Chapter 21 #2
And, okay… perhaps it was also a little about getting under Isis’s skin and watching Bryce stumble over his words in my presence. I was petty, not perfect.
Footsteps creaked behind me, but I didn’t turn to see who had entered. Instead, I focused on my task, continuing to stir slowly and giving the mystery guest a free front-row seat to the thighs and syrup show.
Bryce’s cologne hit me before his voice broke the comfortable silence.
He walked behind me, close enough to spark temptation, and then some. I felt the brush of him against my ass, like he wanted me to feel what was still on his mind.
I didn’t flinch. I chuckled, low and dangerous.
Bryce reached up for a mug from the cabinet like he hadn’t just sent a message with his body.
After pouring himself a cup of coffee, he leaned casually against the counter.
His eyes traced my movements, lingering on my curves as if he had all morning to undress me with just his gaze, and like the biscuits weren’t the only thing rising.
“You trying to feed everybody… or just torture me?”
I offered him a slow, wicked smile, not bothering to answer. Instead, I poured more syrup over the waffles, allowing it to drip and glisten, each drop a tantalizing tease.
Bryce watched the syrup dance down the waffles like he was contemplating a far more enticing dessert—me.
“That syrup gon’ be the second sweetest thing I taste this morning," he murmured, licking his lips, his voice low and suggestive.
I held my silence; confident my nonverbal response spoke volumes.
“So what’s all on the menu? Shid, I honestly don’t care; it smells better than that bullshit Isis burnt the other day… that’s for damn sure,” he added, shifting the conversation.
“I heard that!” Isis hissed, entering the kitchen with a Chanel bonnet halfway slid off her head, and her face twisted like somebody passed gas.
Ironic, considering she tried to serve us raw-ass pancake batter two days before, like it was a delicacy.
“I meant for you to,” Bryce called back effortlessly.
“You woke up and chose petty, I see!” Isis shot back, folding her arms defiantly across her chest.
“I woke up and chose flavor… something I’m sure your eggs would’ve lacked.”
Isis scoffed, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Whatever! I bet if I cooked in a robe or lingerie, you’d eat my food then!”
“Isis,” Bryce replied, unflinching, “you could be naked, wearing stiletto heels and whipped cream, and I’d still pass on your food. My stomach’s loyal to whoever knows how to cook without making me sick in the process.”
Isis folded her arms, offended. “Wow. So I’m sexy but deadly?”
Bryce chuckled, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee. “Nah… you’re just a kitchen terrorist with hips.”
“Whatever,” she grumbled, snatching an apple from the center of the table.
In an easy motion, Bryce reached over, snagged a waffle off the plate, and took a slow bite, his eyes never leaving mine.
Mmm,” he moaned, savoring the taste, licking syrup off his thumb like it was the most delectable treat. “Sweet… just like I remember.”
Before I could respond, Adrian strolled in wearing wrinkled joggers and stretching like he was waking from a long, restorative sleep, likely hoping for some awkward breakfast reconciliation after the drama of the previous day.
“Damn, something smells good,” he said, lowering his voice as he leaned closer, his presence intrusive. “And you look even better. If you gon’ play wifey, you should really be mine.”
As his hand inched toward my lower back, I instinctively snatched it away before it could reach my ass.
“Don’t!” My tone was quick, clipped, and crystal clear.
“For real?” Adrian had the audacity to say, like a whole twenty-four hours erased the fact that he was a walking lie wrapped in a cloak of broken promises.
Bryce turned to him, his expression suddenly fierce, eyes sharp. “You heard her, nigga. Don’t touch what ain’t yours.”
Adrian frowned, puffing out his chest slightly as if to intimidate. “Aye, this is between us… me and her. You got your lil’ feelings involved, well, that’s on you. But don’t insert yoself in something that ain't got shit to do with you, nigga."
Bryce set his coffee down. That mug hit the counter with a thud that felt like a warning shot.
He stepped close to Adrian, enclosing the space between them like a storm cloud rolling in.
“Nigga, when it comes to this one,” he said, pointing directly at me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine, “I’ll insert myself, protect myself, lose myself, and resurrect my damn self behind her. You breathing don’t make you relevant or her nigga; that just makes you her mistake.”
Bryce’s jaw flexed like he dared Adrian to respond... and of course, Adrian took the bait.
“A mistake just like you, huh?”
Oh… that was a low blow.
The words hung in the air, sharp and bitter.
