CHAPTER ELEVEN
JORDAN
I sat perched on my bed the next morning like a statue, afraid to breathe.
Was Seven outside? Could I run to the bathroom without seeing him? Would I have to confront him in full mortification and morning breath?
It was eerily silent, but every so often I thought I heard a strange whuff noise. My bladder was bursting. I listened harder, unsure of anything outside the door. All I could hear was the beat of my own heart, reminding me of last night: What. The. Hell. What. The. Hell.
Fuck it. I couldn’t wait. I slipped out of bed, opened the door as quietly as I could, and darted like a mouse through the apartment. I spotted Seven in the living room, mid-pushup. So that was the whuffing: the sound of his impeccable fitness. I rounded the corner silently.
Like a ghost.
I exhaled with relief as I shut the bathroom door behind me. After what was arguably the best pee of my life, I opted for the full morning routine. Why not? I wanted to avoid Seven for as long as possible, so it seemed only natural to hog the bathroom for an hour or so.
My head throbbed distantly, but I wasn’t sure if it was due to my residual mortification or the fact that I was tipping back tequila last night at Roxie’s like it was my job. I suspected it was a combination of both.
In the light of day, surrounded by clean, white tiles and my skincare routine, I could not figure out what the fuck I’d been angling for last night.
The girl that invited Seven into the VIP room felt like a stranger to me now. Awash with regret and queasiness, I struggled to figure out the new equilibrium. The one that would let me conduct myself with confidence around Seven. The new normal that allowed me to speak to him without thinking about the intensity I’d discovered on his lips, in his fingertips, pouring out of his body.
A shiver raced through me. As I waited for the shower to warm up, I let my head fall into my hands.
Bad move, Jordan. Now shit’s gonna be weird, and you’re only going to want him more.
I was a fly caught in a spiderweb. Except I was also the spider who built the web.
Once the water was warm enough, I stepped in and rinsed off. Some of my tension dissolved, but anytime my mind drifted, it went straight to the VIP room.
The sexy grit of Seven’s voice as he asked me if I wanted him to fuck me right there echoed in my ears.
I squeezed my eyes shut, letting my head tip to the side as my thoughts wandered.
You just want me to stick my huge cock in this little pussy.
Another shiver up my spine. My nipples stiffened and I cupped one of my breasts in my hand. It elicited nothing—nothing like what Seven’s scorching grip had accomplished. I tweaked my own nipple. The tiny jolt was nice, but I wanted Seven’s hands on me again. And I didn’t want them anywhere near me.
That conflict was exactly the problem.
I wanted so much intimacy from Seven, but I was so conditioned to run from it. To fear it. To reject it, because it led to bad things.
I’d never been turned on like this before—and that brief stint in the VIP room told me Seven had some surprises in store.
I huffed. It was okay to give in to my desires here. I was safe in the shower by myself. This didn’t have to mean anything. My hand wandered between my legs and my mind locked in on the most delicious memories of last night. Discovering the thick bulge in his boxer briefs, the absolute steel caused by his attraction. The heated brush of his fingertips against my pussy. The way he’d begged for more kisses, more me.
My fingers danced over my swollen clit. It didn’t take long; I’d been primed since the night before. The pleasure coiled tight inside me and then popped like a confetti gun. Sparkly bits coursed through my veins, but as soon as my breathing regulated, I knew it wasn’t enough. Nowhere close.
I needed Seven.
I vowed not to think about it or him for now. I washed my hair and body and resumed my morning routine at the mirror. Once I was moisturized and glowing, I headed back to my bedroom with my towel wrapped tightly around me.
Seven was still in the main room, sitting on his workout bench while he did bicep curls shirtless. I wilted, staring for longer than was healthy. Sweat glistened between his shoulder blades as he did his reps. I definitely needed a session with my vibrator now, even though I’d just masturbated in the shower.
Thunk.
