Chapter 5 #2
“Here are your breadsticks.” A basket was dropped on the table, and Colette glared at Damen’s hand. “I decided to bring them out myself.”
This time, Damen didn’t pull away from me. Instead, he entwined his fingers with mine. “Have you heard from Miles?” he asked again.
She blinked, frowning at him. “No,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Why?”
“He disappeared, and I didn’t know if he’d talked to you first,” Damen explained.
“Okay.” The confused expression remained as she lifted her brow.
“It’s not like this is anything new. Leave him alone.
He’ll come home when he feels like it. Besides,” Colette said, popping her hip, “wouldn’t you be able to feel if something happened to him through your stupid bond? Why do you care now?”
“I always care…” Damen narrowed his eyes at her. “And a little respect would be nice.”
“Shove your respect.” Colette snatched the basket off the table. “Everyone else might think you’re something special, but that means nothing to me. You play your games. Meanwhile, I’ll stay grounded in the real world .”
I was tempted to reach for the breadsticks as they’d been so tragically taken away, yet I was also drawn to the conversation.
“Um…” I began. My confidence wavered as she turned her acute gaze to me. “A-a-aren’t you a witch?” Didn’t Miles say once that she wasn’t an officer?
“No.” Her heart-shaped face flushed into a light pink, and her eyebrow twitched. “Everyone takes this idiocy way too seriously. Miles decided to get involved, so whatever—I can’t stop him. But don’t expect me to take part.”
My pulse raced, and I had no idea what to say. I honestly hadn’t meant to offend her. But this was clearly a topic she felt strongly about.
“I changed my mind,” she told Damen. “I want you to leave. I’d rather not see your face for a while.”
The return drive was mostly silent as Damen glared over the steering wheel.
“Well,” he said, finally—a bitter chip in his voice, “that was interesting.”
Even I wasn’t so na?ve. “What did you expect?” I asked.
Damen glanced at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Miles is missing,” I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “And you’re acting like nothing’s wrong.”
“We’ll find him,” Damen replied, his tone maddeningly calm. “He always turns up eventually.”
I clenched my hands in my lap. “How can you be so… so…”
“So what, Bianca?” Damen prompted.
“Whatever.” I bit my lip. “It’s not like anyone cares.”
Damen frowned. “I care that you’re upset. That’s why I wanted to talk to Colette—to find Miles. For you.”
I tensed.
“Are you still jealous?” Damen asked.
My hackles rose, and I glared at him. “I’m not jealous!” How dare he say such a thing! “I’m angry on Miles’s behalf! Were you ever going to tell him?”
“It’s not his business.” Damen frowned. “Colette can have sex with whoever she wants.”
“Oh?” I prodded. “I thought we were a quintet—and what affected one of us affected the other. Besides, it wasn’t a one-night thing. You’ve had a relationship with his sister for a year!”
“We never had a relationship,” Damen interjected. “And it doesn’t hurt Miles in any way. I don’t see the big deal.”
“Really?” I asked, shrugging. “So you wouldn’t care if I had sex with your brother?”
The car jerked as Damen’s hand slipped, but he regained control relatively quickly. “You told me you didn’t.”
“That’s not the point,” I explained. “It would bother you, wouldn’t it? Despite what you said before.”
“Not for the same reasons,” he muttered, looking away.
“It is the same,” I rebutted. “You need to tell him. You would want to know.”
“Fine,” Damen grumbled, and I could see from the rigid set of his jaw that he disagreed. “When the time is right.”
I nodded. However, the mood remained tense, and after a moment of cold silence, I pressed my knees together.
What was this feeling—this stone settling in my stomach?
My heart raced as I touched my fingertips to his arm. “Hey,” I began, waiting for his attention. “It’s a good thing.”
He pursed his lips.
“Then you won’t need to feel guilty anymore,” I promised.
“I didn’t feel guilty before,” he argued, still pouting.
“Yes, you did,” I told him. When he looked at me from the corner of his eyes, I explained, “If you didn’t think it was important, then you would have told him right away. But it does bother you. So you’re trying to convince yourself every time you downplay it.”
“You sure you don’t want to change majors?” Damen sulked. “I think you’d fit in Psychology just fine.”
The warm feeling in my chest vanished, and I looked away. “No thanks,” I grumbled. Why did he ruin the moment with such stupid statements? “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
Bryce was closing the door of his flashy emerald BMW as we pulled into Damen’s driveway and waited for us at the bottom of the porch. Even though he was visibly exhausted, with wrinkles heavy in his navy suit and dark bags under his eyes, he paused and gave us a once-over as we approached.
“Hey…” he began, his gaze lingering on Damen’s hand on my hip.
“Hello,” Damen greeted. “Have you been making any progress then?”
“It depends on how you define that term,” Bryce answered, loosening his burgundy tie. “What did you do today?” he asked me. “Did Damen remember to feed you?”
“I’ve never not fed her!” Damen protested. “We went to Colette’s place. There were breadsticks.”
