girl was his sister. His half-sister, to be more accurate, but still. A sibling. He’d thought so long and hard about what it’d be like to know his birth mother, but he’d never really considered what it’d be like to know the half-sister, and two half-brothers he knew Josie Stratton had gone on to mother.
What age was Arryn now? Nine, he thought? Yes, nine. He’d been nine himself when she was born, completely ignorant of her existence until three years later when he’d turned twelve and his adoptive parents had sat him down and rocked his world in the most loving way they possibly could.
Arryn held out her hand. It was smeared with dirt, and she had callouses along her palm as if she spent a lot of time gripping monkey bars. Reed put his larger hand in her smaller one. She squeezed it and he was surprised by the immediate comfort the gesture provided. He allowed his sister to lead him to the house he’d only seen from a distance.
The screen door squeaked when it opened, Arryn grasping his hand more tightly as though he might turn back rather than step beyond the threshold. And truth be told, he had a mind to. His nerves were buzzing, heart thumping as he entered the house, the screen clattering closed behind him. As Arryn led him through a foyer, his gaze jumped around, landing on a photo gallery hanging on the wall, and another leading up the stairs. His steps slowed and his breath caught when he spotted his own eyes staring back at him from among the other smiling faces. Third grade, fourth grade . . . fifth . . . all the way up to his high school graduation photo near the top of the stairs, easily recognizable because of the scarlet red cap and gown. Reed swallowed hard. He’d told his mother he looked like a cardinal and she’d laughed and said, yes, but a smart cardinal, one with a diploma . . .
Arryn dropped his hand as if she instinctively knew there was no turning back for him now.
Reed ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed by emotions he couldn’t even name. He’d thought . . . what had he thought? That Josie had started her own family, and that he should let her move on? But she hadn’t moved on. Not from him. It hit him then—she’d meant every word of the letter she’d written, the one that he’d read over a hundred times since that day his adoptive parents gave it to him, and then sat clenching their hands, gazing at him with worried eyes as he read it.
I want you to know that even before they took you in their arms and welcomed you into their hearts and their home, you were already loved, deeply and unconditionally . . .
Yes, Josie had meant every word. Not just then, but every day since then. She’d not only loved him, but she’d made room for him in her family despite that, physically, he wasn’t there. She’d made room for him in her heart.
She hadn’t let him go. Ever.
A sudden feeling of intense remorse hit him that he hadn’t come sooner. He looked down at the little girl staring up at him. Waiting for him to be ready to move forward. “Thank you,” he said, his voice gritty with gratitude.
She smiled sweetly just as the sound of a woman’s voice came from what he thought must be the kitchen beyond. “Arryn? Is that you? Get washed up for dinner, honey. I could use some help—”
A woman stepped into the doorway holding a stack of plates. Her gaze landed on him and she came to a dead halt, eyes flaring with . . . fear. The plates slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor and shattering loudly. No one moved. As quickly as he’d seen the flash of terror, it was gone, replaced by shock, then . . . understanding. Her expression collapsed and she brought a trembling hand to her mouth. “Reed,” she whispered. “Reed.”
He stared at her, assessing her reaction to him. The fear . . . for the breath of a moment she’d thought he was his biological father. He cringed internally. He knew he looked like him, the infamous serial killer. He knew that much. “I’m sorry it took me so long to . . .” His words faded away, and he sucked in a quick breath, trying to rein in the emotions