My shoulder smarted, and it took me a moment to realize what happened. I’d walked right into the doorframe of my bedroom. I was so consumed with Seven, I hadn’t even noticed.
My cheeks caught fire. Fuck. I scurried inside the room and locked the door behind me. Not that I worried Seven would come in. It was mostly to keep my humiliation from following behind too closely. I sank onto my bed, rubbing my head.
I was losing my fucking mind. Plain and simple.
Something needed to change. And it started with moving out of here. If only an apartment in my price range and any desirable neighborhood would stay available for more than thirty seconds, I might have a shot at moving out of Seven’s apartment.
I took my time dressing, opting for loose lounge pants and a baggy shirt since I was off from both jobs today. Normally I was grateful for a fully off Sunday like this, but with the way my morning was going, I worried what embarrassment awaited me.
When I finally emerged from the bedroom, the first thing I saw was Seven in the kitchen. He now wore a sleeveless workout shirt, which was both better than being shirtless and worse, because it directed my gaze to his biceps.
Lose-lose with this guy.
I approached the kitchen island sheepishly. He turned around from the stove just as I sat on the stool facing him.
He blinked. “Oh, hey.”
“Morning.” I cleared my throat, glancing at the clock. “I mean, afternoon.”
He nodded like he approved of my correction, and then turned away from me again. “You want some of this toast?”
“Uh…yeah.” I swallowed hard as silence descended between us, save the sizzle from the pan. Based on the ingredients he had out—thick whole grain bread, shallots, and eggs cooking over medium in the pan—I guessed he was making some sort of stacked toast. I clenched and relaxed my fists in my lap, over and over again, trying to figure out if this was going to be normal between us.
Silence dragged on. I ran a hand through my wet hair.
“I’m gonna make some coffee.”
Seven nodded, one of his ridiculously attractive wooden spoons in his hand. Tension brimmed between us. I came around the island and stood in front of the coffee maker. Freshly ground coffee waited for me in the filter, ready to go.
“Did you get this ready for me?” I asked, hoping we’d strike a good-natured chord somewhere along the way.
He nodded. “Yep. But I wasn’t sure when you’d be coming out.”
His thoughtfulness warmed me. Maybe things would be normal after all. I turned the machine on, selected my mug du jour—a punk Care Bear mug I’d found in a free bin at a flea market—and leaned against the countertop as it brewed. Seven hulked at my side, tending the eggs effortlessly.
Silence descended again. This was brutal. Or was it normal? I couldn’t tell. And it was driving me fucking nuts.
He snapped off the stove just as the coffee began filling the pot. I watched the trickle of liquid as if my life depended on it. Dishes clanked, then a moment later, Seven had whipped up some sort of spread with the shallots. He smeared it on the toast, then topped it with eggs and a sprinkle of thyme and parsley.
He rustled in the silverware drawer. I couldn’t look at him.
“Can we talk about last night?”
His question made my stomach plunge to the center of the Earth. I would have crumpled to the floor if it weren’t for the counter holding me up.
“What’s there to talk about?” I tried to make my voice sound bright, but it came out unnaturally so. I still couldn’t look at him.
He laughed, but it was humorless. “Uh…there’s a few things.”
I cleared my throat, waving off his words. “I thought I told you already. I was trying out a new routine.” My entire body vibrated with nerves. Do you believe me yet, Seven?
The hollowness of my voice startled even me. I barely recognized the words coming out of my mouth. I filled my mug to the brim, not even leaving room to stir in my sugar. I had no idea what I was doing. How to behave. I wasn’t even sure I’d know how to eat the toast. I carefully moved the mug over to the island without spilling and came around to the other side to sit down. Seven stood near the sink, already one bite into his food.
“Okay.”
That was it. Okay.
Both perfectly fine and somehow the worst response of all time.
I focused on my plate. Could he hear the hammer of my heart? I took a few bites before I realized I had no idea what I was eating.