Bryce’s face shifted.
The humor left… his hands curled… and his jaw ticked so hard I swear I heard it crack.
Adrian had the nerve to smirk like he’d scored a point—he hadn’t.
I jumped in fast, pressing my hand against Bryce’s chest like a damn riot shield.
“Nope! We’re not doing this! Not today!”
Bryce’s eyes remained locked on Adrian. His nostrils were flared, and that vein in his neck was saying something. His hands were ready to swing, but my hand stayed firm, and my voice got louder.
“Both of y’all need to chill! I just wanted one—just one—peaceful ass day in this cabin without somebody acting like they were raised by wolves or descended from a long line of certified ass-whoopers and chaos creators!”
Bryce leaned just enough to speak past me, his voice as icy as the mountain air outside. “Last warning. Keep it respectful, or you won’t be sledding down this mountain, you’ll be rolling… in a damn body bag with your name spelled wrong on the tag.”
Adrian's smirk twitched, just slightly. He knew Bryce wasn’t bluffing.
I shoved them both back, grabbing the spatula like I was about to use it for more than flipping waffles.
“I swear to God, if I gotta burn this whole breakfast and lock y’all in separate cabins like toddlers, I will! Try me!”
Adrian hunched his shoulders. “It ain’t even that serious.”
Bryce glared. “It is to me, nigga!”
Isis rolled her eyes in frustration. “Ugh! Bryce, why do you even care? You act like you still love her or something.”
The room got tense… even the bacon paused.
Bryce’s jaw ticked violently. Mine clenched in response.
He turned to face Isis, eyes fierce, and no hesitation in his voice. “Because I do.”
Silence engulfed the room.
Isis stood there, blinking as if she needed to rewind the scene and watch it all over again.
She didn’t. He meant it.
Her face crumbled. A mix of realization and heartbreak washed over her before she stormed off down the hall without a word.
I stood frozen, clearly stunned. The air felt thick and suffocating.
Adrian had backed all the way into the hallway, eager to distance himself from the fallout, while Bryce remained silent, grabbing his plate and walking out like he hadn’t just detonated an emotional grenade in the kitchen.
Something in me—the part that used to shade Isis, roll my eyes at her insecurities, or even feel superior—softened. I felt the weight of her pain. Her pride had cracked, and I understood that more than I wanted to acknowledge.
I took a slow breath, turned off the stove, and followed her.
That storm had all of us settled into a weird routine, like we were a messy little family that argued every few hours but still shared snacks and laughter amidst the chaos.
I knocked softly on the bedroom door.
No answer.
“Isis… it’s me.”
Still nothing.
Sighing, I pushed the door open anyway. Isis was curled up under a throw blanket on the bed, facing the window. Isis’s mascara was smudged, and she wiped her eyes angrily, as if she were blaming them for leaking tears.
“Can I come in?”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t tell me to leave either.
I stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
“You good?”
“Do I look okay?” she shot back, her voice scratchy and raw.
“No. That’s why I’m here.”
Isis sniffed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. I kind of figured he still loved you, but I guess... hearing it and watching him say it out loud like that, as if I wasn’t even standing there...”
She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips through her tears.
“I knew I didn’t stand a chance,” she whispered. “You’re beautiful, smart, your booty is built like God took his time and looped back twice, your skin glows like you drink spring water straight from heaven, and you cook like Big Mama raised you herself. Of course, he loves you.”
I let out a soft chuckle as I sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay, thank you… although that was a long-ass compliment. But are you done being dramatic?”
“Almost. Your grits are really top-tier.”
We both cracked up, the tension gradually dissipating.
“Seriously, I came up here thinking maybe I could win him over, but girl, he ain't never left you.”
My smile faded slowly, and I felt the lump in my throat thicken as reality seeped in. My hand rested on my thigh, and my voice dropped to a whisper.
“Me and Bryce... we have a special bond you probably don’t know about.”
Isis turned toward me, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “What kind of bond?”
I stared ahead, searching for the words that never came easily.
“We had a daughter,” I divulged.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait... what?”
I nodded slowly, the weight of the memory settling heavily upon me. “A stillborn. Her name was Journey. She didn’t make it, and after that... neither did we. We tried to hold on, God knows we did. But losing her...”
The words trailed off, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
"It broke us in a way that made loving each other hurt.”
Isis sat up straighter, her expression shifting from surprise to empathy as she covered her mouth.
“Oh my God! I didn’t know.”