Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Tom
I wake before they do, the room still heavy with the scent of sated bodies and the quiet aftermath of last night. For a moment, I stay where I am, watching the slow rise and fall of their breathing, the way they’ve settled without thinking about it.
Melanie has turned toward her husband in her sleep, one arm tucked between them. Daniel lies on his back, but his hand rests over hers, loose, like he found it there sometime in the night and didn’t let go.
I take that in, then push the covers back and get up.
The kitchen is cool when I step into it, the air still, untouched. I move through it without stopping, opening cupboards, checking what’s there, setting things out as I go. In the fridge I find eggs, bread, fruit. There’s enough for something simple. Enough to get them fed.
A soft thud sounds behind me. I look down and find the cat sitting there, like it’s been waiting for me to notice. Its tail curls around its paws, eyes fixed on me with quiet certainty.
“So now you show up, huh?” My voice is rough from sleep, but it feels right in the silence.
The cat blinks at me, slow and unimpressed.
I huff a quiet breath and reach for a bowl. “Does this mean you’ll accept me as another servant?”
No answer. Just that steady stare.
“Smart move,” I go on, scooping kibble, rinsing the water bowl before filling it with fresh water. “There’s one more person around to feed you. Pet you.”
The cat shifts closer, weaving once around my ankle.
“I make a good lap, you know.” I set the bowl down.
It sniffs, pauses like it’s considering the offer, then deems it acceptable and starts to eat, a low purr rumbling up almost immediately.
I leave it to its meal and turn back to the counter. The pan heats while I crack the eggs into a bowl, whisking them together in a steady rhythm that settles something in my chest. Coffee starts beside me, the smell rising and filling the space until the kitchen feels lived in.
My phone dings against the counter.
I don’t pick it up right away. I know that sound. Same time, same thread. When I finally reach for it, the message is exactly what I expect.
Ramirez burned the eggs again.
I stare at the screen a moment longer than necessary, feeling the echo of laughter that isn’t here. My thumb rests against the edge, not moving, just there. Then I open the chat, scroll once, and remove myself from it.
The thread disappears without ceremony.
I set the phone down and turn back to the stove.
By the time the butter hits the pan, I hear movement behind me.
I don’t turn right away.
Bare feet on the floor. A pause in the doorway.
I glance over my shoulder.
Melanie stands there wearing my shirt, the fabric falling loose over her thighs, sleeves pushed back once like she’s already settled into it.
Her hair is still tangled from sleep, her face soft in a way it wasn’t yesterday, and for a second she just watches me, taking in the kitchen, the stove, the food.
“You look better in that shirt than I do.”
Her fingers brush the hem. “I like it,” she says, almost to herself. Then she looks at me. “Smells like you.” A small pause. “Smells like safety.”
Something in my chest lifts, quiet and sudden, like stepping into clean air after smoke, the kind you don’t notice until it’s gone. I draw in a breath and turn back to the stove before it shows in my face.
I nod once toward the table.
“Sit.”
She shifts immediately, crossing the room and lowering herself into the chair, one leg folding under her without thinking about it. I set a mug in front of her as I pass, and she wraps both hands around it, drawing in a breath over the steam.
The sound of her breathing changes.
I hear him before I look. The steps are slower than hers were, heavier, each one placed instead of drifting, the floor taking the weight of it in a way that carries through the room. A brief pause follows at the threshold, long enough that it settles into the space behind me.
I give him a moment to take it all in, before I glance over my shoulder.
He stands just inside the kitchen, hair still rough from sleep, cheeks dark with beard stubble, and his shirt hanging open, and legs in comfy-looking sports shorts. He holds his injured arm a fraction too rigidly to his side before he shifts it, easing it down like he won’t be caught favoring it.
His gaze moves first, taking in the table, the plates, and the food and coffee.
Then he slides over to her.
“Morning.” His voice holds a sleepy rasp.