“This is great,” I said. “Thanks for feeding me. Again.” I laughed, but it came out nervous. Psychotic, even.
Seven dragged his dark gaze my way. “You’re welcome.”
I shoved as much food into my mouth as I could. I couldn’t spend another second around this man or his sexy wooden spoons. I needed to fester in shame and regret until I molted into a new version of myself. Regular Jordan. The one who didn’t pull stunts like that or get close to anyone.
Once I cleaned my plate and put away what I could in the kitchen, I headed back toward my bedroom.
“Hey, there’s something happening tonight that you should know about.”
I froze mid-stride back toward my bedroom. Ice coated my veins. He was kicking me out. Retiring from close protection. Installing a steel trap chastity belt around my pelvis. “What is it?”
“A dinner party. Sort of.” He lifted a shoulder as he rinsed off a dishrag. “Kind of a work thing, too. Your brothers and I do it once a quarter.”
“Oh.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “That sounds great.”
Even Seven looked suspicious of that response. Did he realize yet that my brain had disconnected from my mouth entirely?
“Yeah. They’ll be over around six. Just wanted you to know.” He sent me something like a grimace smile, and then started wiping down the island. The sight of him performing a domestic task with those biceps was too much. My useless, non-functioning brain started short-circuiting again so I dipped into my bedroom.
Fuuuuuuuck.
I threw myself face down on my bed and stayed there, stewing in my indecision and fucked-upness.
I didn’t want Seven to know how much I wanted him. I didn’t even want myself to know how much I wanted him. So that slipup in the VIP room needed to stay exactly what it was. A one-time mistake.
But how are you supposed to continue living knowing how well that man can kiss?
It was a question with no real answer. My only answers were a lobotomy or steel willpower. And neither seemed possible.
I sighed into my pillow, remembering the way he’d tonguefucked me. How he’d gripped my jaw, pressed his fingers into the side of my face, as if claiming me as his.
More shivers. I squeezed my thighs together.
Fuck, I was in so much trouble.
Time melted away in typical Sunday blur fashion: laziness, coffee, and lounging in the restorative cocoon of my bedroom. Even though this was my temporary spot, I’d made it mine as much as possible: big, earth-toned tapestries on the bare walls, small lamps that offered mood lighting, my full collection of weird anime statues and Pokémon characters laid out on the one lone shelf. I needed a day of rest, after the brutal beatdown of long-haul back-to-back shifts at the club. I felt like Taylor Swift, who needed a full day to recuperate after a weekend of shows because of how intense her concerts were.
I laughed to myself, snuggling deeper into bed. The lazy Sunday could have been improved only by adding someone into this bed with me. Someone roughly 6’4”, with almost-black hair in an immaculate fade, a strong jawline, and abs sent from Heaven.
A knock at the front door startled me out of my sexy reverie. I checked my phone. It was only four. Who the hell was here? Thanks to the Manhattan renovation code workarounds of my room, I could hear everything as Seven approached the door and pulled it open.
“Hey, we’re here for the install.” A Brooklyn accent. Male. Nobody I recognized.
“Great. Come on in.” Seven at least seemed to understand what was happening, so I relaxed into my bed, eavesdropping on every word. Footsteps clunked across the floor.
“We’re Bobby and Rick. Should be a quick job.” Another voice. “Where you want it?”
Seven cleared his throat. Then he shouted gruffly, “Jordan!”
Butterflies and pinpricks flooded my body. I scrambled from the bed, nearly tumbling headfirst to the floor, and joined Seven in the living room. Two fit men unpacked a long box in the living room. From the size of the packages they pulled out of the cardboard, I understood immediately.
My stripper pole had arrived.
“They want to know where to put the pole,” Seven said, crossing his arms. He’d barely looked at me today, which only made the humiliation lash harder through me. I should never have dared open myself up to someone—and why did I pick the man who hadn’t shown me an ounce of interest? Of course he got turned on after I trapped him in the VIP room and took off my top. I’d imagined this connection between us. The intimacy we shared in the kitchen the other day, about our histories…it had been platonic.
