Chapter Nineteen – We Need To Talk
CHAPTER NINETEEN
We Need To Talk
I know she sends the same thing to all of us the second I look around and see Shane and Jay staring at their phones. We leave the court and get into the truck without a word. As much as the thought of having her close again floods my chest with relief, I’m scared too.
When we get home, I finally reply.
We need to talk.
Her answer is immediate.
I know. Can we talk when I get there?
No. Need to talk now. I send back.
Then, silence.
We wait, the three of us sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the phone, but the reply doesn’t come. I’m just about to put the phone down when it rings. It’s her. I press speaker before picking up, so Shane and Jay can hear too.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” she replies.
It’s the first time we hear her voice in almost a month. She sounds normal. Not angry, not crying. I think that’s a good sign. But I don’t know what to say.
“You said we need to talk now…” she presses.
No how are you , no I missed you, just business. I realize I’m even more hurt than I thought I was.
I go straight to the point, just like she did. “Yeah. Luc pressed charges. We’re going to trial. Thought you should know that before you decide to come back.”
“I know,” she sighs. “Jenna told me.”
That stings. I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s just the fact that she had a conversation with someone else while she gave us nothing but four-word texts.
“And are you still coming home? Like, for good?” Shane asks.
“Hi, Shane,” she says gently. “Yeah. I’m coming home for good.”
Relief washes over me, but there’s a flicker of anger too. I know it’s not fair. I know I shouldn’t feel it toward her. But I do.
“When are you coming?” I ask.
“Tomorrow.”
“We’re going to D.C. tomorrow,” I say. “We have to be at MAB Monday morning.”
“Oh,” she pauses. Then: “I can go to D.C. instead. Meet you there.”
“That works,” Jay says .
“Hi, Jay,” she replies. “I’ll check flights and let you know when I can be there.”
And that’s it. After almost four weeks, she’s finally coming back to us.
An hour later, she texts again.
Landing at Reagan National, 1 p.m.
We’d planned to leave at the end of the day, but we decide to head out early and be there to meet her at the airport, so the next morning, we’re in the truck by six.
The drive from Milstone is long but smooth, with no traffic through Jersey, just long stretches of gray highway.
I keep checking her last text, even though it hasn’t changed: no flight number, no gate.
We get there just before noon, park in the garage and walk into the terminal.
It’s early, so we stop to eat burgers and fries from some place near security. I stare out at the tarmac the whole time, trying to guess which plane might be hers.
After we eat, we head down to arrivals. The baggage claim area is open and bright, with wide pillars and long belts that haven’t started moving yet.
There are small human chairs clustered near the exit.
Jay drops into one immediately, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. Shane paces.
I stay standing in the middle of it all, watching the escalator that leads down from the gates. It’s not the first time we’ve waited for her, but this time is different. This time, she’s not a possibility, not a mystery — she’s ours.
But she left us.
It’s been twenty minutes past the time she said she’d land. Jay’s still sitting. Shane gave up pacing a while ago and now just leans against the pillar beside me, arms crossed, eyes on the escalator. I still stand dead center. Watching. Breathing.
Then it hits. Not all at once, just a thread of lilies at first. Familiar enough to steal the air from my lungs. But there’s something different this time: her scent is sweeter, spiced and sour, all tangled together, like she’s feeling everything at once.
Jay straightens up fast, and Shane pushes off the pillar. I scan the top of the escalator.
She appears through the glass railing, hair loose, wearing sneakers and jeans, striding fast. She hasn’t seen us yet.
Jay stands and takes a step forward, but stops himself. Shane swears under his breath.
Jo rides the escalator down, eyes scanning the crowd, then landing on us. Her breath catches; I can see that little hitch in her chest from here. Her lips part as she steps off the escalator. Her scent is stronger now, curling around us.
She walks closer. One step. Then another.
I feel everything inside me pulling tight, straining toward her, but none of us moves .
She’s ten feet away. Then five. Then three. When she’s only a foot away, she stops. I’m so relieved to see her, to breathe her in again, but I’m angry too.