Bryce shot me a knowing look, and, for a second, I felt less crazy. Someone else saw through Damen’s deception—Bryce knew of my pain. It was rare to eat with Damen, and the man never seemed to notice. Perhaps, in this, I had an ally.
“Damen made her mad, and she took the breadsticks away,” I answered, touching my lips as we stepped onto the porch. “We didn’t eat yet, but I don’t need anyone to feed me. I’m perfectly capable of making dinner. Are you hungry?”
Damen froze, while Bryce, who had been in the process of opening the door, paused and looked at me, astonished.
“I could eat…” he spoke slowly, seemingly afraid to say something wrong. “Why?”
Why ?
Who would ask ‘why’? Wasn’t it obvious? My God, he distrusted me this much.
How could our relationship have come to this?
“I’m going to make spaghetti.” I was sure we had the ingredients, and pasta was impossible to mess up. After dinner, it would be all too easy to set Bryce and Damen against each other in another disappointing chess match while I escaped. “Do you want some?”
“Are you going to poison me?” Bryce asked.
“Who cares?” I pushed past him, entered the lobby, and allowed Damen to remove my jacket. “It’s not like you’d die anyway.”
Damen laughed as he turned from the clawfoot coatrack.
“Don’t laugh.” Bryce frowned at him, hanging up his jacket. “It’s true.”
“What’s funny?” Finn peeked out from the living room.
My chest tightened. I’d completely forgotten to account for Finn. Now, how was I supposed to get some time alone? I’d been looking forward to reading Sinful Response all day.
Why was he always in the wrong place at the wrong time?
“Bianca is.” Damen brushed past me. “Although I don’t think she realizes it.”
“Ah…” Finn fell into step behind us. “Yeah, she’s like that.”
Bryce lingered in the kitchen doorway with me as Damen poked around the room. Meanwhile, Finn moved to the counter and watched his brother.
It was weird to see the two of them interact. Even more concerning was this not-so-secret discussion between them—a conversation I didn’t understand.
And it was about me.
My stomach twisted—this was a highly uncomfortable feeling.
“Hey…” I hissed at Bryce and pressed my elbow into his side. I waited until he glanced down at me before continuing. “What did I say that was so funny?”
Bryce shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have no idea. You were only stating a fact. But sometimes, you need to make concessions for others. Not everyone thinks the way we do.”
“But we’re normal?” I asked, desperate for his answer. “I don’t want to be weird.”
“You’re not weird. We should just remember to feel sorry for them. It must be exhausting being so illogical.”
“You know we can hear you, right?” Damen dropped a large pot onto the countertop. He pressed his hands onto the surface and glowered at Bryce. “That’s extremely rude. Don’t teach her your bad habits.”
Bryce and I shared another long glance, and this time, I knew we were on the same page.
The only bad habit here was Damen’s emotional instability. Think of how easily he could have just broken something.
“What are you doing?” Finn asked, still studying his brother.
“I’m getting everything together for Bianca. She is going to cook dinner since Colette kicked us out,” Damen replied, setting a jar of sauce next to the pot.
Finn frowned. “There’s a lot to digest in those statements,” he started cautiously, moving toward Damen. “But let’s begin with the simplest thing first. I’ll make dinner.” He reached for a wooden spoon that had been laid beside the pot.
“No.” Damen tugged the spoon out of Finn’s reach. “Bianca said she’ll do it.”
“But I want to do it.” Finn snapped forward, snatching the utensil before Damen could blink. “I’ve been wanting to make pasta for a while.”
“What are you talking about?” Damen narrowed his eyes and grabbed the end of the spoon, placing the two of them into a tug-of-war contest over the island counter. “Why are you trying to help now? You’ve never offered before. Go away, I want to eat Bianca’s cooking.”
“Just let me do it,” Finn grunted, glancing at me. “Bianca wants to take a bath before dinner anyway. She’s not feeling right.”
How dare he presume to tell me what to do?
Then again, now that he brought it up, the idea did have merit. Finn was a decent cook, and if he was offering…
“Okay.” I wrapped my arms over my stomach, not missing the way Finn glanced nervously in my direction.
If he was trying to placate me, it was working. After all, the man did know most of my weaknesses. And a nice bath bomb-assisted soak would be heavenly.
“What?” Damen let go of the spoon and looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just tired,” I told him. It was true, too—but outside that, I had no way to describe this sullen, listless mood that’d taken over me lately.
“You’re tired?” Damen was there before I could blink and ushered me onto one of the barstools. He crowded in front of me, warm hands pressing over my cheeks and forehead. “Are you sick? Should I call Julian?”
“I’m fine.” It took both hands to restrain one of his, and I held on to his fingers, bringing his hand between us. “It’s just been a long week.”
“You’re really that worried about Miles?” he asked.
I blinked at him, brows furrowing. What kind of question was that?
Damen’s thick lips pressed into a line, his gray eyes holding mine. “Or is there something else bothering you?”
No, not really. Everything else was perfectly fine—why wouldn’t it be?