11. Thomas

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Thomas

Jinx has been off all night, her usual spark dimmed to a mere flicker as she stands by the kitchen counter.

Normally, she’d be poking fun at Rowan about his physical therapy sessions or flipping Bruno off with a playful laugh when he broods too much. But tonight, her eyes seem distant, lost in thoughts that weigh her down.

Earlier, Rowan mentioned she had talked with her brother. I can’t help but wonder if that conversation left a mark. Did he deliver some bad news? Was there something in his words that unsettled her?

I sidle up next to her as she methodically seasons the steaks, feigning an interest in her meticulous work. “Need a hand?” I ask, trying to pierce through the fog that surrounds her.

She barely glances up, her lips pressed into a tight line. “Nah, I got it,” she replies, her voice lacking its usual bounce.

I meet her gaze, offering a reassuring smile. “C’mon, Jinx. Let me help out. I can at least mash some potatoes or something.”

She exhales slowly through her nose. After a moment, she relents, her shoulders sagging slightly as she hands me a peeler. “Fine. Peel those.”

As I get started, I sense a small victory in her concession, a first step toward breaking through the wall she’s built around herself.

Progress.

Bruno, sensing my intention to engage her in conversation, shifts his focus and moves to assist Rowan with his physical therapy exercises on the couch.

It’s a refreshing change, seeing Bruno step away from his usual gruff demeanor to offer some genuine help. He carefully positions Rowan’s leg, but before he can proceed, Jinx swoops in with her usual precision and attention to detail.

“No, not like that,” she instructs. “You’ll pull his quad—God, Bruno, gently.”

Bruno mutters something unintelligible under his breath, his brow furrowed in mild irritation, but he adjusts his grip according to Jinx’s guidance. Rowan, lying back on the couch with his leg elevated, rolls his eyes dramatically.

“I swear, you mother me harder than my own damn mom,” he quips.

Jinx smirks, a flicker of pride in her expression. “Well, I don’t want him setting you back,” she replies, her eyes still fixed on Rowan’s leg to ensure everything’s done right.

Despite her usual sharp wit, there’s a subtle tension in her demeanor, an underlying heaviness that suggests her mind is elsewhere, even as she orchestrates the situation with her trademark sass.

As I finish, I glance over at her again. “You okay?” I ask, noticing the furrow in her brow as she stirs the sizzling contents of the pan.

She doesn’t lift her gaze from the pan, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just not feeling great tonight.”

Before I can probe further, she abruptly drops the spatula, the clatter echoing through the kitchen.

Her hand darts up to cover her mouth, her eyes widening with a sudden panic that sends a chill down my spine. She spins on her heel and bolts toward the bathroom, her footsteps a rapid patter across the floor.

I act on instinct, abandoning the cutting board and following her. “Jinx?”

The bathroom door slams shut with a force that makes me flinch. I stop just short of it, pressing my ear against the smooth wood, hoping to hear something—anything.

“Jinx, are you—” I start to ask, but her voice cuts through, muffled but shaky.

“Go away, Thomas.”

Her voice sounds fragile, strained, a far cry from her usual steady tone. I hesitate, resting my palm against the cool surface of the door.

“Are you sick? What’s going on?” I ask, my own voice trembling slightly.

“Just—leave me alone.” Her words are barely a whisper, and my heart sinks.

My stomach twists with worry, but I force myself to step back, respecting her wish for solitude even as unease gnaws at me.

By the time I return to the kitchen, the aroma of steak and herbs fills the air. I carefully arrange the mashed potatoes, tossed salad, and steaks on the plates, carrying them to the dining table where Bruno and Rowan have already taken their seats.

Rowan glances nervously at the closed bathroom door, his brow furrowing with concern. “What happened?”

I exhale deeply, rubbing the back of my neck with a weary hand. “I dunno,” I admit. “She bolted from the room, made it to the bathroom just in time to throw up, and then told me to leave her alone.”

Bruno, seated across from me, remains silent. His eyes, dark and intense, are fixed on the bathroom door. His jaw is clenched, and it feels as if he knows something we don’t, a secret he’s unwilling to share.

We eat in silence, the clinking of cutlery against plates the only sound in the room. All three of us keep casting anxious glances down the dimly lit hallway, our eyes lingering on the shadowy doorway, hoping for Jinx to return.

