46. Zyran
ZYRAN
Before I even open my eyes, my hand reaches out towards Esperr, needing to feel her close—only the other side of the bed is cold.
My eyes snap up and I sit up, glancing around the room before I even take in a full breath. And when I look at my dresser, expecting to see her bag that I had put there, it’s not. The bag is gone, and Esperr is missing.
Okay, don’t freak out.
She couldn’t have gotten far.
But when I reach for my phone, the screen lights up, and the time basically jumps out at me. Nine fourteen.
“Fuck,” I hiss and climb out of bed.
Moving through the room, I grab a pair of joggers and a shirt, shoving my legs through as I rip my bedroom door open. She’s late for work, that is, if she’s still here.
I bite my lip as I take the stairs two at a time, trying to ignore that small part of me that wondered if she ran. And I hate that I question that; I hate that that’s the first thought that hits me.
By the time I hit the bottom of the stairs, I yank my shirt over my head and jog through the living room to the kitchen.
Only then do I slide to a stop when I see all my brothers, including Slater, and Rhys sitting at the kitchen table with her.
And I’m not sure what surprises me more, the fact that he’s down here or the fact that he’s sitting next to her.
Rhys doesn’t sit next to people; fuck, he barely sits with people, period.
I mean he exists with the rest of us only because the house is big enough that we barely run into him.
And we occasionally share a meal, but there’s always a particular quality to it—present but separate, close but not quite there.
More like it’s observing rather than participating.
But right now, he’s leaning forward slightly with both elbows on the table, and he’s somewhat talking, maybe muttering, but his mouth is still moving. And Esperr laughs at something he said, and this is not what I was expecting to walk into, not even close.
For a moment I feel this jealous side of me that I haven’t truly experienced, and for a second I’m ready to punch my brother in the face. And then suddenly, this calm washes over me; something in my chest goes warm and quiet.
This is what I wanted when I brought her here. I wanted her at the kitchen table with my brothers; I wanted her to know that she’s safe here, with me—with them.
That she fits.
Raiden catches my eye from across the room, and something moves through his expression. I cringe, remembering how we left things last night, knowing that I needed to apologize for my outburst.
But before I can say anything, Esperr looks up and finds me in the doorway. Her eyes moved over me, searching, before they settled back on my eyes, and then she’s smiling.
“You okay?”
I nod and move further into the kitchen. “You’re late for work.”
She frowns for just a second and then leans back in her chair. “I called off this morning for today and tomorrow. Jessi was fine with it.”
I probably shouldn’t feel as happy as I do that she’s not working, but I do. Before I can say anything Sybil comes stomping out of the pantry, holding a box of cereal above her head like she’s just unearthed something significant.
“Raiden Charles Meadow,” she growls. Oh fuck not the middle and last name. Her voice carries that particular energy of someone who has been looking for something for a while and is very angry but also pleased that they found it. “Care to tell me why this was behind the damn pasta?”
“I didn’t put it there,” Raiden says, and then quickly takes a rather large drink of his coffee.
Sybil raises a brow, stopping at the cabinet. "Well, it didn’t just walk there on its own.”
“Maybe it did.”
“Raiden.”
“Sybil.”
Cyran doesn’t say anything, just drinks his coffee with the expression of a man watching his favorite show.
I grab water from the fridge and pull out the empty chair on the other side of Esperr, kissing the side of her head before sitting down.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask.
Esperr turns slightly towards me, a smile tugging at her lips. “Better than I expected to.” She reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it. “You want a cup of coffee?’
I feel the table slightly, and I know everyone heard her ask. Now would be the perfect time to tell her I actually hate coffee, and it’s been torture to drink it every day, but it also makes her happy.
So, I just smile and nod, muttering, “Sure.”
Esperr scoots back from the table, and I immediately look over at Cyran, who’s smirking at me over his mug. Raiden picks his fork up and becomes very interested in his plate that has barely anything left on it. Then there’s Rhys, who leans back in his chair, arms crossed and amused.
Turning my focus back to Esperr, I watch her pour two cups and add her creamer that I had Sybil get from the store. By the time she comes back and sets it in front of me, nearly everyone’s eyes are on me, just waiting for me to take a drink.
I swallow, bracing myself for the unpleasant taste—and then I pick it up and drink it, swallowing it before my tongue can absorb much of the flavor.
