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“Sounds like you are when you describe it like that.” Pasha snorted. “Sounds like you’re just being stubborn and determined towin, rather than allow both of you towin. Arguments don’t always have to have a clear winner. Sometimes it’s just about getting your voice heard and understood by the other person. Knowing they see your side of things.”
“We’re not arguing. He broke my heart, end of story. No argument or discussion required.” She turned to face her sister. “Why are you defending him?”
“Because I happen to really like Jordan, think he was the best thing to ever happen to you and he actually managed to keep you in check more than any other person I’ve met. And he kept you in check in a way that you liked—that wasn’t stifling or controlling. Which is hard to find. He didn’t let you fly off the rails, he allowed you to remain your filter-free self, but while creating some boundaries that seemed to serve you well. In the year you two were together you blossomed like this beautiful flower into the best version of yourself.”
Yeah, that was true. She loved the effect Jordan had on her. She felt safe to be herself but to also let go of her incessant need to be in control of everything. He allowed her the space and opportunity to feel every single emotion that coursed through her without having to worry about being judged or taken advantage of. He let her scream when she needed to scream, cry when she needed to cry, and swear like a sailor when she needed to swear like a sailor.
He even let her pound her fists into his chest while he just held her until she collapsed against him in tears.
But was that enough? She still knew so little about him, in comparison to how much he knew about her. Would he keep those walls up? Never let her inside? Never let her meet his demons?
And what if he got transferred again? Would he invite her to go with him? What if they’d been apart too long, were too different now that the versions they remembered and loved about each other no longer existed? Was she in love with nothing more than a memory?
Stacey snagged Pasha’s attention and jerked her chin toward the house then mouthed something. Pasha’s eyes lit up and she excused herself. “Be right back.”
“What the hell is everyone disappearing into the house over and over for?” Rayma asked with exasperation.
“Brownies,” Heath said, coming up to her with his shoulder-length floppy blonde hair and midnight blue eyes. He licked a bit of chocolate off his thumb. “One of mum’s clients gave her this enormous container of brownies as a thank you and they’re one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. Too good to share with the kids. Those little urchins can have pie and ice cream after dinner. But these morsels from God are just for the grownups.”
“I want in,” Rayma said, taking off at a brisk pace toward the sliding glass door behind her sister. “Where are these brownies everyone is raving over?” The smell of turkey, stuffing and all the trimmings hit her in the nose like a strong gust of wind.
“Sorry …” Grant said, his mouth full. “I just ate the last one.” He held up the container that held no more than a few chocolate crumbs.
Pasha pouted. “I only had three. I’m pretty sure Heath had like five.”
“Closer to ten,” Joy said, shaking her head. “All four boys were in here eating them with two hands. If I didn’t know they had hollow legs and will still put away three helpings of dinner each, I’d be worried they’d have no room.”
“I didn’t get one.” Rayma pouted.
“Me, either.” Damn him. She turned around to see Jordan coming in through the sliding glass door, as well. Rayma glared at him. He smiled at her. She glared harder.
“Well, I can ask Polly for the recipe when I see her next week. I’m sure she’d have no problem giving it to me.” Joy pulled the turkey out of the oven. It was perfectly brown and smelled incredible.
The clock on the oven said it was only four o’clock, so they had a bit of time until dinner yet.
The sliding glass door opened and all three dogs, Diesel, Fudge, and Cocoa came bounding in, their barks like church bells out of tune clanging through the house.
“Dogs outside while we’re cooking!” Joy scolded, turning her attention to Brock with his close-cropped military-style hair and a perpetual scowl. “You know better.”
Brock blinked a couple of times. “I don’t feel so good.”
Krista, his wife was behind him. “Me, either.”
“Like sick?” Joy asked. “Like you want to puke? Or shit?”
“Like my head is full of cotton and my face is heavy,” Brock said. “My mouth is also really dry and it hurts to blink.”
“Me, too,” Krista said.
Heath came into the house next through the door his eyes wide and wild. “I don’t feel so good.”
Chase and Rex followed, their matching bald heads glowing from the recessed lighting in the kitchen.
“My head feels fuzzy,” Rex said, wandering through the house into the full kitchen, filling himself up a glass of water from the tap and chugging it. He did this four times in a row and they all just stood there and watched him.
“Fuck, I’m so fucking thirsty.” Heath bolted back out of the house and they could see through the sliding glass door that he’d turned on the hose and was drinking from the side of it.
“What the hell is going on?” Chase murmured, glancing at his wife, Stacey who came in behind him, her blue eyes wide and panicky.