I was an idiot.
“Jordan?” Seven asked.
It took me a moment to remember what I was supposed to be doing. Maybe he thought I was pondering the placement instead of rehashing my regrets from the night before. “I think this empty end of the room? So it’s not in anybody’s way.”
Seven nodded, heading for the workers. I sank into the couch to watch them work as Seven instructed them where to set it up. The two men tested the ceiling, tested the floor, brought out tools, hammered different spots. Seven stayed close, occasionally lobbing a question their way. They were happy to answer, opening up about some of the difficulties of installing fitness poles.
“So which one of you is planning on using this?” Bobby—or possibly Rick—sent a good-natured smile toward the two of us as they brought out the pole.
“It’s for him,” I spoke up before Seven could respond. “He’s been dying to learn.”
“It’s a hell of a workout,” Rick conceded.
Seven looked back at me and dropped his chin, his mouth a thin line.
“He’s just been so incessant about starting a pole routine, I said, fine, I’ll get you a stripper pole.” I smiled sweetly toward Seven as his look morphed into a glower. “You know how men can be when they set their mind on something.”
Bobby and Rick chuckled politely, while I relished Seven’s annoyance. Things felt back to normal like this—with strangers acting as a buffer and a safe distance between me and those lips of his.
“I just made him promise to show me one new routine by the end of the month,” I went on. “That was our deal. And he agreed. So here we are.”
Seven cleared his throat, crossing his arms. “Are you done?”
“He’s got a good body for pole dancing, don’t you guys think?” I hopped up from the couch, sauntering past him with an evil grin on my face. He rolled his eyes, and just before I was out of earshot, I heard him add something that sent my heart pounding:
“Brat.”
I was ready to respond, but an unexpected sound caught me off guard.
Meowing.
My eyes widened and I looked back at Seven. “What was that?”
A strange smile spread across his face. “What was what?”
“The meowing. Like a cat.”
“Probably a cat meowing, then.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Have you had a cat this entire time?”
His smile went from mysterious to shit-eating. “No. But I heard you did.”
I perked up. “What?”
He came closer, the familiar dynamic surging between us, reminding me of how fucking good it felt when things flowed between us. “You take long cat naps. So I catnapped Ranger.”
I gasped. “You did? How? When?”
“Before you got up. I knew you’d sleep in, but I left a note for you in the kitchen in case you came out while I was gone.”
“Where is he?”
“I didn’t want him to get spooked by the installation; he’s in the bathroom for now.”
My mouth parted as I beheld him; holy light practically radiated from his body. Not only was he gorgeous and safe and protective and funny; he had rescued my cat. My sweet rescue cat.
Roxie was wrong. Those hands did know how to handle a pussy. More than one kind, it seemed.
Seven, you’re perfect.
I was too preoccupied with denying my intense feelings for Seven and helping Ranger acclimate to the apartment to even worry about the fact that my brothers were going to spend the entire evening in my breathing space.
And maybe, at this point, it didn’t bother me as much as it used to. I figured Kaylee would have to understand. They brought me breakfast sometimes; they always texted and checked in, even when it annoyed me. Hell, they’d hired this bodyguard.
I mostly wanted it all to go away still. Maybe. And until it did…it didn’t seem wrong to enjoy it a little. I was still looking for apartments, after all. Though nothing was coming up in my price range, I knew it was a matter of time until the right place popped up.
At five o’clock, a gourmet chef showed up and got to work arranging bowls of pre-prepped food on Seven’s island. I tried not to act too curious about the unfamiliar scents wafting from the kitchen as he silently prepared Willy Wonka-esque frothed whatnots and whipped whatsits. Or maybe I was just uncultured.
