A Love So Dangerous - Lili Valente Page 0,2

potty-trained a few weeks back, saving me some much needed money on pull-ups.

The chances that Danny and Emmie will end up in the same foster home are slim to none. And even if they do, I can’t imagine a foster family agreeing to a twelve-year-old boy and a two-year-old girl sharing a room. There are probably rules against that kind of thing, rules that have to be followed no matter how much it’s going to devastate two kids who love each other.

My stomach gurgles and acid burns the back of my throat.

“You’re going to figure it out,” I mutter to myself, crossing to grab an antacid.

I’m on top of the kitchen counter on my knees, reaching up to the top shelf where I’ve kept the medicine since Ray ate a bar of chocolate laxatives when he was seven, when the front door opens and the smell of garlic and melted cheese wafts through the living room into the kitchen.

Immediately, my breath comes easier and my stomach gurgles—with hunger this time—reminding me I haven’t eaten anything since ten o’clock this morning.

“Pizza!” Isaac booms in his relentlessly upbeat voice as the door slams shut behind him. “Come and get it, Cooneys!”

“You’re an angel!” I call out, grinning as I hop down from the counter, antacid forgotten as I make a beeline around the island into the living room.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs, and moments later Isaac is surrounded by jumping kids, and four pairs of grabbing hands.

“Hold on,” he says, holding the pizza out of Danny’s reach, brown eyes crinkling at the edges when he laughs. “Wash your hands first. It’s too hot to eat yet, anyway.”

“Wash ‘em good,” I call out as Danny, Ray—who has apparently decided to emerge from bath time seclusion in the name of supper—and Sean race each other toward the downstairs bathroom.

I scoop Emmie up before she can get trampled and lean in to give Isaac a hug.

“Hey there.” He squishes Emmie and me against a soft brown tee shirt that smells pleasantly of wood-fired pizza oven, pine-scented air freshener, and best friend. “How you holding up?”

“Pretty good,” I say, melting into the hug.

Isaac’s always been a big guy—he played football when we were in high school and at Limestone College until he quit to run the family pizza joint after his dad’s stroke—but since he started working at Frank’s Pies, he’s acquired a tummy to go with the muscles. His girlfriend, Heather, teases him about it, but I kind of like the pudge. There’s something comforting about hugging a guy who feels like a giant, cuddly bear, but is also capable of ripping a bad guy’s head off with his bare hands.

“Pretty good, you think you’ve got the problem licked?” Isaac asks as he pulls away to set the pizza boxes balanced in his free hand on the crumb-covered table. “Or pretty good, you’ve only had seven antacids today instead of twelve?”

I wrinkle my nose, but am spared from answering when Danny skids to a stop beside me and dives for the pizza.

“Hold on a second! Let me get plates and napkins.” I hurry into the kitchen, grabbing plates and the roll of paper towels and sliding them across the island to Isaac, who deals out place settings like a round of cards.

Emmie, still balanced on my hip, starts to squirm—obviously ready to join the big boys at the table—so I hurry over to the sink.

“Let’s get your hands clean, doodle.” I shift her around, balancing her between my body and the sink so our hands can tangle together beneath the cool stream of water.

I focus on her pudgy little fingers, wondering how I’m going to hold up without seeing them every day. Raising a baby and my younger brothers on my own for most of the past two and a half years has been so difficult and time-consuming there hasn’t been much time to think.

No time to think about how they feel like my kids now, not Dad’s or Mom’s or—God forbid—my piece of shit sister’s. No time to think about how much a part of me they are, how my world revolves around them, or how much I would miss the chaos and the laughter and the crazy and even the hard stuff if it were all to suddenly vanish.

This family has cost me my fair share of blood, sweat, and tears, but they are mine and I love them.

I need them. So fucking much.

CHAPTER TWO

Caitlin

“I think her hands are clean.” The words come