Adam and I are sitting in Wicked Mocha, each of us nursing a warm cup of coffee. His with a touch of cream, mine black. His elbows are on the table.

We walked here together after my workday ended and he said goodbye to his grandmother. Winston Sinclair stayed away from Pine Manor for the rest of the day. I’m certain that in doing so, he made what was probably the smartest decision of his life. I think if he had come back, his own son would’ve smacked him in the face with the closest bedpan.

Either that, or I would have.

After I took Ms. Sinclair to breakfast this morning, Adam left. He walked right out the door of Pine Manor without saying another word. I spent the morning worrying about what he was doing, and wondering if there really is a Bradley and whether or not Dr. Kopsey agreed to let Mr. Sinclair take his mother back to Seattle.

When Adam returned to Pine Manor just after lunch, his grandmother was napping, and when I asked him where he went, he would only say he had to get out of there for a while. He said he had to think about what it all meant. His uncertainty and hurt was—and is—undeniable.

Adam spent the rest of the afternoon with his grandmother, treating her no differently than he ever has. I checked in on them several times, and they followed their usual routine to a T, playing cards and watching the cooking channel until it was time for dinner.

I’m not sure what he’s going to do or say in this coffee shop, but I’m not going to press him for anything. I’m just going to sit here and take whatever he’s willing to give.

“Crazy morning, huh?” He takes a sip of his coffee after the words are out.

“Yep.” I take a sip of mine, too.

“Sure was fun to meet my father, wasn’t it?”

“Not so much.”

“Good thing I warned you about the giant dickhead part.”

“Yep. And now that I’ve met him, I can think of a few other appropriate descriptors, too.”

“I’ll bet you can.” His joking tone turns serious with the next sentence. “I’ve got a few new ones myself.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just take another sip of my coffee.

“I’m going to see him tonight.” Adam looks down at the table, as if he’s ashamed of his words.

“Oh.” I pause for a moment before I continue. “I bet that’s going to be one hell of an interesting conversation.”

“I agreed to have dinner with him before Gram even called me Bradley, so it was going to be an interesting conversation in the first place, but now… Now, interesting doesn’t even begin to describe the conversation we’re going to have.”

No one can blame him for being pissed off. His grandmother might be taken away from him again, and he might have a brother he never even knew existed. He’s obviously pained by all the lies he suspects he’s been told his whole life. It’s like watching him put together a puzzle, knowing all the while that the resulting picture is going to be nothing but a heartbreaking portrait of lies and deceit.

“Do you think he’ll give you any answers?”

“I’m not going to give him a choice. I’m not walking away until I have every answer I deserve.”

I nod in agreement and silently hope he isn’t making a mistake by going to see his father while the wound is so fresh.

“Where are you meeting him?”

“Dante’s on Fifth. Whatever that is.”

“It’s a restaurant.” Which means it’s a public place. Good.

“Want me to kick him in the shins for you?” He’s back to joking again, and a small smile crosses his lips.

“That’d be nice.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

And with that, my bed-headed swooner and I finish our coffee without another word about Winston Sinclair and his giant dickheaded ways.

Adam kisses me goodbye in front of the coffee shop twenty minutes later. I wish him good luck, knowing tonight is probably going to change everything for him.

* * *

I’m sitting on the couch, eating takeout from The Golden Duck and watching a rerun of Castle, when my phone rings. I’m expecting it to be Adam with news about the dinner with his father, but what I see on the screen instead is a 985 area code.

Charlie.

“Hello?”

“K’acy? Are you there?” She’s whispering. No, I think maybe she’s crying.

“Yeah, I’m here. Charlie? Is that you?”

“I…um…yes, it’s me.” She sniffs and coughs, and her voice gets a bit clearer. She’s pulling herself together. “Hey. How are you, little sis?”

“What’s wrong? Are you crying? What’s going on?” Something flutters around in the pit of my stomach, churning up my insides.

“It’s okay. I’m just…it’s just a little crazy here right now, that’s all.” I hear voices in the background. Lots of voices.

“Where are you? What do you mean it’s a little crazy?”

