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The conversation during dinner feels stale.
“Wow, you hit every flavor on the menu here,” I say as I fill my plate. “I’m gonna walk out of here a happy woman. Thank you, Helen.”
“Thank the butcher in North Platte, honey,” she replies with a satisfied grin. “He went to a lot of trouble to get us this cured ham all the way from Omaha.”
“Seriously?” I am genuinely surprised. “How’d you get him to do that?”
“Oh, I told him I’ve got a little nephew on the way and his momma likes prosciutto,” Helen laughs.
Kellan smirks. “I’ll give you credit, Auntie, you are shamelessandresourceful.”
“Hey, it was worth it,” Fallon chimes in, inhaling two slices at once. “This stuff is the food of the gods. I love it.”
Luke glances my way with a warm smile. “How do you like it so far, Avery?”
“Does my silence say nothing?” I shoot back with a mouthful.
Meanwhile, Annie and Miley get busy on their plates. Annie is much daintier about her meals than Miley, but it’s only a matter of time before my youngest picks up a couple of habits from her older sister. As far as Annie is concerned, food is perfectly edible no matter how you eat it—with your bare hands, silverware, or simply your face, directly off the plate. She’s always making me laugh with how messy she can get.
“I can see cleaning you up is going to be a pain,” I tell Annie, trying not to laugh.
In the meantime, Miley chews her food thoroughly and observes her sister with a mixture of amusement and endearment. “Momma, she’s dirty,” my older daughter declares.
“Aren’t we all?” Fallon sighs most dramatically. “I say we screw the cutlery altogether.”
“Momma, more bread please!” Annie calls out, one hand toward the bread basket.
I give her another piece, then shift my focus back to the guys. Helen has finally taken a seat at the table, paying attention to my girls so I can finish my dinner in peace. Ever since she learned about the pregnancy, Helen has been even more attentive, making sure all of my needs are met before anybody else’s. My girls are her priority, but I have noticed that she has been spending more time in the house with us than ever before.
“So, Avery, how’s this new project you’re working on going?” Kellan asks after a while.
“It’s going well. A big house with plenty of rooms,” I reply, averting my gaze. I hate lying and I hate telling half-truths evenmore. “It’ll keep me busy for at least a month. Possibly two if the client decides to replace the flooring throughout.”
“Who’s the client?” Luke glances my way with a curious gleam in his eyes.
“Oh, a lady in Hershey. It used to be her parents’ house,” I say, having trouble swallowing my food at this point. The disadvantage of having a conscience, I guess. “How are you three doing? How’s work?”
And there it is. The awkward silence I knew would eventually ensue. There is something they’re actively avoiding talking about and it has them pulling up resources from Wolfhound Security. I can tell from the number of analysts working in the east wing lately. Twice as many as before, while the phones are ringing off the hook. I don’t go there too often, but I can hear the buzzing of those busy bees whenever I come down the main stairs.
“We’ve got a couple of new contracts,” Fallon says, eyes fixed on his plate. “And a few issues to deal with on the side, but nothing we can’t handle.”
“What issues?” I innocently ask.
“Old faces who picked the wrong time to come back,” he replies.
It draws a heavy sigh from Kellan. “The sheriff’s department has been keeping me busier than usual,” he says, looking to change the subject. “Now that the winter is thawing away and people are venturing out, we’re seeing a bit more crime than last month. I’ve got the deputies out on patrol more, especially around Maxwell. There’s a meth lab there that I’m looking to shut down, but I need more evidence before I can go to Judge Reese for a warrant.”
“Judge Reese. Isn’t that—” Luke tries to say something but Kellan bluntly cuts him off.
“Yeah. I’m not a fan of his, but he’s the one currently handling the county, so it’s not like I have a choice,” he says.
I give them a curious frown. “What’s wrong with Judge Reese?”
“He gave a favorable review to someone he helped put away about five years ago,” Kellan says. “It helped convince the parole board to grant an early release with which I don’t agree. But it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Nothing is ever for me to worry about, but I don’t say that aloud. There’s enough tension hanging over the dinner table as we speak, as we try to eat, pretending that everything is okay between us. Even after all we’ve been through and despite the fiery lovemaking, there is still secrecy, still things left unspoken. I realize that I’m partly responsible because I’m holding back, too. I’m not sharing the whole truth either, and they know it. I can see it on their faces, and I feel it deep within.
Nobody’s being entirely honest. We’re all pretending that there’s nothing to be concerned about. Yet everything we say and do comes with an underlayer of discomfort and I hate it. I power through the rest of dinner, kiss my girls goodnight, and let Helen take them upstairs.
