Page 53 of Filthy Twisted Devil

What was it?

Luke

Earplugs.

Eden

Damn. Guess I lost my chance.

Luke

I’ll just save them for your birthday.

I wonder if Luke knows that my birthday is at the end of September. Does he really imagine sticking around for that long? I should burst my own bubble and remind myself that Luke and I aren’t real. He might want me, but it won’t be forever. Forever’s not what he’s looking for—once his good reputation is firmly cemented, he’ll want his freedom again.

But it’s Christmas, so reality can wait another day. When I remember him calling me “wildflower,” I can let myself feel warm inside.

“Oh hey, take a picture of us for him!” Jasper suggests. “You’re always sending us a thousand selfies. It’s time for a swap.”

Grinning, I pull out my phone and turn on the camera. My brothers jump behind me, Wade holding his spatula, Jasper making a goofy Blue Steel face, and Reed giving me bunny ears and sticking out his tongue. I snap the photo and send it to Luke. He responds immediately.

Luke

Damn, you got all the good looks in the family, huh?

“Tell him I resent that,” Reed says, looking over my shoulder shamelessly.

“Tell who?” Mom’s voice drifts into the kitchen right before she wheels inside. Her voice has always been quiet, but for her kids, it instantly cuts through the noise of sizzling pans and Christmas carols. We’re so attuned to her, we could probably hear her cough across a baseball field.

“Tell Eden’s boyfriend that she has three very handsome brothers,” Reed says. He’s already standing to make Mom a cup of coffee that’s really mostly almond milk and honey, just like she likes it.

“It’s true. All my sons are handsome boys,” she says proudly. “That said, Luke’s a looker himself.”

She winks at me, and the warmth in my chest twists. I don’t know how I feel about Mom complimenting Luke. The last thing I want is for her to start getting attached when our “relationship” has an expiration date.

Wade quickly puts together a heaping plate of brunch, which he sets at the table in front of Mom. “Merry Christmas and bon appétit.”

“I made banana pancakes, your favorite,” Jasper says proudly.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mom says. “Thanks to all of you for such a wonderful breakfast.”

“Where's my plate?” Reed asks.

Wade snorts. “Get your own.”

The four of us load up on pancakes, bacon, eggs, and fruit salad. The boys shove food in their mouths with abandon, chatting about which farmhands will be coming in for the week after Christmas. I might be the only one who notices Mom picking around her food, taking the occasional bite. Sometimes, the meds she takes for her muscle pain lower her appetite.

I catalogue it the way I always do—the fullness of her plate, the tremor when she lifts her fork, whether her smile reaches her eyes—and file it away in the part of me that never stops keeping inventory. It’s the tax on loving someone whose body keeps its own secrets. You learn to count what they can’t say.

Mom looks like me through a warped piece of glass. Her hair is a paler gold, her eyes a watery hazel. She’s significantly thinner, too, even though old pictures of her show her closer to my weight. She’s shrunk over the years, under the weight of grief and her illness, but she’s never faded completely. She’s still sharp, determined, and stubborn. On her better days, she’ll still go out to her beloved garden and pull weeds until her muscles give out.

She never needed physical strength to keep us in line, anyway. Where Dad was quiet and loving, Mom was the family planner and leader. When she said jump, her kids learned to ask how high. Seriously, once she set a long jump challenge for us when we were bored and whiny. Reed won with his long legs, making Wade and Jasper complain for days.

“Thank you for making the time to come home,” Mom says, reaching over and patting my hand. “I know you’re busy, but we appreciate having you.”

“She should have come sooner,” Wade says. “We could have used the help.”

“Nonsense. You three boys did just fine without her,” Mom says. “If you needed the help, you could have hired someone.”