Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
SILAS
I shouldn’t be on the road right now.
I keep my hands steady on the wheel anyway, knuckles tight, jaw tighter. Streetlights sweep over the hood of the car and up the windshield. It would be calming if my head wasn’t a landfill of thoughts.
My best friend is the other guy.
My nephew threatened her.
The woman I’ve been seeing, the woman I wanted to introduce to my best friend, is about to become my step-niece.
And she’s in the back seat, pressed into the corner, dress rucked up around her thighs, eyes closed like she could just opt out of existing for a few minutes.
Gideon is quiet beside me. That’s how I know he’s wound up too. He gets even more careful with his silence when he’s upset. His breathing is even. His posture is relaxed enough to fool most people. It doesn’t fool me.
I adjust the rearview mirror to check on her again.
Penelope sits with her head tipped back against the seat, hair a little mussed from the party, lipstick smudged at one corner. Her hands rest on her stomach, fingers tangled in the fabric of her dress like she is hanging on by that one small fistful of blue.
“Almost there,” I say.
She doesn’t answer at first. Then I hear a breathy laugh. The kind that isn’t actually amused.
I keep my eyes on the road. If I look at her right now, I might pull over and hug her until she stops shaking. That isn’t safe. So I keep driving.
“You didn’t know. We didn’t know. The only one I’m judging right now is Talon.”
Her breath hitches at his name. I file that away. Anger, hurt, guilt, probably all of it mixed together.
My hands tighten again on the wheel.
Talon.
The kid who used to sit on my shoulders at the beach and throw sand at everyone else. The teenager I taught to drive even though Abi didn’t want him touching a car. The young man who now has had his hands on the same woman I’m falling for and thinks that gives him the right to leverage her secrets.
I want to put my fist through a wall. Or his face. I want to yank him out of that house and shake him until the smug teenage bravado cracks and he understands what consent actually looks like.
Instead, I breathe and drive and keep my voice calm.
“You’re not alone in this,” I say, which is really just another way of promising myself that I’m not walking away.
No one says much after that.
Her apartment complex finally comes into view. I pull into her usual spot and kill the engine. For a second, none of us moves. The silence stretches. Then Penelope sighs and reaches for the door handle with hands that aren’t entirely steady.
“I’ll walk you up,” I say.
“I’m fine,” she lies.
“You’re wearing heels,” I say. “And you nearly passed out in a room full of people who think this was a nice evening. Humor me.”
She hesitates, then nods and opens the door.
Gideon gets out too. That was never in question. He falls into step on her other side as we walk up the path, flanking her. Protective is too soft a word for how it feels. I’m not sure there is one that fits.
She fishes her keys out of her tiny bag and fumbles with the lock. I take them gently, turn the key, and swing the door open.
Her apartment smells like vanilla, coffee, and something that might be strawberry shampoo. Soft light spills from a small lamp in the corner. A mug sits on the coffee table with a lipstick ring on the rim. There’s a blanket thrown across the back of the couch like she left in a hurry the last time.
Home.
I feel some of the tension in my shoulders ease just from stepping inside.
“Shoes,” Gideon says softly.
She leans on the wall while I crouch and unbuckle the straps of her heels.
Her ankle is warm under my hand. Her toes curl slightly on the floor when I slide the shoes off.
I line them up near the door because it gives my hands something to do that isn’t pulling her into my arms and promising her things I have no right to promise… yet.
She laughs. “Thank you, Cinderella.”
“Wrong fairy tale,” I say. “Come on.”
Gideon glances toward the couch. “Bed,” he decides. “You need to sleep. You can freak out more tomorrow when your brain isn’t fried.”
She groans. “Don’t talk about my brain like it’s an overcooked egg.”
He smiles. “Then go save it.”
We walk her down the short hallway to her bedroom. The bed is made, which doesn’t surprise me. Penelope likes order, even when she pretends she doesn’t.
She stops in the doorway and turns to us. “You don’t have to stay.”
“We know,” I say.
“Which is why we’re offering,” Gideon adds.
Her shoulders slump. “I feel like a disaster.”
“You’re a person who had a very long day,” I correct.
She bites her lip, then nods once. “Fine. But if either of you tries anything, I’m kicking you in the balls. I can’t handle anything else right now.” Her eyes flick between us. “I mean that.”
That hits right where it should. I nod. “We’re not trying anything. You have my word.”
“Mine too,” Gideon says.
Some of the tension leaves her posture.