Once I’d gotten Ranger’s litterbox set up and some new toys—courtesy of a mystery delivery that showed up at the door—scattered around the apartment, I decided to break in the new pole. I climbed to the very top—thank God for Seven’s ten-foot ceilings in this converted-warehouse apartment—and perched up there, watching what the chef did. Occasionally he glanced up at me, maybe unnerved by or maybe just curious about the weird girl at the top of the stripper pole, watching him like a bat while he cooked. Well that made two of us. Seven came out of his bedroom, spotted me at the top of the pole, and immediately went back where he’d come from.
A little after six the knock came. I knew it had to be my family. The word felt weird floating around inside me. I had seen Trace here and there throughout the years growing up, whenever I would catch a glimpse of Damian and Axel during the foster family shuffle. But I didn’t know him and didn’t consider him family. I didn’t know any of their significant others, either.
As much as the thought of treating these strangers like a family unnerved me, it was also oddly exciting.
This is what you’ve wanted your whole life. The big family. People to look out for you. That closeness you could count on.
Except part of my family had abandoned me, and one of them was dead. Why did I have to remind myself that these brothers of mine weren’t the family my heart craved?
I frowned, hauling myself up to the top of the pole. I swung my legs above my head, wrapping my thighs around the pole.
More knocks. “Seven!” I hollered.
His bedroom door slammed a moment later and he came out in a new outfit. Distressed jeans hugged his ass perfectly, and his simple white graphic tee couldn’t fight the swell of his biceps. I almost gasped. He has different clothes and he didn’t inform me.
“I’ve got it,” he called out, though I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or the chef.
I watched him from my upside-down perch. Despite all the blood rushing to my head, there was a lot rushing to a different part of my body as well.
The door opened, and loud conversation jolted through the apartment. Booming greetings, lots of hugs and back slapping. Girlish laughs. Anxiety slithered through me as I saw these beautiful people file in. The boys were dressed down, similar to Seven, in relaxed but likely designer duds. I spotted Mercedes—my favorite coffeehouse customer who proved to be the unwitting link to my family—what were the odds? Then there was a redhead and a glossy, dark-haired beauty who looked so familiar.
That was Cora, the real estate heiress I’d seen on the news, in tabloids, on the insides of magazines touting luxurious investments I’d never dream of going near.
“Oh my goodness.” The redhead drifted my way, her hand pressed to her chest. She was voluptuous, bright eyed, stunningly beautiful, and genuine. I could tell this after three words and from looking at her upside down. Reading people’s energy was a skill I’d been forced to learn after too many bad actors in my past. “Look at you! You are just…flying.”
I grinned down at her, watching as Cora and Mercedes came over next, both wide-eyed and smiling. The brothers smiled over at me from near the door, where they were slipping off their shoes.
“I’m Jessa,” the redhead said, eyeing me with wonder as I completed a slow drop, upside down, ankles wrapped around the pole. She pressed her hands to her chest. “Your new biggest fan.”
I released my legs and performed a backbend off the pole, landing on my feet on the wood floor. Jessa gasped, clapping wildly.
“Nice to meet you, Jessa,” I said, as the blood redistributed itself through my body. The wooziness only lasted a second.
Cora surged forward next, her soft green eyes looking misty. She stuck out a hand. “Jordan. I’m Cora Margulis. I am so honored to meet you.”
I swallowed hard, gently taking her small, cool hand. Cora, the real estate heiress, was honored to meet me? Her last name was on the side of a skyscraper in Midtown. This had to be a dream. Was I still asleep in my room while the pole installers worked?
“I…It’s nice to meet you,” I forced out.
“I never thought this day would come.” Cora clasped her other hand around mine. The sincerity poured out of her; it almost choked me. Why was this woman almost crying? Emotion swelled inside me too, prompting more questions. “I would love to get to know you better. I just want you to know that.”
If I’d read something in Jessa just from looking at her, I knew a book of things about Cora after that exchange. When she let go of me, I was almost in tears. I nodded, surprised as the words poured out of me. “I would love that.”
