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When he took a bite of his eggs, he moaned at how good they tasted. They were soft and fluffy, with just the right amount of spices. His eggs never tasted this good.
Marvell constantly reminded Santee how bad of a cook he was.
“I see you have a fan,” Beckett said to Milly, but he was watching Santee closely.
“It’s just something I threw together,” she said, being modest.
“Right.” Duncan snorted. “That’s like saying the Mona Lisa is just a placemat.”
“Are you comparing my cooking to fine art?” Milly asked with a smile.
“Damn straight,” Duncan replied. “Your food is a work of art, cariño. Si fueras más joven y hombre, te dejaría boquiabierto.”
“What did he just say?” Bran and Santee said at the same time.
The men around the table chuckled. “He said if Milly was younger and male, he’d sweep her off her feet,” Beckett replied.
“Behave,” Milly admonished, but her blush said it all. She enjoyed the flattery.
Santee needed to learn Spanish so he knew what was being said around him.
“You’re just buttering her up because she does everything for you,” Bran said with a wide grin.
“Damn straight.” Duncan winked. “But even if she was a guy, it would be weird since she’s raised us since we were kittens.”
“Settle down,” Cormac said in a no-nonsense voice that made Santee want to obey, even though he wasn’t the one flirting. “That’s not the kind of conversation to have at the breakfast table.”
“You need to learn how to have fun,” Duncan said. “There’s no harm in pulling that stick out of your ass.”
Santee’s eyes widened when Cormac took a swipe at Duncan, but before Cormac made contact, Duncan jumped up and moved back, his plate in hand.
Santee froze, and all he could see was Marvell. How many times had Marvell slapped the mess out of Santee while they were seated at the table eating? Santee couldn’t begin to count them.
“Santee?”
Slowly letting out a breath, Santee blinked several times. This wasn’t home, and Marvell wasn’t there. For now, his brother couldn’t hurt him.
Beckett stood and then took Santee’s hands in his, pulling him from his seat. “Nice going, jackass,” Beckett snapped at Cormac.
Santee stood, ready to run from the room. He hadn’t meant to freeze, and he definitely hadn’t meant to pull all the attention toward him.
“I’m sorry, Santee,” Cormac said with deep concern in his eyes. “I wasn’t going to actually hurt my brother.”
“You okay?” Bran stood.
“Please,” Santee whispered as he looked up at Beckett.
Beckett walked him out of the kitchen and right up the stairs. Santee was trying his best to breathe. His entire life Marvell had been abusive toward him, and Santee didn’t understand why. He’d bent over backward to please his brother, to try and make Marvell smile, but the guy never did.
Worse was the dismissive way his parents had treated Marvell’s behavior, as if it was normal.
As soon as they walked into Beckett’s room, his mate closed the door then led Santee to the bed where he encouraged him to sit.
“Talk to me, conejito.” Beckett rubbed soothing circles on Santee’s back. “I promise that there is no judgment here, and whatever you say to me stays between us.”
It wasn’t until Beckett wiped a tear from Santee’s eye that he realized he was crying. Santee cursed himself for being so weak. He didn’t want Beckett to see him this way. “I’m okay.”
“Bullshit.” Beckett cupped Santee’s face and coaxed Santee into looking at him. “I promised myself that I would take this slow and let you tell me what was going on when you were ready, but your reaction in the kitchen tells me you’re not okay.”
