5. The Phantom at the Table
The Phantom at the Table
Ari
“Ari, this is Maddox.”
The air shifts the moment he steps fully onto the back patio.
I don’t know what I expected when Otto announced his arrival, but it wasn’t this.
For a moment, my brain refuses to process what’s happening. Why hadn’t Asher ever mentioned it? Why hadn’t I ever met him the other times we had dinner with his parents? The similarities are undeniable—the same sharp jawline, the same height, the same storm-colored, bluish-gray eyes. But where Asher is put together, Maddox is unraveled in a way that feels deliberate. His tattoos peek out from the pushed-up sleeves of his dark gray Henley, snaking down to his large hands. His stance is lazy yet controlled. The same face as Asher, but sharpened at the edges.
Different .
He looks at me, and something inside me locks up. It’s not fear, exactly. It’s something heavier. Recognition, maybe? But that doesn’t make sense.
His eyes flick over me slowly, and I have to force myself not to shift uncomfortably. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips, and I have the distinct feeling that he knows something I don’t.
My pulse kicks up.
He steps forward, extending a hand. “Ari. So nice to meet you.”
I hesitate for just a fraction of a second before taking his hand. His fingers close around mine, warm and strong, his grip just firm enough to make me aware of it.
I clear my throat. “Nice to meet you, Maddox.”
His smirk deepens, but before he can say anything else, Asher steps between us, his posture stiff. “You don’t have to talk to him.”
Maddox doesn’t break our eye contact as he hums. “Come on, brother. That’s not very hospitable.”
The tension between them is immediate, thick. Maddox looks entirely unaffected, his amusement contained behind an arrogant smirk, while Asher’s jaw is tight enough to crack. I glance between them, something curling in my stomach.
Hannah, sensing the shift, steps forward with a bright smile. “Let’s get seated,” she says. “I’ll bring the food out.”
She places a hand on my shoulder before disappearing inside, and Otto gestures to the large dining table set on the patio. Asher pulls out my chair, and just as I sit, Maddox takes the seat beside me, completely ignoring his brother’s glare.
“So, Ari,” Maddox says, stretching an arm over the back of his chair. “What do you do?”
I blink at the directness of his attention, but before I can answer, Asher speaks up. “She’s a CPA.”
Maddox keeps his eyes on me, nodding like he already knew. “Numbers girl. Smart.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Asher cuts in, voice clipped. “Stop interrogating her.”
Maddox doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay on me, waiting.
Before I can answer, Hannah returns, setting dishes down with a practiced ease. The table fills with food: dill potatoes, Swedish meatballs, smoked salmon. The scent is warm, rich with butter and herbs.
“It’s been too long since we had a meal like this together,” Otto says, exhaling contentedly.
Asher stays quiet, his fingers drumming once against the table before stilling. I glance at him, sensing the echo of something unsaid, but before I can ask, Otto turns to me.
“Have you ever had Swedish food before, Ari?”
I shake my head, offering a small smile. “I can’t say that I have, but it looks amazing.”
Hannah beams. “I’m so glad you think so, sweetheart.”
I take a bite of the dill potatoes, and my eyes widen involuntarily. “Oh my god,” I murmur as the flavors hit my tongue. Garlic, fresh rosemary, olive oil. “This is incredible.”
Maddox chuckles, and the sound sends a ripple of awareness dancing along my nerves.
“It’s Maddox’s favorite too,” Otto adds, taking a sip of his drink.
The words land with weight.
A hesitation lingers between us, a fraction of a second where something shifts. My grip tightens around my fork as I glance at Maddox. He’s already watching me, his expression unreadable.
Something is wrong.
I don’t know what, but I feel it in my bones.
I force myself to look away, focusing on my plate, on the way Asher’s shoulders have gone rigid.
“You guys don’t see each other often?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
More silence, and then Asher sighs before answering.
“No,” Asher says, his tone final.
I glance at Maddox, expecting a matching response, but instead, he smiles slowly. “I was… away for a while.”
The way he says it makes the hair on my arms rise.
Something about it isn’t right.
My brain is already working through the possibilities, trying to make sense of the feeling in my gut. The way everyone is suddenly avoiding looking at one another. The way Maddox is watching me, waiting for a reaction.
“What, were you in jail or something?” I joke lightly, taking a sip of my wine.
