Chapter Twelve
Emerson
“Ouch! Fuck!” The curse rips out of me before I can stop it as I jerk my hand back from the skillet. Pain sears across my fingers as I shove them under the faucet, twisting the handle until cold water gushes over my skin. It hisses and stings, and I grit my teeth against the ache.
From the kitchen bar, Kimber’s giggle rings out, light and unbothered, like she’s been waiting for me to screw this up. She kicks her heels against the stool, chin propped in her hands as if she has a front row seat at a comedy show.
“You’re supposed to feed me, not the fire, Em,” she teases.
I shoot her a mock glare, shaking the water from my hand. “Don’t get smart with me, kid. You’re lucky I even crawled out of bed after the night I had.”
Her brows lift in curiosity, but she doesn’t ask.
Probably for the best. If she knew half of what I heard—or tried not to hear—through the walls last night, I’d never live it down.
Rowan and I had spent half the night staring at Berkley’s setup, combing through her monitors and files, trying to piece together the puzzle she’s been living in.
And the other half? That was spent pretending I didn’t hear Ronan and Berk fucking like the world was ending.
By the time sleep finally dragged me under, it was morning, and Kimber was knocking on my door, wide-eyed and asking for breakfast.
I’m about to try my luck with the pan again when movement catches my eye. I turn, and my breath falters.
Berkley stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she belongs there, like she always has. Her hair is messy from sleep, her eyes softer than I’ve seen since her return, and there’s a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. For a second, the whole room stills.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I hear myself say, the words slipping out before I can catch them. My chest tightens immediately. Too much. Too familiar. Shit.
Then she laughs—not sharp or mocking, but warm. The sound slips under my ribs and tightens something there. She walks toward me like it’s easy, like the years, the blood, and the distance between us haven’t turned into a battlefield.
Without hesitation, she plucks the pan from the burner and sets it aside before I can ruin breakfast completely. Then she leans in and presses a kiss against my cheek. My body locks, every muscle going taut, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
She glances at my hand, the one I burned, and her brow furrows.
“You’re useless,” she mutters, but there’s no bite in it.
She pats my chest, presses a cool cloth into my palm, and nudges me toward the bar.
“Sit down—before you go and burn down another house,” she says over her shoulder, that teasing smirk still playing at her lips.
Kimber claps her hands like it’s the best show she’s ever seen. “Go, Berk!” she cheers, grinning from ear to ear.
Berkley’s smirk follows her as she moves around the kitchen; her ease there is a quiet reminder of how little I deserve it. Kimber watches her with wide eyes, clearly remembering pieces of the girl she used to know, even if the details are blurry.
“You’re no better a cook than I remember,” Berk calls over her shoulder, a playful jab that makes Kimber laugh harder.
I find myself smiling despite the sting in my hand, despite the weight of everything pressing down on us. Watching her like this—moving through the kitchen, alive and sharp and ours—it feels like something I thought we’d never get back. Something worth bleeding for.
Berk stands at the stove, moving with the same practiced rhythm she had when we were kids, sliding pans around like she never left.
My chest tightens watching her, like the years between then and now collapse into nothing but smoke.
I’m half-embarrassed to admit I’m not much better at cooking than I was back then.
I’ve learned just enough not to starve, but there’ve been more than a couple of close calls, more than a few meals I had to toss out because they were inedible. Berk? She makes it look effortless.
Kimber sits at the bar, swinging her legs, chattering away, her eyes bright with recognition.
She was barely six when Berk disappeared, but she remembers just enough.
The fun girl days, she calls them, the times Berk and Reign let her tag along like she was one of them.
Hearing her little voice stumble over those memories makes something in my throat knot.
Berk leans in as Kimber talks, laughing softly, her smile wide and warm, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.
It’s too easy between them, too natural, like time bent in their favor.
The sizzle of sausage fills the air, rich and savory, and the aroma curls through the house like a lure.
I’m not surprised when both Ronan and Rowan appear, almost in sync, like cartoon characters being tugged forward by a finger of smoke.
Ronan doesn’t waste a second. He plays invincible like always, but I catch the subtle shift of his weight, the way he guards his side when he thinks no one’s paying attention, before he crosses the kitchen and slides right in behind Berk, his large body crowding hers against the counter.
His hands settle low on her hips, his mouth brushing her neck as he mutters something against her skin that I can’t catch.
Whatever it is, making her giggle—that soft, startled sound I haven’t heard in years—has a flush rising on her cheeks, pink blooming across her skin.
It’s beautiful, that blush, and it stabs me all at once.
A flash of jealousy rears its head, sharp and unwelcome.
Not because I don’t want her to be happy, but because I’m not there with her yet.
I’m not the one making her laugh, making her cheeks heat, drawing those soft sounds out of her.
I grip the cool edge of the counter, letting the jealousy burn through me, quiet and private, reminding myself that this is a beginning.
Not the end. That she came back at all is more than I dared to hope for.
Rowan lingers, eyes flicking between us, face unreadable. Still, I know he feels it—the pull, the ache, the understanding that she’s the center we all circle, deserving or not.
She takes my breath without warning. One moment she’s making breakfast like it’s any other morning, and the next she does something simple that completely undoes me.
She hands Ronan a plate first, telling him to sit down and eat, kissing him softly on the lips before pushing him toward a chair.
That alone doesn’t surprise me. It’s how natural it looks, how easily she does it, that makes my grip tighten on the counter.
Then she turns, sets a smaller plate in front of Kimber, and gives her the brightest smile, a smile that makes my little sister practically glow as she digs into her food.
My chest swells at that, but what comes next is what undoes me.
She walks toward me with another plate, sets it in front of me, and before I can even thank her, she leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek.
The touch is light, fleeting, but the warmth lingers like a brand.
A shy smile plays on her lips as if she knows what she just did to me, but she doesn’t stay.
She grabs the last plate, guides Rowan toward a chair, and places it in front of him.
And then—she kisses his cheek too.
I swear, Rowan stops breathing. His eyes squeeze shut like he is trying to hold something back, like the touch is almost too much to bear.
She lingers a second longer than necessary, her hand brushing against his arm before she moves away.
That’s when he snaps out of it. Rowan’s hand shoots out, catching her wrist before she can slip from him.
His eyes open, bright and wet, and he stands slowly, crowding her space with a deliberate calm.
“Row,” I murmur under my breath, but he doesn’t listen.
He bends toward her, giving her every chance to back away, every chance to tell him no.
She doesn’t. A soft gasp slips from her lips when his mouth finally meets hers.
He does not push, does not demand, just kisses her softly, reverently, as if he is pouring every apology and every vow he cannot say yet straight into her mouth.
It’s a kiss heavy with meaning, one that makes my throat burn.
When he pulls back, his voice is rough. “You first, baby.” He tugs her gently until she sits in the chair he was just in, her body settling down almost dazed.
He pulls the plate she set in front of him toward her and leans down to kiss her again, softer this time, like a benediction.
“Eat this one. I’ll get mine. It smells delicious. Thank you.”
He kisses her forehead and finally steps away, leaving her gaping after him, lips parted, eyes wide.
Ronan, of course, is grinning like the devil himself.
That half-crazy smile stretches across his face, the one he gets when he knows the world just tilted in his favor.
He stands and steps behind her again, bends down, and presses a kiss to the side of her head.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and pleased.
“Being good to my brothers. We missed you just as much as you missed us.”
Their quiet exchange drifts toward me, low and private, but I catch enough.
Enough to realize how much he and Berk have already worked through.
How much they have spoken about us as a unit, not just her and him.
My chest tightens, both with jealousy and hope, because for the first time, I see it—that maybe she still wants all of us.