“I’m at a bar. A restaurant, I mean. I just wanted to say hey and find out how you are.”

“I’m fine. I’m great, actually. But you’re not. I can tell by your voice. Please tell me what’s going on. Are you in trouble?”

“Kinda. Yeah. I mean, I know you’re tired of me asking, but I really need some money right now.”

She’s asked me for money a million and one times before, but this time something is different. This time my heart is racing because her voice is all wrong. It isn’t Charlie on the other end of the phone. It’s panic.

“You have to promise me you aren’t gonna give it to someone else. Promise me you’re not gonna let some what’s-his-face gamble it away.”

“It isn’t like that this time,” she says, her quivering voice revealing a different kind of angst, one I’ve not heard before. “I promise. Really. I promise.”

“And you also have to promise you’re gonna call me every week from now on, so I know you’re okay. I don’t like not knowing if you’re safe. Okay?”

There’s more sniffling on the other end of the phone. “Yes. Yes. I promise. Just please…”

For the first time in a long time, I believe every word she’s saying. It’s like a desperate beggar is pushing the words out of her mouth; I think my sister is quietly pleading for something that will save her life. I know instantly that the trouble she’s in is not the same as all the times before. “How much do you need?”

“Like eight hundred.”

Eight hundred? That’s a month’s rent. Half a month’s salary.

“I’ll see what I can do. Which Western Union?”

“Number 697. On Barrow Street,” she says, obvious relief behind the words. “Promise you’ll send it?”

“I promise.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. By ten. Okay?”

“Good. Okay.” She sucks in a deep breath and then exhales it slowly, as if to steady herself. I nod in understanding even though I know she can’t see me. “Thank you, K’acy. Thank you so much. I’ll pay you back someday. Seriously. As soon as I can, I’ll pay you back. And this is all I’m gonna ask for ever again. Really. This is gonna fix things for me, you know? Like, for real. This is gonna help me get it all back together.”

“I believe you,” I say.

“I mean it.”

“Just be safe, Charlie. Okay?”

“Okay,” she replies. “I’ll talk to you later. Next week.”

“Sounds good.”

“Love you, sis.”

“Love you, too, Charlie.”

“Bye.” The phone goes silent and my fluttering gut turns over on itself. All I can do is hope we both just made promises we can actually keep.

After I use my phone to Google “24-hour pawnshops in Philadelphia,” I head back to my bedroom to find my father’s wedding ring.

* * *

It’s nearly midnight by the time I hear from Adam. I expected him to text or call, but instead, he’s ringing my doorbell. I’m suddenly thankful to still be in my street clothes and not in my pajamas. I’m also thankful tomorrow is my day off. I head across the room to let him in.

“Hey.” I open the door and see an exhausted Adam standing there with his arms slack at his sides.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay?” Because you don’t look okay. I step aside and motion for him to come in.

“Funny you should ask that.” He walks into the room, and I close the door behind him. “Because ‘okay’ is not one of the words I would use to describe myself right now.” He turns to look at me.

“Then what words would you use?”

“Number one: tired.” He starts walking toward me.

“Yeah, I can kinda see that.”

“Number two: angry.” He stops and stands right in front of me.

“Totally understandable.”

“Number three: confused.” He puts his hands on my hips and looks me square in the eye.

“Also, totally understandable.”

“Number four: in love.”

I must look confused as hell myself, standing still as a stone with my mouth hanging open. A second later he adds, “With you.”

“Umm… Have you been drinking?” I narrow my eyes, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

“Number five: completely sober.”

I shake my head in disbelief at what’s happening. Struck again by the astounding accuracy of Miriam Hansen’s words. I put on a smile so he knows I’m not about to trample on his heart. “Man, your father must’ve done a real number on you tonight.”

He presses his thumbs against the front of my hips, but his face doesn’t change.

“That he did. And it made me realize something. The whole time I was sitting there, listening to his bullshit, all I could think about was you. Yes, I’m desperate to know if Gram was telling the truth about who Bradley is, but I realized all my confusion and anger is because of my father’s life, not mine. I’m clear as a bell when it comes to my life right now. And that’s because of you.”

