Chapter 11
Sebastian
“Dude, I’m serious–we don’t have any more work for you today,” Lucian said, leaning against the glass counter like he hadn’t just ruined my afternoon. “Go home.”
My heart sank. I glanced at the clock.
Four twenty.
I was going to throw up.
“Okay, but we rode together,” I said, gesturing toward the neon green eyesore of a Jeep parked out front. “I’m not walking home. I’ll find something to do.”
I stopped and looked around the shop’s spotless lobby. Everything was done. The case was fully stocked. I’d triple-checked inventory. I’d done two piercings under Austyn’s permanently judgmental gaze. I’d even scrubbed the bathroom floor with a toothbrush.
And I had a Ph.D., for Christ’s sake.
“You can take the Jeep,” Lucian offered. “I’ll get a ride.”
I blinked. “What, so you can spend more time with the shop whore?”
Lucian dropped his head into his hands and groaned.
It had been over a week since Mason came in to get her ears pierced, and I still hadn’t recovered from watching Sera paw at Lucian like he was the last man alive in a zombie apocalypse.
“Dude. This again?”
“He accusing you of cheating again?” Sera called as she appeared from the back like some kind of smug poltergeist.
But instead of floating in with Victorian grace, she was wearing a shredded flannel that looked like it’d come from a discount bin in Hell.
Her voice made my skin itch. That sharp New England twang could cut through steel.
Lucian looked like he was one snide comment away from swan diving off a building.
And honestly? I couldn’t blame him. He had to spend all day with her.
“Yeah,” he mumbled flatly.
Sera let out a snort that sounded more like a dying goose than a laugh. A sound only possible from someone who’d never developed a healthy sense of shame.
“Seriously?” she said, strutting toward him like she owned the floor. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed.
“What? I like my men to look like men. You’re too pretty.” She reached out to pinch his cheek, and he slapped her hand away like a bored sibling.
“I saw you touch him,” I said coldly.
More than once. And Lucian had touched her back. Sure, it was under the guise of pulling things out of her pockets or adjusting her smock, but it didn’t sit right with me. Maybe I was overreacting, but I was also observant.
“Because we’re friends,” Sera snapped. “haven’t you ever had one of those?”
“No. He hasn’t,” Lucian muttered. “Excuse my brother. Despite the big fucking brain, he’s socially stupid.”
I flipped them both off and opened my mouth to retaliate, but before I could speak, my phone buzzed and Cameron’s name lit up the screen.
You're out of cigarettes. Get more on your way home. And fast food. I want a burger. Mason wants fries.
My brow furrowed. I was 90% sure I’d cracked open a fresh carton this morning. And more importantly, Cameron and I had a deal: I stopped obsessing over every calorie I consumed, and he worked on cutting back the fast food.
I replied: You don’t eat fast food anymore, remember?
No response. Not immediately. So I took a breath and turned back toward Lucian.
Then the phone buzzed again. I instantly looked down to see Cam texted me again.
Mae ain’t doing well. Neither of us has eaten since this morning.
My chest tightened. Lucian and Sera were watching me like I was about to shift into a werewolf and rip the doors off the hinges.
I held up a finger. Not done here, but I had something more pressing.
Then another message popped up.
Please.
Fuck.
My jaw clenched so hard it felt like my molars were going to crack. I fired back a simple fine, then stormed over to Lucian, yanked his keys off the counter, and muttered, “Go fuck yourself.”
Was picking the kids up from daycare part of my job?
No.
Normally, Mason got bored around noon and picked them up herself, even though they were supposed to stay until five-ish.
Lucian insisted the socialization was good for them.
But I wasn’t going to make her drag herself out of bed today—especially not with Lucian’s Jeep packed like a clown car, with three car seats jammed in the back.
So I grabbed the kids after picking up the cigarettes and headed to get food.
Unsurprisingly, the twins—who’d had a snack less than an hour ago—were starving to death. Juniper dramatically informed me that she had never eaten in her life. Jasper solemnly agreed.
So I struck a deal: if they carried their own backpacks and brought the food inside themselves, I’d get them kids’ meals.
They agreed instantly.
Easy win.
But then I glanced at Rosie in her car seat—cheeks flushed pink, feet kicking, eyes full of unfiltered adoration for her siblings—and felt a pang of guilt for leaving her out.