I want to pull her in and hold her tight, and I also want to walk away, let her feel what it’s like to be pushed out and shut off. I want her to close the distance, to show me how much she missed us, and I don’t want her to close the distance at all. Not like nothing happened.
“Hi,” she says, wary.
“Hi,” I reply.
Jay and Shane just look at her, feasting on her presence, despite everything.
“I talked to MAB this morning,” I say. “They’ll let you stay with us in the housing unit again.” I pause. Then add: “If you want to.”
“Of course I want to,” she says quickly, a little exasperated.
We’re quiet for a beat. Then she shifts her weight and glances toward the far end of the hall. “I checked my bags,” she says. “Should be coming out soon.”
Jay nods and finally speaks. “We’ll wait with you.”
We follow her to the carousel. The belts aren’t moving yet, but a few people are already standing around it. Jo stands a few feet from us. Not too far, not too close. She doesn’t speak, just crosses her arms tight, eyes on the conveyor belt.
Shane starts fidgeting, tapping his foot against the floor, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Jay stays still. Me too.
A minute passes, then the machine hums to life. There’s a loud clunk, and the belt starts to turn, the suitcases sliding out. Her bags arrive fast, and I move, grabbing them before they hit the corner.
She looks at me, expression soft. “Thanks,” she says.
I nod.
Jay starts walking toward the exit, and Shane falls in behind him. I wait one more second, just long enough to feel her presence beside me, and then I follow, carrying her bags.
When we get to the truck, Jay opens the rear door and Jo climbs in without a word.
I put her bags in the truck bed along with ours and then take the front passenger seat.
Shane’s driving us to MAB. The ride’s short — fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.
Outside the windows, the city passes by: office buildings, fast food signs, the marble blur of monuments in the distance.
Jay finally breaks the quiet. “Are you hungry?”
We all know he’s talking to her.
She turns her head slightly. “Not really.”
Jay nods.
By the time we pull into the MAB lot, my whole chest aches. Shane parks and cuts the engine, but none of us move.
Then, quietly, Jo speaks. “I missed you.”
No one breathes for a second. Then I say, “Yeah.”
It’s stupid. But I don’t have anything else to give her right now.
She could’ve called. She could’ve said more than just where she was and that she was “fine.” But she didn’t.
I believe her when she says she missed us, because I don’t think it’s possible that the same ice-pick pain I’ve been feeling in my chest isn’t buried in hers too.
But she chose to stay away. In every way, not just physical distance. She cut us out completely.
Jay and I pull the bags from the truck bed, and we walk in silence to the administrative building to check in and grab our keys. Then more silence as we make our way to the housing building.
It’s not the same unit we stayed in that first night with her, but they’re all the same. Same wide space, same large couch and same oversized nest.
She heads straight to the couch and sits down.
I set her bags on the floor near the nest. Shane disappears into the bathroom. Jay pulls a water bottle from the minibar. I think they’re just as lost as I am, avoiding her with the same intensity we want to be near her.
I thought that when I saw her again, I’d just open my arms and let her fall into them. That Shane would cry in relief. That Jay would apologize again and swear never to touch another human without direct orders.
But I was wrong. I am angry in a way I’ve never been with either of my brothers. Maybe because I know, deep in my bones, that no matter what happens, no matter how bad it gets, how hard we fall, they would never leave me. Not ever. That’s not something I even have to doubt.
But her… she did.
And now, weirdly, I’m thinking about my mother.
All my life, I believed that no matter how sad or hurt she was, she’d accepted what happened with my fathers because of the bond.
I thought it dulled everything, kept her from feeling anger toward them even after they bonded with another nyra.
But now I know that’s not true. She felt it all: the pain, the betrayal, the helpless fury. She just never let it show.
Somehow, that makes it worse.
A while passes, I don’t know how long. Then I hear Jo’s voice from the couch, so quiet I’m sure a human wouldn’t even catch it.
“Please.”
And despite everything, it’s a plea none of us can ignore.
We move. Shane drops down beside her first, the couch dipping under his weight. I sink onto the other end. Jay takes the space between me and her.
Her eyes stay fixed on her hands in her lap; her fingers twist together. She takes a deep breath. “I made a mess,” she says. “Of everything.”