Page 250 of What We Burn

“I’m okay,” I murmur into his chest.

“I know.” His lips press against my hair. “I’m the one who’s not.”

“You will be.”

“Give me a minute.”

I give him a minute. Then I pull back and he cups my face in both hands and studies me—the bruises, the scratches, the fact that I’m standing and talking and alive—and kisses my forehead with deliberate care.

“How was Amy when you left?” I ask, and he bounces a shoulder.

“She was sleeping. Dean stayed with her all night.”

“I’m glad.”

“Sit down,” he says, kissing my forehead again. “Eat. We’ll check on Amy later.”

Milo was sitting at the table when I came downstairs. But now he’s hovering beside Holden at the stove, reaching for a spatula.

“I can help⁠—”

“Sit,” Holden says.

“But I’m really good at⁠—”

“Sit, Milo.”

“What if I stir the⁠—”

“Milo.” Holden points the spatula at the chair. “Sit down or I’m calling your mother.”

That works. Milo heads back to the dining room and drops into the chair like he’s been put in the naughty corner. But his knee is bouncing and his fingers are drumming the table and I can see the restless energy building. Milo doesn’t do sitting still very well. He needs something to keep his hands occupied.

So I walk over and straddle his lap.

His whole body stills. Arms wrap around my waist automatically.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay. Hello, kitten. I like this.” He leans his head forward and buries his face in my cleavage, adding a muffled, “I like this a lot.”

I drag my nails across his scalp. He goes boneless, closing his eyes and practically purring. On my other side, Eli slides a mug of coffee my way. “Drink,” he says, then adds, “Let him breathe. Maybe switch to lap adjacent.”

“Never,” I say. “Lap forever.”

Milo lifts his head. “She stays.” He’s so completely serious that I can’t help laughing. He grins. “You’re warm and smell incredible.”

Eli’s brow arches. “She’s covered in your sweat and tears.”

“That’s how I like her.”

I lift my knee and turn so I’m sitting side-saddle, thanking Eli for the coffee as I wrap my hands around it and take a sip. Milo nuzzles my neck, and I let him—even though it makes drinking harder—because after what he did for me, he can have anything he wants.

Holden sets out breakfast. It’s an absurd amount of food: eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, even a token bowl of fruit. We all pile in.

Micah steals the mug Eli’s drinking from and sips it without asking.

“Hey,” Eli protests.

“You poured it for me,” Micah says, leaning in and kissing Eli on the cheek.