Otto clears his throat. Hannah drinks deeply from her glass. Asher flinches.
And Maddox smiles.
It’s slow. Amused. Something dark glints in his eyes.
“Something like that.”
The air shifts again, thick and cloying. I clench my fingers around my wineglass as my thoughts swirl around my mind.
It was a joke, but everyone is acting like I stepped on a live wire. “Really?” I ask, almost incredulously.
Maddox holds my gaze a second too long, like he’s letting the gravity of this conversation settle in. Then, as if the tension wasn’t suffocating the table, he reaches for the plate of smoked salmon and casually piles some onto his plate, completely at ease.
Asher exhales sharply, his hand tightening into a fist on the table. “We don’t need to do this right now,” he mutters.
Maddox doesn’t even acknowledge him. “You should try the meatballs, Ari,” he says smoothly, sliding the dish in front of me. “They’re a family recipe.”
The way he says family makes something twist in my stomach.
I glance at the dish, then back at him. My hands feel clammy, but I force myself to appear unbothered, to match the casual tone he so effortlessly holds. “You’re very invested in my meal choices,” I remark lightly, spearing one with my fork.
He smirks. “You strike me as someone who likes to be taken care of.”
A flicker of heat ignites in my chest, unexpected and frustrating. I shove the bite of food into my mouth, chewing slower than necessary as I try to push away whatever strange pull Maddox has. The meatball is rich, savory, and frustratingly delicious.
He watches, clearly waiting for my reaction.
I swallow and pick up my wine. “It’s good.”
Maddox hums, pleased. “Told you.”
Across the table, Asher clears his throat. “I don’t remember you being this talkative, Maddox.”
Maddox finally, lazily, drags his gaze to his twin. “Maybe you just never listened.”
The words are deceptively light, but I catch the razor edge beneath them. The tension between them is thick as years of resentment press in. Hannah shifts uncomfortably. Otto sighs.
“Now’s not the time for arguing,” their father interjects, but his voice lacks real force. It makes me wonder if perhaps this is an old battle, one he’s tired of refereeing and one he’s used to.
Maddox picks up his drink and takes a slow sip. “You’re right.” His tone relaxed— too relaxed—and something about it feels mocking. “It’s a time for celebration.” His eyes flick back to me and amusement curls at the edges of his lips. “Tell me, Ari, what exactly do you see in my brother?”
Asher stiffens beside me. “What the hell is your problem, Maddox?”
But Maddox just waits, eyes locked on to mine, expectant.
I should brush it off. I should shut him down. But there’s something in his gaze that makes me hesitate—something dark, something knowing. Like he’s already decided he won’t like my answer.
I wet my lips, placing my fork down carefully. “Asher is a good man,” I say evenly.
Maddox tilts his head, studying me. “Good,” he echoes, as if tasting the word. “Safe.”
I hesitate. “Yes.”
His smirk is slow, like I just confirmed something for him. “You like safe, then?”
Asher bristles. “Enough.”
His tone lacks force, though, and I ignore the way my stomach twists—not just with unease, but with something closer to disappointment. Like a part of me was waiting for Asher to shut this down, to put Maddox in his place, to win this fight before it even started. But he doesn’t.
And maybe, deep down, I already knew he wouldn’t.
I keep my eyes in my lap, avoiding eye contact with Asher.
Maddox ignores him, leaning in just slightly so that Hannah, Otto, and Asher can’t hear his next words. “You don’t strike me as someone who wants safe .” He’s so close that his breath brushes against my ear.
My breath catches. There’s something about the way Maddox says it, the way his voice dips low like he’s exposing something I didn’t even know about myself. My fingers curl into my lap.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whisper, looking directly at him to show that I’m not afraid.
Maddox holds my gaze for another beat, then leans back in his chair, stretching lazily. “Sure you don’t.”
Asher watches us closely, and I squirm in my seat.
The conversation shifts to something different after that. Hannah’s light chatter about some distant relative’s recent wedding is distracting enough, and Otto asks Asher about work. But the whole time they talk amongst themselves, I can feel Maddox’s unwavering presence beside me.
He doesn’t speak to me.
He just waits—like a patient predator watching its prey.
Like he knows the chase is inevitable.
And for the first time in a long time, I wonder if I’m the one being hunted.