6. Elyse
CHAPTER 6
Elyse
WHOLLY UNPREPARED
PRESENT
S undays at my parents’ house always feel the same, same people, same rotation of meals, same everything. But not this time—this time Shane is the one behind the stove instead of my mom. He never thought he’d see the day, and I can tell my mom is hating every minute of it. Not because Shane is a bad cook—he’s actually amazing, classically trained and all—but because she always has to be in control, and right now she can’t be. Though, she did manage to convince my dad to take her grocery shopping in an attempt to cook tonight. We put a stop to that quicker than she could crank on the stove.
She’s been sulking about it ever since, shooting mom death glares our way.
The whole house smells like roasted chicken and fresh baked bread, with a hint of sweetness from whatever dessert Shane has going in the oven.
“What did you make?” I ask Shane as I ruffle his hair.
He shoos my hand away. “Bruh! Watch the hair.”
“I didn’t realize you were so vain.” I tease. “Why even try? We both know Gavin is the one who inherited Dad’s good hair.”
At the same time, we both turn to look at an oblivious Gavin, whose dark brown, shiny, locks are pulled back into a haphazard low bun. It’s honestly not even fair, he probably uses off-brand shampoo without conditioner. Genetics are such a bitch.
Gavin catches us both staring. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”
“No reason,” we say in unison.
His nose scrunches. “You guys are weirdos.”
Gavin walks away and scoops Lily up, slinging her on his back for a piggyback ride. Her loud giggles fade, as they wander outside.
“I made a spatchcock roasted chicken, herby focaccia, and roasted garlic parmesan asparagus,” Shane finally answers, speaking animatedly as he points to the dishes.
He starts droning on about the dessert, but I tune him out as I open the freezer. Due to my untimely arrest, I never did get around to making those freezer meals I’d planned on. I expect to find it empty, with maybe a few packages of random frozen vegetables, but instead find it stocked to the brim with various freezer bags and meal prep containers.
“Who made all this food?” I ask, cutting Shane off from his chocolate soufflé speech.
He scoffs. “Who do you think?”
“I was going to make them,” I say, my voice pitching higher as my defenses kick in.
Shaking his head at me, he laughs. “Yeah, well then you became a little jailbird and someone had to step up to the plate.”
“I said I was going to make them,” I grit through a tightened jaw as I slam the freezer shut .
Shane halts. “Wait, are you actually pissed? I did you a favor and now you want to throw a fit about it? Who cares who made the food, either way Mom and Dad are good to go.”
I cross my arms, the heat of embarrassment mangling with frustration. “It’s not about who made the food. It’s about the fact that it’s always me. I’m the dependable one—the one they can count on. And now I can’t even do that right.”
A thick, heavy feeling sinks in my stomach. I said I would handle something, and I failed. And I hate failing. The arrest has been like a domino effect—one wrong move and everything is falling over.
Shane raises an eyebrow while resting against the counter. “So you’re mad because you’re not playing martyr this week? Jesus, Elle, maybe it’s okay to let someone else handle things for once.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my jaw clamping down further. “You don’t get it.”
When you’re part of a big family, something has to be your thing . Gavin is the oldest—the good child and the calm, rational one of the bunch. Ethan’s running the family business. Shane is a goof-off and a manwhore, but the boy can cook. Layla’s probably the smartest of all of us. Ariana is the sweet, caring one.
And me? I’m the one everyone relies on. Need a party thrown together last minute? A babysitter in a pinch? An ex’s social media stalked? I’m your girl.
Because if I’m not the one holding everything together, then who am I?
“No, I think I do,” Shane says flatly. “You’ve tied your whole identity to being the one who does everything. It’s like you think the rest of us are useless. You bitch about not getting help, and then complain when someone does. God forbid anyone else takes the reins. ”
His insinuation lands like a blow, twisting my stomach. I know he’s right. He knows he’s right. But admitting that feels like surrender, so I don’t. Instead, I let out a clipped sigh and grab a glass from the cupboard, pouring myself some water to distract from Shane’s assessment.
“Well, congratulations.” My voice is harsh. “Enjoy doing all the things. Don’t come to me and start complaining when you start to drown.”
He groans, running a hand through his hair, ruining the careful styling he’d whined about earlier. “You’re so goddamn territorial. I’m not trying to take over. I’m just trying to help. And maybe—just maybe—you need to let people do that every once in a while. Why is it always a fight? I’m just as capable as anyone else, but you treat me like a fucking kid. I can do things too, you know?”
I stare at him, his words stinging painfully. And from Shane of all people, which makes it worse. I didn’t realize he even cared about stuff like this. The kitchen is quiet now, the tension heavy.
Before I can come up with a retort, Ariana and Layla walk in.