“Can one of you open the top drawer of the dresser?” she asks. “I want shorts and a shirt.”
I move to the dresser and pull open the top drawer. Cotton and soft fabric, folded mostly neatly. I pick out a pair of loose shorts and an oversized t-shirt that reads Support Your Local Witches.
“This work?” I ask.
She manages a tired smile. “Very on brand.”
She sways a little when she reaches for the clothes. I step in before she face-plants.
“Let us help,” I say quietly.
Her eyes search mine for a long second. “I really am okay,” she murmurs.
“I know,” I say. “That isn’t the point.”
She exhales. “Okay. No being weird about it.”
“Never,” Gideon says.
We are absolutely being weird about it in our own heads, but not in the way she means. Not in a predatory way. In a holy shit, I care about you and I’m trying to pretend this is just logistics way.
“Turn around,” I say.
She does. The zipper on her dress runs down the back.
Her hair tumbles forward when Gideon lifts it, his fingers careful on her neck.
I pull the zipper down slowly, exposing the line of her spine, the smooth skin between her shoulder blades.
I allow myself one breath, one second of quiet appreciation, and then I step back.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods and holds the front of the dress. Gideon and I each take a side at the top and ease it down her body. When the dress pools at her feet, she steps out, and I avert my eyes just enough to give her the illusion of privacy while still able to catch her if she stumbles.
She pulls the shirt over her head as fast as possible, then wiggles into the shorts. When she’s decent, she tosses the party dress onto the chair in the corner.
“Here,” I say, smoothing the blanket down on the bed. “Sit.”
She crawls onto the mattress and sinks into the pillows, hair falling around her face. She looks small in a way she never does at the club. Not weak. Just tired. Human.
Gideon adjusts the blanket over her legs. His touch is gentle enough that it almost hurts to watch.
“You need to drink water before you fall asleep,” he says, like a reflex.
“I will,” she murmurs, clearly not planning to move.
I go get a glass from the kitchen anyway, fill it, and bring it back. She props herself up enough to take a few sips, then sets it on the nightstand.
“Tomorrow,” she says, eyes already drooping. “We were supposed to meet tomorrow.”
“We still are,” I tell her. “If you want it. We can reschedule. Or do it at the club like we talked about. Neutral ground. Somewhere you feel safest.”
She smiles weakly. “The fact that the sex club is the neutral ground says a lot.”
“Exactly,” Gideon says. “You know the rules there.”
“I knew the rules,” she corrects. “This whole stepfamily situation is a new edition of the manual.”
I reach out and rest my hand lightly on the blanket over her shin. No pressure. Just a point of contact. “Sleep. Tomorrow we’ll talk. All of us. No secrets. No surprises.”
Her gaze softens. “If you say so.”
I lean down and press a quick kiss to her hair. “Goodnight, Angel.”
“Night,” she whispers. “Don’t let Talon in while I’m sleeping. He’s proven he’s resourceful, and my dad will totally just give him my address.”
Gideon snorts. “He’s not getting anywhere near this place tonight.”
She mumbles something that sounds like good and closes her eyes. Within a minute, her breathing evens out.
We stand there for a moment in the dim light, watching her sleep.
“She’s really out,” Gideon says softly.
“Finally,” I answer.
We leave the door slightly cracked and head back down the hall to the kitchen.
Her apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that wraps around you instead of echoing. Gideon opens a cabinet, finds a couple of glasses, and grabs the bottle of whiskey left on top of her fridge and pours us each a couple of fingers.
We lean against the counter, each holding a glass. For a minute we don't talk.
Then he breaks the silence.
“Talon tried to blackmail her,” he says.
It’s not news by now, but hearing it out of his mouth with that measured tone makes me put my glass down before I break it in my hand.
“I figured,” I say. “The way she flinched when he talked. The way he kept throwing little jabs. The little shit.”
Gideon nods, eyes dark. “He backed her into a corner. Used what he knew about Velvet against her. Hinted at telling her dad, telling the dean. He made it leverage.”
My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. “I should have hit him at the party.”
“You shouldn’t have. There were witnesses,” Gideon says. “That’s the only reason you didn’t.”
I tip back a sip of whiskey and let it burn down my throat. “He’s my nephew. I taught him better than that.”
“Our nephew,” Gideon quips. “He’s also young and angry and thinks he’s invincible.” Gideon tilts his glass, watching the liquid. “That doesn’t excuse it. It just means we address it with a clear head instead of swinging.”