It tastes exactly like it always tastes—like something I have never once in my life enjoyed—and I set it back down, keeping my face completely neutral.
When I glance around the room, everyone's eyes are on me, Raiden’s jaw working like he’s trying very hard not to say something, and Rhys who has both eyebrows raised, and then Cyran who is chugging his own coffee.
Esperr turns her head slowly, smirking. “Good?”
“Good,” I say flatly.
Raiden loses it first, kind of. He makes a low chest laugh like he was genuinely caught off guard, and that sets Sybil off beside him, and then Cyran sets his mug down and looks at the ceiling like he’s asking for strength.
Thankfully Rhys doesn’t say anything, though something in his expression shifts and it’s in a way that I think might be the closest he gets to finding something hilarious.
Slater picks up his coffee and drinks it. I could kiss him for his reaction, which is none.
Esperr raises a brow, and I know it then; she knows I don’t like it. Which means one of these fuckers told her, or she’s figuring it out.
“You know,” she says, leaning forward to rest both elbows on the table, “you could’ve just said no.”
I huff out a breath. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”
“Oh yeah, you look fine,” Cyran mutters.
My eyes snap to his, and I narrow them at him. “I am fine.”
“Zyran, you don’t like coffee,” Esperr says.
I ignore her and pick the cup up, taking another sip just to prove a point. It tastes terrible.
“I like coffee.” If it were in the trash.
Raiden sighs, setting his fork down. “You once told me coffee tasted like burny regret when we were seventeen.”
“I’ve grown.”
“You haven’t grown. You’ve just met someone whose opinion matters more than your taste buds.”
Sybil laughs, shoving another bite of cereal into her mouth, while various sounds of agreement go around the table.
I peer over at Esperr, who is trying very hard not to smile and is completely failing.
Her chin rests in her hand, watching me suffer through drinking this cup, which I refuse to acknowledge tastes like trash with too much sweetener.
“For the record, my love,” she leans forward toward me until she’s inches away from my face, “you didn’t have to say yes.”
I smile and lean forward until our foreheads touch. “I know.”
“So why did you?”
She already knows why; it’s written all over her face that she knows why and just wants me to say it, especially in front of everyone.
When she goes to lean back, moving further from me, I grab the bottom of her chair and drag her to me until we’re touching.
“Because you made it.” And then I drink the rest of the cup.
The table goes quiet for just a second. And from the corner of my eyes, I see Sybil put both hands flat on the table, looking at Raiden before she mouths something I pretend not to see.
Raiden owes her money; I’m almost certain of it.
Esperr’s sitting between my legs on the floor with her back against the couch, and I’ve been working through her hair for the last twenty minutes, fingers moving slowly, and she hasn’t complained once, which I’m taking as a good sign.
Cyran is in the chair to the left with his coffee—third cup—and they’ve been going back and forth about the movie for the last half hour in a way that has completely stopped being about the movie.
On the screen the main character is making another decision that Esperr finds personally offensive.
“She knows he’s lying,” Esperr declares, gesturing at the TV. “She has to know; I mean, no one is that oblivious.”
“She’s not oblivious,” Cyran mutters. “She’s choosing not to see it because she’s not ready.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s really not.”
“Cyran.” She turns her head slightly, which makes the braid I’m working on go sideways, and I straighten it back without saying anything. “She has been given every single piece of information she needs to figure this out, and she is standing there smiling at him like he hung the moon.”
“Because she loves him.”
“Love doesn’t make you stupid.”
“Sometimes it does,” Cyran says, rolling his eyes. “That’s kind of the whole point.”
Esperr opens her mouth and then closes it.
“He has a point,” I blurted out, continuing on braiding her hair.
She freezes and then jerks her head to the side, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Don’t,” she warns.
“I’m just saying?—”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I’m on the side of accurate analysis,” I mumble. Wishing I would’ve just kept my mouth shut.
She stares at me for a second and then turns back to the movie with the energy of someone who has been betrayed by multiple people at once. Cyran looks at me, pressing his lips into a thin line like he’s trying his best not to laugh.
I look back at the braid, pretending like I didn’t just get in the middle of something.
The movie keeps going, and Esperr keeps having opinions about it, and Cyran keeps disagreeing with approximately half of them, and I keep braiding, refusing to get in the middle of them.