But the doorway remains empty.

Rowan, his brow furrowed in irritation, pokes at his steak with his fork, the meat barely touched. “Someone should check on her,” he mutters, his gaze still fixed on the hallway.

Bruno, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, shakes his head. “Not it,” he says firmly.

I jab my fork in their direction, a playful challenge in my voice. “Oh, hell no. I already got my head bitten off once for asking. Isn’t it one of your turns?”

Rowan arches an eyebrow at me, a nervous smile tugging across his face. “And? Why should we be next? Better it happen to you again.”

Bruno chuckles, a low sound that rumbles in his throat. “We don’t want to get yelled at at all.”

With a groan of exasperation, I push back my chair, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor. “Unbelievable. Cowards,” I mutter under my breath.

I make my way down the hallway, the floorboards creaking with each step. The door to her bedroom is slightly ajar, and I push it open quietly, careful not to make a sound.

There she is, curled up on her bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin.

The ochre glow of the setting sun filters through the half-open curtains, gently illuminating the room. Even in sleep, a crease mars her brow, as if her dreams are a battleground where worries and fears continue to chase her.

I pause in the doorway, a pang of guilt twisting in my chest for disturbing her peace. But as I watch her, so small and vulnerable, a deep sense of protectiveness wells up inside me.

I let out a weary sigh and slip off my worn-out sneakers, the laces flopping lazily to the floor. I crawl under the covers and settle into the familiar warmth beside her.

The moment my head hits the pillow, she instinctively shifts closer, her body curling into mine as if she had been waiting for this moment. Her skin is warm, and her gentle breath brushes against my collarbone, a soothing rhythm that calms my racing mind.

I drape an arm around her waist, pulling her closer until there isn’t an inch of space between us. Right now, in the stillness of the night, she feels incredibly precious in my embrace.

A lump forms in my throat as I realize just how much she means to me. It’s more than I’ve ever expressed, more than I even understood before this quiet moment.

She murmurs, her voice thick and drowsy with sleep, “Someone needs to feed my babies.”

I grimace, already envisioning the task ahead: feeding her collection of snakes and reptiles. “Yeah, yeah. I got it,” I reply, resigned to the chore, but I’ll happily feed reptiles if it means I get to have Jinx in bed.

I carefully slide out of bed, making sure not to disturb her as I tuck the blankets gently around her sleeping form. The quiet padding of my footsteps barely makes a sound as I move toward the office, where her collection of terrariums and glass enclosures line the walls.

The moment I step inside, the lizards lift their heads, their eyes locking onto mine with an unsettling intensity. Their unblinking gaze sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t help but mutter under my breath, “Creepy little bastards.”

Despite the eerie feeling, I get to work, measuring and distributing the appropriate food into each enclosure. I glance at the water bowls, ensuring they’re filled just right.

The snakes lie still, their coiled bodies motionless in their habitats, which somehow feels more unnerving than if they were actively slithering around. I can’t shake the feeling they’re silently plotting something.

As I finish my tasks, the sound of footsteps echoes down the hall. Bruno and Rowan appear in the doorway, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. Rowan crosses his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed.

“How’s she doing?” he asks, his voice low.

“Sleeping,” I reply, glancing back toward the bedroom.

Bruno’s frown deepens. I nod toward the bedroom, gesturing for them to check on her. “Go see for yourselves,” I suggest.

They exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between them before they turn and head down the hall. Left alone with the still, watchful reptiles, I can’t shake the feeling of being observed from every angle.

When I’m finally done, the house is hushed, the only sounds being the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant rustle of fabric.

I tiptoe down the dim hallway, peeking into the bedroom.

There they are: Bruno and Rowan. Each on either side of Jinx, their large frames curled protectively around her like loyal guard dogs. Bruno’s muscular arm is draped over her waist, while Rowan’s hand rests gently on her shoulder.

I can’t help but grin at the sight. These big, intimidating hockey players look as harmless as sleeping puppies.

Staring at them, I feel a comforting warmth spreading through my chest, like the glow of a crackling fire.

This is the longest I’ve ever stayed interested in a girl, the longest I’ve ever actually committed to something without hesitation or doubt.

And you know what?

It feels nice. Really nice.

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