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“An omelet. You could use the protein, I’m sure.”
“I love bell peppers in my omelets,” I murmur. A surge of warmth courses through my veins as the realization hits me: he’s making my favorite.
“I know,” he grunts. “Sit down, Evangeline.”
There’s no real heat in his voice, more like gruff affection. Like he’s trying to mother-hen me. In my own home. There's irony in there somewhere, I’m sure of it.
The stool screeches on the floor as I drag it out from under the island and collapse into it, feeling the weight of the day finally catching up to me. I watch as Silas moves with practiced ease around my kitchen, the clinking of pans and sizzling of butter filling the air.
“You seem quite at home here,” I muse.
“Is that a problem?” With a flick of his wrist, he flips the omelet over and slides it onto a waiting plate. He sets the plate in front of me, his hands steady as he braces them on the island across from me.
“No, no problem.” I hum under my breath, a noise of appreciation as I eye the fluffy eggs and colorful veggies. “Thank you, Silas. This looks amazing.” I pick up the fork and cut off a corner of the omelet.
There’s a beat of silence, and I glance up at him from underneath my lashes. He looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying something considering I would describe his usual demeanor as stoic.
“What?” I whisper, dropping the fork to the plate with a clink. I smooth my hair back off my face, wincing a little when I graze a tender spot on my head.
“Thank you, Evangeline,” he murmurs with sincere intensity, his gaze holding mine. He jerks his chin to the food between us. “This is just a small token of my appreciation for what you did.”
I swallow over the lump of emotion in my throat. Sincere Silas is uncharted territory for me, and I don’t know what to do or say that won’t spook him. I drop my hand to my lap, glancing to the side for a second.
“Oh, it was nothing.”
He leans forward, his biceps flexing against their cotton confines. “It was everything.”
Nova sinks into the stool next to me, and Bane walks around the island to lean against the counter. I’m not sure if I’m grateful or frustrated by their interruption. I feel like there’s a lot of unsaid things between Silas and I, and the only way we can all work is by going through it. And that might mean having a couple of uncomfortable conversations.
The four of us look at one another, as if we’re all mentally preparing ourselves for the conversation we’re about to have.
“Where should I start?”
“At the beginning, sugar.”
I nod and blow out a breath. “Alright, here we go.”
22
BANE
I had an idea of what went down. I think we all thought about all the different possibilities of what transpired there that day. Not that we talked about it together, at least nothing more than strategic questions. I didn’t realize it until now, but all three of us were careful not to bring up her too much.
You would think that this type of thing would bond me and my cousins, and maybe in a roundabout way it did. But as I look around the kitchen—her kitchen—I find myself conscious of the way we’re all standing. Like we’re on a trip wire, waiting for the one word that's going to set each of us off. I idly wonder if it would be the same word.
I find myself holding my breath, dread and anger circling each other’s tails like a macabre game of cat and mouse.
All the hope and prayers in the world couldn’t have saved her that day, and yet, here she is. Relatively unscathed. How the fuck that happened is a goddamn mystery. A miracle really.
We didn't have a spoken agreement, but it seems we’re all on the same page, content to let Evangeline pour her story out uninterrupted. I don't want to interject any kind of questions right now, fearful that she’ll lose her train of thought, or get sucked into a whirlpool of emotions. Not that she’s not entitled to them, but they can be so derailing.
But surprisingly, she’s delivering the facts and details she remembers with a stoic sort of clarity. Almost like she’s reading transcripts of a movie—because that’s how absolutely wild this whole thing is.
If this wasn’t my life, I'd be worried that I'm in some alternate reality, on one of those eye-in-the-sky shows. Entertainment for the masses. Because that’s the only reason I can make sense of what the fuck happened.
Evangeline blows out a breath and slumps against the back of the stool. Nova recovers first. He throws his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side, dragging his lips across the top of her head. “I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetheart. So fucking glad.”
“You did good,” I murmur, catching her eye.