So I added a small thing of unsalted fries to the order. Gave her one to hold on the drive home. She didn’t eat it, just clutched it in her tiny fist like a golden scepter, waving it around like she was the Queen of Everything. Her two-tooth grin split her face open with joy.
I also grabbed meals for everyone at home—including Sophia, but excluding Lucian.
Because, again: fuck him.
I didn’t want Mason cooking tonight, and Lucian could starve.
Rosie didn’t make a sound on the drive. Just sat in her seat, solemn and smiling, waving that limp fry like it was a sparkler. Every now and then she’d squeal or babble to herself, like she was updating me on important baby gossip.
When we pulled into the driveway, her whole face lit up like she knew exactly where we were—and that her favorite people were inside.
Well. Besides me. Because I, obviously, was her favorite.
She had taste.
The twins immediately started yelling to be let out. I unbuckled them, and they scrambled to grab their Happy Meals—completely forgetting their backpacks.
Figures.
I made a mental note to grab them later, then unbuckled Rosie. I hoisted her onto my hip and she clapped her hands like she’d just won something.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’re home,” I murmured, brushing her soft copper curls back.
They were getting long. No matter how many clips or tiny elastics Mason used, they always sprang free. I’d suggested a trim once. Mason looked at me like I asked her to commit treason.
So I dropped it.
I balanced the food in one hand and Rosie in the other. Her fry was now floppy and wet, but she still held it high, like a baby torchbearer.
Cameron opened the door before I could even knock—like he’d been standing on the other side, waiting.
The twins bolted past him into the kitchen, already arguing about whose toy was better. I lingered, watching Cameron too closely.
“You’re acting weird,” I said, toeing off my shoes and stepping inside.
“I ain’t even said nothin’,” he protested.
“Yeah. That’s, what’s weird.”
His lips parted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. His pupils were a little too dilated, and for a moment I wondered if he was high.
But no, Cameron wouldn’t. Alcohol? Sure. Drugs? Never.
Rosie squirmed on my hip, stretching toward him. Her little hands opened and closed with purpose.
He reached for her.
I turned away.
“Mine,” I said, kissing her forehead.
Those weird hours at the shop were fine. After years of letting S.H.A.D.E. control my schedule, ten-to-seven was paradise. I didn’t even mind when Lucian wanted to stay late.
But Rosie’s bedtime was 7:30. And because of that, I missed a lot.
Cameron raised an eyebrow and held out his hands.
I shook my head. “You can’t take her. I never see her, and she’s getting big.”
He sighed. “You better give me my goddamn baby before I tie you to the bed and leave you there.”
Instinctively, I started to pass her over then paused before lifting her to eye level.
“Your Papa thinks he’s scary,” I cooed in a voice I used only for her. “If he wants me to act right, he can’t threaten me with a good time.”
She giggled, showing off her bottom teeth.
I bounced her, and she laughed harder.
I pulled her close enough to rub my nose against hers.
“No, no, no—”
Cameron plucked her out of my arms.
My jaw dropped. “Hey! Give her back!”
“Not a chance. Mason’s been pumping all day and can’t get a damn thing out. She needs an expert.”
Rosie clapped like she was in on the plan.
I crossed my tragically babyless arms. “Then let me bring her down. I love Mason too.”
Cameron shook his head.
“Seb… when I said she ain’t doing well, I didn’t just mean sick,” he said quietly, shifting Rosie to one arm and walking to the massive paper bag.
He rummaged through it and pulled out a wrapped burger and large fries.
My stomach twisted.
“What do you mean?” I asked, voice tight.
He looked over at me, then away, his lips pressed into a hard line. That same strange nervousness returned.
“She’s just out of sorts,” he said finally, staring over my head.
“Is she okay?”
He nodded slowly, eyes falling back on Rosie.
Then he turned and headed down the basement steps.
I wanted to follow.
Every part of me ached to follow.
Some of my favorite nights were spent in that basement—Mason breastfeeding while I made her laugh with dumb videos, both of us half-asleep, whispering about everything and nothing. I’d tell her about Legos. She’d tell me about bugs.
Right now, I needed that kind of normal.
But something in Cameron’s voice told me he wasn’t exaggerating. So instead of following them down, I just stood there, wondering what was wrong with my girl.