Page 95 of Jonas

I cross my arms under my boobs, and his eyes go hazy. "Do you promise you'll tell me what's going on?" On the surface, this is just an innocent interaction, but something's bubbling under the surface that I don't understand.

"Promise," he says roughly, then with a bitten-off curse, he turns and heads out the door.

I contemplate getting dressed, even though he said not to, but I really like the way he looks at me. No makeup on, hair mussed, sleep crusted eyes, and he still looked like he wants to devour me. No. I'm not getting dressed.

I have eggs out and a pan heating on the stove when Jonas gets back. He drops a key into a bowl in the dining room, then comes straight to me. He snuggles in for a kiss, tucking his chin in my neck, then turns to the sink to scrub his hands. There are little black streaks on his fingers. Grease maybe? What exactly was he doing down there?

I grab the shredded cheese and some peppers and onion, and quickly chop them up. Jonas sits up on the counter, and watches me in silence. There's a tension between us, some anxiousness, but I let myself feel it, rather than try to dig, or brush it off with chatter. Jonas's eyes are fixed on my hands as I chop.

"My parents died in a car accident." His words are matter of fact.

My hands freeze, the knife blade on the wood of the cutting board. ”I know.” Setting the knife aside, I open the egg carton and start cracking eggs.

He nods, still watching my hands. "Zach handled it by refusing to drive most of the time. I handled it by wanting to be in control."

"And you have the minivan, so you can drive everyone if you need to."

"Yeah," he mutters, frowning. " I might need a bus soon. We're expanding too fast." I laugh, even though I know he isn't joking .”I have a hard time with the idea of people I love being unsafe."

I whisk all of the eggs in a big bowl. Jonas eats a lot. "In all areas of your life, or just when it comes to vehicles?"

His face scrunches up in thought. "I didn't like when Colton would go to those underground fights, but it wasn't the same. Cars are...." He drifts off, and I nod in understanding. Cars are different.

"So what does that have to do with the grease on your hands this morning?"

He sighs and plays with the seam at the bottom of his t-shirt. "Becca drives a car that is unsafe. I do not like it."

"Jonas, what did you do?"

He shrugs and looks over my head. "Same thing I do most mornings. Disabled it."

I drop the bowl on the counter and stare at him in disbelief. He looks a little guilty, but mostly resolved. He's doing exactly what he thinks he needs to do to keep her safe.

"I bet Becca's pretty annoyed, not having her vehicle," I say carefully.

He crosses his arms and scowls. "Maybe. But all she needs to do is let Kade buy her a car. He's been begging her to let him. He's bought three already, but she won't drive any of them."

I shake my head, boggled by the idea of buying multiple cars just in case she might drive one. Though from what I've heard, Jonas did the same thing in a roundabout way. He 'loaned' Evie his minivan, then went and bought himself a new one. It's just who these guys are.

"Do you know why she won't give in?"

"No," he says glumly, his shoulders dropping. The weight of his worry is clear to see. As always, when I see that worry, I want to fix it. Mostly for him, but also to chase away that uncomfortable feeling in my chest. The one that lodged itself there when I was a kid.

"What did Kade say about you sabotaging her car?"

"We take turns. He texts me if he can't get away."

I drop my head and laugh. What else can you do? They're diabolical.

I toss the onions and peppers into the skillet with some butter. The hiss of the pan is followed by the rich aroma of onions in the air. Jonas is fixated on the food. I swear I see a little line of drool at the corner of his mouth. "They better not show up this morning," he mutters.

I laugh, but switch on the fan. I don't really want company this morning. And I really don't want to cook breakfast for five very hungry men. That's happened more than once since we got married.

I let the subject drop and plate our breakfasts. I lean against the counter and savor the flavors. Cooking used to be a chore, but after spending weeks at the shelter and living off too many granola bars, I'm so thankful to have fresh food in the fridge and a stove to cook it on.

Jonas, plate mounded with three times the amount on mine, puts his head down and inhales his breakfast. I wonder if he'll ever be able to slow down and savor his food. The man knows how to go slow, and how to savor, as he proved over and over last night, but when it comes to food, it's about speed.

"Janey," he says, carefully placing his empty plate on the counter beside his hip. "Do you have any hobbies?"

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