“I’d introduce myself too but I know I don’t have to. Even if she forgot my name, she’d know my drink order,” Mercedes piped up, smiling cheekily.
That sweet blondie pushed me to my breaking point. I threw my arms out, looking for a hug. What the fuck is wrong with you? I never hugged people unless drunk or, in Seven’s case, recently assaulted. But something about these three had me swimming in feels. Mercedes and I shared a short, warm hug that left me smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
“I want you to meet Willow,” Mercedes said. “Trace’s niece that we’re in the process of adopting. But she gets spooked by lots of people, so we left her with the nanny tonight.”
“I can’t wait to meet her another time,” I told her.
My brothers and Trace strutted over, smiling in a way that made my chest feel tight. I had to look away.
“Hey, little sis,” Damian said. He smiled so warmly at me, I almost crumpled to the floor.
“That was a strong introduction for welcoming company,” Axel added, glancing toward the pole.
Trace nodded my way, a genuine smile stretching across his lightly stubbled face. His nearly black hair betrayed the fact that he wasn’t biologically related to Axel and Damian. “Jordan. It’s amazing to see you again.”
“Hi, guys.” I took a deep breath. All their eyes on me only solidified this bizarre sensation that I meant something to them all. Which I didn’t believe could be true. Kaylee and I spent our adolescence believing the opposite, but their intense interest and affection had me second-guessing things. “I didn’t mean to be the weird bat dangling in the corner when you showed up. But that’s how I decompress.”
“We all have our ways,” Damian said. “I wouldn’t mind trying that, to be honest. I’ve used some questionable methods in the past.”
“I’ll teach you,” I offered, before I could think better of it.
“If Damian learns, I need to learn,” Jessa said.
“If Jessa learns, I need to learn,” Cora spoke up.
I laughed, looking at everyone. “Well, I could teach all of you. Get some lessons going. Have a little friendly showcase sometime.”
“Deal.” Axel mimicked slamming a gavel.
“I love teaching the pole. And just being on the pole. I might have weirded out the chef,” I admitted.
“He’s used to it by now,” Trace said.
“What’s Seven’s favorite way to decompress?” Axel asked, giving Seven’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“I’ll have to let you know once I finally see him decompress,” I said. “He’s so uptight.”
Seven’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Seven, you deserve to decompress,” Mercedes said, patting his arm as she flitted by him, heading for the kitchen. “We all do.”
“I decompress,” Seven shoved his hands into his jeans, “the best way I know how.”
The men erupted into laughter. Cora sighed while Jessa rolled her eyes.
“Typical men.”
“Jordan, let’s go over here,” Cora said, ushering me to the low sectional nearby. “Away from the men and their crudeness.”
She and Jessa laughed as we settled into the couches. I bit at my lip, glancing over at Seven and the Fairchilds standing just beyond the couch.
“Do we need wine?” Mercedes called from the kitchen.
“Dry white to start,” Cora called out.
“She really knows her wine,” Jessa said in a stage whisper.
“It’s all about staging the right flavors in the right order,” Cora explained. “The end result is magical, especially if you find the right cheese.”
“I…don’t know much about wine,” I admitted, feeling suddenly small surrounded by these women. Older than me. Established. Gorgeous in a way I didn’t think I could ever truly feel. Probably rolling in dough, not even needing a dumb bodyguard, who wasn’t even dumb to begin with. “I pretty much drink whiskey and rum.”
“Not surprised. She’s a Haynes tomboy,” Axel clarified, leaning against the back of the couch. Seven and Trace retreated to the kitchen for who knows what, while Damian came around to the other end of the sectional and sat down. “It was obvious even when she was a toddler. Constantly found her eating dirt in the backyard. Damian and I would crack up laughing at the things we stopped her from eating.”
“One time, she almost ate an entire worm,” Damian said, grinning.
