Chapter 4 #2
Richard takes a slow sip. Sets his glass down. He has gone back to his mail-pile but I can tell he isn't reading it.
"It was a real surprise to me, you know," he says. Mild. Into the table. "That all three of them came."
I take a long, long drink.
"Yeah?"
"I thought we'd see Atlas. Atlas always shows up to family things whether it’s convenient for him or not." He turns the glass between his fingers. "Bane I figured we'd see for a Saturday and lose to a bottle of bourbon by Sunday morning. Zero I had at twenty percent."
"...Zero came."
"Zero came," he says. "Zero stayed."
"Yeah," I respond.
"They were—they were on their best behavior." Margot beams.
"Mm. Yes. I saw."
He says it pleasantly. He goes back to sorting.
Then his hands stop moving on the mail. He doesn't look up.
"I've been trying to figure out what changed."
"...what do you mean?" I ask.
"With them. The boys. Atlas takes time off work more—he didn't used to.
Bane talks a little freer about his class, his goals.
Zero is here, Max. Zero showed up to a family vacation.
Zero stayed for the whole weekend." He turns his glass slowly.
"It's not a complaint. It's a question. Something's been different since around when you came.
I can't decide if I'm imagining it or if I should be putting two and two together. "
The kitchen goes very, very quiet.
My heart is pounding in my chest. My palms sweaty around the cool lemonade glass.
Margot is watching me.
I take a deep breath.
Swallow.
What do I say?
What the fuck do I say?
Shit, I hadn’t considered having to have a conversation like this and lie to their faces.
I know why they’re different, but I can’t exactly say that, can I?
Oh yeah, your sons and I are fucking. We’re officially alphas and omega. It’s great.
I roll my neck and fake a gentle smile, trying to pretend like blood isn’t roaring in my ears.
"I think, maybe, they've just gotten closer to each other," I say. "I don't think it's me. I think it's—they've been spending more time together. They figured out they actually like each other, maybe?
"Mm."
"I think they're putting in more effort. On their own."
"On their own."
"Yeah."
He looks at me a beat longer than is comfortable. Steady. Unreadable.
I can’t tell if he believes it or not.
Then he nods once. Lets it go.
"Could be."
"Yeah…” I trail off.
"You're probably right."
I drink my lemonade because if I don't drink it my hand is going to start shaking. The bond hum in my chest has gone louder the way it goes louder when I am scared. I don’t know if Atlas and Bane and Zero can feel that from the beach house five hours away.
I hope not.
I hope so.
Margot, gentle, like she has been waiting for the moment to pass: "Whatever it is. It's nice."
"It is," I agree.
“It’s what you—"
She stops. Her throat works once. She lifts her glass and puts it down without drinking.
"It's the happy family you've always deserved, Max."
My throat closes. The lemon slice bobs in the pitcher between us. Richard has gone very interested in a piece of junk mail. Margot's hand is flat on the marble and her eyes are bright in the late-afternoon kitchen.
She has no idea what kind of family I am actually in.
She is also entirely correct about the result.
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again.
"Yeah, Mom. It's—it's good. It's really good."
"Good."
"...thank you."
"Stop thanking me."
I laugh and it comes out wet. She passes me a napkin from the holder. Richard, mercifully, does not look up.
I take a breath. Steer the conversation in a different direction.
Anything but this one.
"Hey—random. Can I bring a friend over for dinner sometime?"
Both of them look up.
Margot's whole face brightens. She has been waiting four months for me to say a sentence with the word friend in it.
"Of course," she says. "Absolutely! Yes. Who?"
"Her name is Wren. She's—she's somebody I met through Bane, kind of. She's been having a rough time. Just got back on her feet. She's nineteen."
"Wren."
"Yeah."
"That's a beautiful name."
"She's a good person, Mom. She's funny. She's been through some stuff. I think you'd like her."
"I'd love to meet her, Max. Of course. Of course." She is already planning it. "We could do a nice Sunday dinner. Something low-key. Nothing scary. Or a lunch. A lunch might be lower pressure."
"I'll ask her."
"Take your time, sweetheart. Whenever she's ready."
"Yeah."
Richard, mildly, eyes still on his mail: "We were thinking of doing a night out soon, anyway. The six of us. Somewhere nice—Bertelli's, maybe. Reservations, jackets, the whole thing. It's been a while."
"Oh?"
"Atlas mentioned he'll be traveling more in the next few weeks—some kind of long project he's putting together—so I thought we should do it before he gets pulled under."
"Atlas is traveling,” I say, trying to sound casual.
"That's what he said. He didn't elaborate. He never does."
Margot, pouring a refill: "Always so mysterious, that one."
I file it. Atlas traveling. Long project. He hasn't told me yet. He will when he wants to I guess.
"A night out sounds nice," I say.
"With Wren, if she's up to it." Margot, hopeful again.
"...maybe. I'll see."
"No pressure."
"Yeah."
We drink our lemonade. The light slants further. After a while Richard puts his mail down for good and looks at me. "I'm glad you came back happy, Max."
"...yeah."
"I am too." Margot's hand on my forearm. Just there. Not squeezing. "We were worried, sweetheart. The end of the spring was hard on you."
"I know."
"You're doing better."
"I am."
"Good."
She kisses the top of my head as she passes behind my stool to put the lemonade pitcher back in the fridge. The kitchen settles into its own quiet.
I push back from the island.
"I'm going to go unpack."
"Mm. Take your time, sweetheart."
"Yell when it's dinner."
"I will."
I head for the stairs. Bannister under my hand, gold light through the long west window.
Halfway up, the bond shifts in my chest. Bane's thread lights warm and bright, then settles. Like he just thought of me hard enough that I felt it. A grin breaks across my face before I can stop it and I have to bite my lip to keep it down.
I'll be there before either of you. Atlas. Calm and certain.
I am going to climb in your window like a teenager. Bane, against the wall of the kitchen this morning, laughing into my mouth.
I’ll be in your bed tonight. Trust that. Zero, in the doorway, smug as anything.
I can feel them all now, aching to get back to me.
A slow heat rolls down my spine.
I take the stairs two at a time.
Past the office where Atlas's door is closed because Atlas isn't home yet. Past Bane's room. Past Zero's. Into mine.
I close the door behind me and lean against it and let myself smile, all the way, for nobody.
They are coming.
I am here.
I unzip my duffel and start pulling clothes out, because if I don't put my hands to work I am going to spend the rest of the afternoon standing in the middle of my room with my palm pressed flat over the bond mark on my throat just to feel them thrum.
It is going to be a long few hours.
I cannot wait.