“What’s all this bickering?” Ariana asks. The look of concern on her face has gnawing guilt starting to claw at my spine. Ariana hates it when any of us fight, always trying to be the mediator.
Shane and I exchange a look, and for a moment, the irritation between us dissipates. He gestures toward the dining room. “Come on, let’s eat. You can be mad at me after dessert.”
I roll my eyes but follow him out of the kitchen. I don’t want to fight, but I don’t know what to do with all the bottled up pressure I’ve been feeling lately. I’m out of sorts. Everything feels out of control .
“We’re fine, Ari,” I tell her as I brush past her to get to the dining room.
“Set an extra place,” my mom calls from the living room. “I invited a guest.”
Before I can question who this so-called guest is, there’s a knock at the front door. Only a guest would knock, the rest of us barge in.
“Elle, be a doll, and get that for me please,” my mom says.
She’s acting odd, her voice carrying a conspiratorial lilt.
“Okayyy,” I drag while I pad to the front door. The last time she acted this suspicious she invited a “nice girl” over to get to know Gavin. It didn’t go well.
My head is down as I turn the knob, eyes catching on the bits of grease Shane splattered on me when he was gesturing to all of his dishes earlier. Freaking Shane! I just bought these shoes.
When I finally do look up, the air whooshes out of me the moment I realize who’s on the other side of the door. Our eyes collide. Dominic’s pensive, penetrating brown ones hold mine captive.
You’re kidding me. Is there no escaping this man?
“Hey, Ellie girl.”
My stomach flips. I wish he would stop calling me that.
He smiles sheepishly, like he’s aware that I’m less than pleased by his presence.
With a silent shrug he tucks both hands in the front pockets of his jeans, managing to look boyishly innocent and stupidly cocky all at once.
I glance over my shoulder, confirming no one is watching, and quickly slip outside, closing the door behind me. Now it’s just me and Dominic on the porch.
Alone.
He steps back, likely taken by surprise that I would choose to be alone with him.
“You’re the guest my mom invited. ”
It’s not a question, but he nods, answering it anyway.
I cross my arms over my chest, the need to protect the heart hammering under it is instinctual. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it needs to stop. It’s not funny.” My eyes dart down, hating the vulnerable wave about to break over me any moment now.
Forcing myself to look back up, I watch the playful smile he was sporting drop as he steps forward.
I step back.
He sighs, but remains still. “You think I would play games with you? There’s no game. You know me better than that.”
“I don’t know you. Not anymore.” It comes out hushed and ragged, revealing too much emotion when I was aiming for indifference. “You can’t just show up here like this.”
His brows fall into a single line, the softness in his gaze replaced by something heavier, harder. “Your mom invited me. Not the other way around. I wasn’t planning to crash Sunday dinner just to mess with you.”
I scoff, even though a small part of me feels stupid for assuming it was his idea. Of course it was my mom’s, she doesn’t know when to mind her own business. “So, what, you’re just here to…what? Make nice with my family?”
Dominic rubs the back of his neck, the movement drawing my attention to the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders, to the veins branching down his inked arms.
Damn it. Focus.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he admits, quietly, unsure. “Your mom asked, and I didn’t have a reason to say no.” He hesitates. “And maybe I wanted to see you.”
My insides somersault. I can’t decide if it’s from anger or something else. Something I’m sure as shit not going to name.
We stare, studying each other. No matter how badly I try not to feel it, the ever-present thread between us pulls tight. It’s always there, tugging .
“Well, you’ve seen me,” I say, trying to sound cold, though my voice wavers. “Now you can leave.”
He flinches at that, and for a second, I regret my bitchiness. But before either of us can say more, the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway snaps the tension.
Dominic glances over his shoulder as Ethan’s truck rolls to a stop. Marisa hops out of the passenger seat with a wave.
“Dom, good to see you, man,” Ethan calls, grinning as he rounds the walkway.
Marisa jogs up to us, her hand brushing my arm as she passes, giving it a double-squeeze. “Are you joining us? Oh, this is going to be fun.” She beams at both of us. Either she’s not picking up on the strain crackling in the silence, or she’s choosing to not acknowledge it.
Dominic bro hugs Ethan, his easy smile sliding back into place. “Your mom invited me, and I couldn’t pass it up.” His eyes briefly swivel to me before Marisa greets him with a hug.
Shane’s voice calls from inside. “The food is getting cold!”
I glare at Dominic one last time before sighing and opening the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
Dominic follows close behind me, the heat radiating off him penetrating my skin as if we’re touching. I feel him everywhere and nowhere at once, a special kind of torture. As we get closer to the dining room, I brace myself for an evening I’m wholly unprepared for.