Notes start to throttle around in my brain, bouncing and echoing and singing. They fill my heart with “Soul to Squeeze” and “That’s How Strong My Love Is” and “Ecce Homo” and every other song I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Before he can say another word, I stretch up onto my tiptoes and kiss him. My tongue dances against his, following the rhythms in my head. It’s like the music inside me is melting us together.

Adam wraps his arms around my back and holds me tight as the kiss sinks deeper. A shockwave of emotion shudders through me at the idea of someone—no, of Adam Sinclair—being in love with me. It’s stupendous and terrifying all at once. It means all the love I’ve been sending out for all these years has finally been received. And, most importantly, returned. To be loved is a far more significant thing than anything else in this world, and to be loved by someone who doesn’t share your blood is something to be treasured even more. Because that kind of love isn’t given. It’s earned.

When our lips separate, Adam tilts his head down. There’s a new energy on his face. I don’t see anger and confusion anymore. I only see strength and purpose. He lets go of my waist, and his hands fall to his sides.

“My father is not a good person,” he says, with a voice full of clarity. “I’ve sensed it my whole life, but now I know it for sure. He refused to tell me anything when I told him what Gram said about Bradley. All he would say was she was mistaken. I fought for answers, but he gave me nothing. Nothing.” He takes a step backward, putting some distance between us.

“I know you don’t want to hear this again, but maybe it’s better that way. I mean, maybe it’s better not to know the truth.” I put my hand in my pocket, fidgeting with the folded stack of crinkled twenty-dollar bills from the pawnbroker. A burst of sadness ripples through me like a rapid flash of ignited gunpowder. Here and gone in a heartbeat. “It might be something that hurts.”

“Maybe.” He takes a breath and cracks a small smile.

“I hear there’s a lot to be said for the whole ignorance is bliss thing.”

“I’m not sure I’m ever gonna believe that. Not when it comes to the possibility of me having a brother out there somewhere.”

I nod my head in understanding, sensing he’s already mourning the loss of something he’s not even sure he’s ever had. I need to pull him back into what’s real. “Do you wanna know something that’s definitely the truth?”

“Yes. Please.”

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Adam Sinclair’s mouth stretches into a sea of happiness, teeth shining between a pair of dimples deep enough to sink in. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he says. He steps up to me and hitches his hands back onto my hips. His smile fades as his lips move to connect with mine. The kiss is rushed and needy, sending my endorphins into another lust-induced frenzy. My veins throb with energy, and all I can do is return the kiss and hope he understands the importance of this new “us.”

As my fingers work to unbutton his shirt, his hand moves to the back of my neck, cradling my head and holding me against him. I run my palms across his bare chest and down to the zipper of his jeans as his tongue explores my mouth, reaching into it as if searching for more truth. For more words he can trust. We don’t disconnect until we fall into my bed, naked and wrapped around each other, both of us hanging on to the last small fragments of self-control.

I lie on my back, Adam’s mouth leaving mine to pepper kisses down my neck and then onto my stomach, tickling and enticing as they go. He gently spreads my thighs and settles his head between them. My body is tossed into a cyclone of bliss with every warm, wet stroke of his tongue. A symphony of desire spills out of him and seeps into me, crushing me with its meaning and making me realize that all I want from him is everything he has. All of his light and all of his love. And in return, I’ll give him peace. I’ll give him me.

Just before I reach the edge, he’s gone, pulling away and flipping my body over. Adam lifts my hips until I’m up on my knees, facedown in the pillow. A few minutes after he comes inside, he exhales a jagged sigh. The sound of it makes me lose all my words, all my thoughts. His hands and lips continue to march across my body, moving wherever they want and taking whatever they need, until I’m shouting Adam Sinclair’s name with a jagged breath of my own and hoping this feeling never stops.

* * *

I’m exhausted, nearly asleep against Adam’s chest, when he offers me something else. Something surprising.

“I wasn’t being entirely honest with you when I said my father gave me nothing tonight.” His voice is solid and unemotional. Like what he’s about to say is anything but important. “He did give me something.”

“Oh yeah? And what did he give you?”

“He told me he’s not going to take Gram back to Seattle.”