or tell Asa, because they don’t even know Asa.” She drops her keys and her phone in her purse and then grips the steering wheel. She stares out over the parking lot in front of us. “That’s really sad, isn’t it? That I have no one? Literally no one. It’s always just been me and Stephen against the whole goddamn world.”

I reach over and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I want to comfort her-to tell her she has me. But she’s being so honest right now, I don’t want to feed her another lie. She doesn’t even know my real name and the more lies I tell her in moments like these, the harder it’ll be for her to forgive me when she finds out the truth.

Which she almost did earlier. I swear to God, sometimes I wonder how I ever got this position to begin with. I am the worst undercover detective that ever existed. Seriously, they should call me The Pink Panther.

Sometimes I think maybe she could handle it if I told her the truth. That maybe she would be able to help out in some way. But that would only put her in more danger and I already do that enough.

Maybe in time, if I can get her to earn Ryan’s trust, he’ll see the benefit of filling her in. But for now, it’s better she doesn’t know.

She’s still staring blankly out the window, so I pull her to me and hug her. She wraps her arms around me and sighs against my neck, and I wish Asa would fucking die on the way back from the casino.

Shit. That was really harsh.

But can he not see how much better the lives of those around him would be if he didn’t exist?

Of course he can’t. You see nothing outside the realm of yourself when you’re a sadistic narcissist.

“You give really nice hugs,” Sloan says.

I hug her tighter. “I think you just haven’t been given enough hugs in your lifetime.”

“That too,” she says with a sigh.

I keep my grip on her for a moment longer, until she whispers against my neck. “Fifty-six King Crabs ate shoelaces for Easter dinner and then they coughed up Rainbow Brite through their nostrils.”

I laugh and kiss her on top of her head. “You can’t buy illegal butter with a bike wheel or silly string.”

I can feel her smile when she finds my mouth and kisses me.

That’s all I wanted before we got out of this car-for her smile to return.

***

“You said he didn’t like Asa,” I say on our way down the hall toward Stephen’s room. “So if he doesn’t communicate, how do you know if he likes or dislikes someone?”

She’s been filling me in on her brother’s condition during the walk to his room. She listed off about five things he’s been diagnosed with, but I can’t even remember the names of them, so the least I can do is try to understand them.

“We have our own way of communicating,” she says. “I’ve practically raised him since he was an infant.” She rounds the corner and points down a hallway. “He’s down here at the end.”

I still have questions, so I pull on her hand until we come to a stop. “But you’re only a few years older than him. How did you raise him?”

She looks up at me and shrugs. “I did what I had to, Carter. No one else was around to do it.”

I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone like her. I kiss her, partly because I want to get as many kisses in as we can today and partly because she deserves a little more affection in her life. Selfless affection. I don’t mean for the kiss to be anything more than a second or two, but we haven’t been able to kiss like this since our first kiss. I’m instantly pulled into it and everything else fades away.

Until someone clears their throat behind us. We pull apart to see a nurse attempting to exit the doorway we’re blocking. Sloan apologizes and then starts laughing as we rush down the hallway to Stephen’s room.

She knocks on the door and then pushes it open. I follow her inside, immediately impressed with the facility. I expected more of a nursing home or hospital room set-up, but these are more like miniature apartments. A small living area, attached to a sleeping area and a mini kitchenette. I notice there’s no stove or microwave though, which probably means he has to have all his meals prepared for him.

Sloan walks into the living area to greet her brother, but I wait in the entryway, not wanting to interrupt them.

Stephen is sitting on the couch, watching the television. He glances up at Sloan and I can immediately see the resemblance. They have the same hair color, same hair texture, same eyes.

But his face is expressionless. He turns back to the TV and my heart instantly aches for Sloan. The one person in this world she loves doesn’t have the capacity to express his love in return. No wonder she seems so lonely. She’s probably the loneliest person I’ve ever met.

“Stephen, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she says, pointing in my direction. “That’s my friend Carter. We go to school together.”

Stephen looks at me, but then looks back at the TV just as quick.

Sloan pats the couch next to her, requesting me to come sit by her. I walk over and sit down, watching her interact with him. She begins pulling things out of her purse. Nail clippers, paper, a pen, a soda. She talks to him the whole time, telling him about the drive over and giving him her thoughts on the new resident she noticed next door.

“You want ice?” she asks.

I glance at Stephen, but he gives no indication that he wants ice. Sloan points in the kitchen area. “Carter, will you make a glass of ice for him? And get the blue straw out of the top left-hand drawer?”

I nod and go to the kitchen to make his cup of ice. I notice she grabs a pen and starts writing something down. She slides the paper over to Stephen and he instantly looks at it, grabs the pen and leans forward to write something in return.

He can read and write? She didn’t mention that.

When I’m finished with the cup of ice, I walk back to the living room and hand it to her. She finishes writing something else and hands the paper back to Stephen, then pours his soda into the glass. As soon as she sticks the straw in it, Stephen grabs it out of her hand and begins drinking it. He hands her back the paper and she hands it to me. I read what she wrote first.

Books made out of jellybeans get really sticky when you wear furry gloves.

I read what Stephen wrote next. His writing isn’t as legible as hers, but I can make out what it says.

Baskets of lizards on my head break the cotton in half for you.

I glance at Sloan and she shoots me a small smile. I recall our first day in class together when I saw her doing this for the first time. She said it was just a game she plays sometimes. I guess this is what she meant. She plays it on Sundays with Stephen.

“Can he read almost anything?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t really comprehend. I taught him how to read and write when we were younger, but stringing full thoughts together has never been something I’ve seen him do on paper. It’s his favorite game to play.”

I look over at Stephen. “Can I write something, Stephen?” I reach out for the pen and he hands it to me, but he still doesn’t look at me. I press it to the paper.

Your sister is amazing and you’re very lucky to have her.

I hand Sloan the paper and she reads it before handing it to Stephen. She blushes and nudges me in the shoulder, then passes the pen and paper off to him.

And that’s what we do for the next ten pages. Stephen and Sloan write random words back and forth, and I just write down a bunch of compliments about Sloan.

Your sister has great hair. I especially love it when she curls it.