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Then Jane died, blowing up our world in one singular second.
And Roman…he made a choice. One none of us would ever come back from.
I take another deep breath, calming my frazzled nerves, and bound up the steps, forcing myself to push away everything I’ve felt all day.
The door creaks open, and the thick, warm scent of roasted meat hits me. This is familiar. This isn’t new. Eve cooking dinner is the same as it is every other night. And if he’s not here, then I can pretend like everything is fine.
I can check on her, have a meal with my Eve, then go up to my room and avoid seeing him.
I repeat the steps, the list, in my head again and again, forcing order into my life where chaos is trying to encroach.
My footsteps are silent as I walk through the living room, anticipation swirling in my stomach. My recliner is empty, which settles something deep inside me. The memory of him rising from the dim corner earlier, leaving the worn leather rocking behind him, is a sight I’ll never get out of my head. The hope that Roman isn’t in this house has me damn near giddy as I round the doorway into the kitchen.
I come to an abrupt halt.
There he is, lounging back in Jane’s old chair like it’s a goddamned throne. His dirty, booted feet are kicked up on the table. He’s got a fucking cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he puffs cancerous smoke through our otherwise pristine home. His tattooed arms are folded over his chest and an evil smirk is etched across his once-familiar face.
The sight has me nearly blacking out.
Who the fuck does he think he is? This is my home, my life.
He’s the one who decided to leave it.
“Get your feet off the table,” I snarl, stepping forward. My fingers wrap around the back of my chair, gripping it so hard my knuckles begin to pulse.
Lazily, Roman glances up at me over his shoulder, that damn cigarette still perched between his lips. My eyes flit over the changes displayed across his body and mine tenses with every new discovery.
But nothing is as bad as the cross on his upper cheek, just below his right eye. It’s upside down, spilling out like a tear.
I want to rip the blasphemous symbol from his fucking skin.
“Good of you to finally join us, Isaac,” he drawls slowly, a cocky smile forming on his face before looking back at Eve. He says nothing else, dismissing me entirely.
In. My. Own. Home.
My shirt feels too tight. My skin itches. My neck muscles are throbbing from strain, the force of the words I’m choking back almost too much to bear.
And there my son casually sits, oblivious to the upheaval his presence alone is causing as he watches Eve move around the kitchen. Her shoulders are tense, but her back is to us. I can’t see her face. If I could, I’d know exactly what she’s thinking.
He flicks his lighter, and she jolts as if she’s been burned. His smirk grows. She shakes it off and goes back to moving pasta from the pot to a serving dish. He flicks it again, and she quietly curses as she spills a small amount onto the counter.
Rolling my shoulders to relieve the tension growing, I peel my fingers from the chair one by one. I need to intervene, even if it’s the last thing I want to do. They’re adults. I have no desire to play mediator as I once did.
“Stop bothering her,” I mutter, moving past him.
“Not doing anything,” he laughs. “Just sittin’ here.” There’s an arrogant drone to his words, like he knows the speed at which he speaks is enough to piss me off.
He’s right.
I stop by his chair and stare down at him. He doesn’t look at me, but he knows I’m here. The hand holding his lighter balls into a tight fist, the only sign he’s even slightly bothered by my presence.
“I said get your shoes off the fucking table,” I quietly hiss, keeping my voice down so Eve doesn’t get upset.
I force myself not to reach out and shove them to the floor. I can’t touch him. If I do, all the control I’ve worked so hard at finding today will snap.
With a huff, he drops his feet heavily, letting them thud on the old wood. Choking back a reprimand, I skirt across the kitchen toward Eve. She’s yet to speak, and I have no doubt she’s mad at me.
Again.