“Morning.” I turn back to the stove and slide the eggs onto the plates, setting them down without waiting for him to decide what he thinks about it.
The chair moves behind me a second later, wood scraping softly, and when I look again, he’s already sitting beside her, close enough that their legs press together under the table.
“Didn’t have to—”
“You need to eat.” I set the plate in front of him and place the glass beside it, my fingers resting on the rim a second longer than necessary before I let go.
He looks at it.
Then at me.
I don’t move.
His shoulders shift, a breath leaving him slower than it came in, and he reaches for the fork instead of finishing the sentence. I let that stand, turning back to the counter, stacking what’s left, keeping the rhythm of it steady so there’s nothing to push against.
Melanie nudges her glass away with her fingertips, barely a movement, like she hopes it will go unnoticed if she doesn’t make a thing of it.
I see it anyway.
“Finish it.” I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. I rest my hand against the back of her chair and wait.
She glances up at me, then down at the glass again, her fingers sliding back to it. The hesitation lasts a heartbeat, no more, before she lifts it and takes a sip, slower this time, like she’s aware of being watched.
I keep my hand where it is.
She drinks again.
“Good girl.” I move away, giving her space like the outcome was never in question, and turn to the sink, running water over the pan while the sound of it fills the quiet.
In my peripheral vision, Daniel shifts in his chair, stretching his legs out before the movement pulls at his arm. He stops mid-motion, jaw tightening for a second before he eases back instead of pushing through it.
“Easy.” I glance at him, just long enough.
He exhales through his nose and adjusts without argument, settling deeper into the chair, his shoulder dropping a fraction when he stops fighting it.
Melanie watches him, then me, something warm moving through her expression that wasn’t there yesterday. She turns back to her plate, but her hand finds his again under the table, resting there without asking.
“What time is it?” She curls her fingers loosely around her mug, bringing it closer even though she doesn’t drink.
“Close to one.” I dry my hands slowly, folding the towel once before setting it aside.
She leans back, the movement loose, her shoulder brushing his.
“That explains why I don’t feel like doing anything today.”
“Excellent.” I step in behind her chair again, my hand settling where it was before. “You won’t have to.”
She tips her head slightly, not looking back, but I feel the shift in her attention all the same.
Daniel looks up at me, then at her, his hand tightening slightly over hers before easing again, his thumb slower now, deliberate.
I hold where I am.
“What do you need?”
She takes her time answering, her fingers curling under his, holding instead of resting. When she looks up, her eyes are steady.
“Quiet,” she says. “And time to just… be.”
“You’ll have it.” I nod once and look at him. “And you?”
Dan leans back, testing the space before letting himself settle into it, his breath leaving him as his shoulders drop.
“Couch,” he says. “Something mindless.”
“That works.” I smooth a hand down the front of my jeans and step back, leaving them room without breaking the line of it. “Living room. You take the couch. Keep that arm supported.”
He nods.
No pause.
Melanie pushes her chair back and stands, already turning toward the hallway.
“My sketchbook’s in the bedroom.”
“Then get it.”
She goes, the shirt shifting against her legs with each step, the fabric catching the light before she disappears around the corner.
He nods, the movement small but settled, his gaze still on mine as he pushes his chair back. It scrapes softly against the floor, his weight shifting forward as he stands, careful with his arm but not guarded anymore.
He holds there for a second, looking at me.
I don’t look away.
Something passes between us, and then he turns and follows her.
I stay where I am, my hand resting against the back of her chair, the wood still warm where she sat. The house holds their absence for a moment, the quiet settling in behind them without emptying the room.
Three months ago, I stood in a different kitchen with a cardboard box at my feet and nothing to take with me but what I could carry. The silence there had teeth. It closed in, pressed tight, left no room to stand in it without feeling the lack of everything I thought I had.
I draw in a breath.
This one fills.
It holds.
I let it out slowly and turn toward the living room, following the sound of them moving ahead of me.