I gasped. “Really? Was it alive?”
“Absolutely. But the louder we shouted about it, the more you wanted to eat it.”
I snorted. “Sounds about right.” I glanced over at Seven, but his back was to me, too far away to know what we were talking about. I was almost sad he’d missed his chance to opine.
“One time you ate the paper menu at a restaurant,” Damian added, bursting into laughter.
Axel stroked his chin. “Classic Jordan.”
Seven and Trace joined us a moment later, settling into an open space on the big sectional. “Everyone’s laughing. What did we miss?”
“Just reliving the ridiculous things Jordan used to eat when she was a toddler,” Axel said.
I tucked my legs under me, trying to imagine what it must have been like when we were a complete family, when all my loved ones were around me, looking out for me, keeping me from eating worms.
“Maybe that’s why she eats like she does now,” Seven piped up.
His addition to the conversation sent prickles along my forearms. I tried not to look too interested in what he had to say next.
“Oh yeah? Still begging to eat worms?” Damian teased.
“Next best thing.” Seven paused as Mercedes arrived with glasses of wine in her hand. She handed two to Trace and Seven first then flitted back to the kitchen. “Jordan has an obsession with rice noodles.”
I stifled a laugh. Axel looked delighted. “It was a premonition.”
“Rice noodles hardly mean I crave live worms,” I said, meeting Seven’s gaze for an electric second. Mercedes continued bringing wine glasses to the rest of us in rounds until we each held a glass of dry white wine. “It just means I crave the blatant superiority of rice noodles over any other form of food.”
Axel and Damian whooped, a lively debate erupting. We sipped wine, interjecting and pleading our cases as we compared cuisines, methods, salt content, and more. Time melted away as the eight of us discussed, chatted, and laughed. Before long, we were called to dinner. Eight place settings had been carefully laid out, filling the enormous dining room table. I sank into my seat directly across from Seven. Our gazes met briefly and the same electricity zapped through me, leaving me wobbly.
The chef—named Gaston, which was the most French Chef thing I’d ever heard—brought out various courses, waiting dutifully until we completed each one before delighting us with the next round. We ooh-ed and aah-ed our way through French onion soup, a wild mushroom ravioli with shaved Parmesan on top, and beef short ribs with creamy polenta. Each course was a brand new flavor explosion that had never hit my palate before.
By the end, drunk more on the perfection of that polenta than on the wine, I was the one leading the applause for Gaston.
“You cooked this well because I stared at you upside down the whole time, isn’t that right?” I asked him as he came by to collect my plate.
He smirked but said nothing.
“He doesn’t speak much English,” Axel explained.
“I will learn his language to ask that exact question,” I told him.
“I can’t tell if that’s a promise or a threat,” Damian quipped.
“I think that depends on how responsive he is to her hanging like a bat in the corner again,” Seven added.
The rest of the table erupted into laughter, and I fought to hide a cheek-splitting smile. My chest split open, allowing that old, gaping hole to be filled anew with the genuine laughter, the delicious food, the way that people at this table, in some way, knew me. Not just my name, but my preferences. My habits. My quirks.
It was so heart-warming that it bordered on fire. And that type of warmth…I wasn’t used to. I craved it, but the cold was what I was familiar with. Comfortable with.
The warm chasm cooled as my logical mind fought to heal what it perceived as a sudden wound. Any opening in my heart space was an invitation for pain, infection, and hurt.
My tablemates continued talking, unaware of the emergency medical procedure I’d completed on the interior of my chest as the conversation turned to other things, like trips to the French countryside, learning new languages, and whether anyone had actually seen bobsledding in real life.
I participated as much as I could without allowing the warmth to take over the vulnerable inner parts. I needed to stay in a safe zone—I’d become so used to hacking it on my own, it felt wrong to be seduced by the allure of this so-called family.
We were connected, for better or for worse. But the only safe way forward was alone. Undisturbed. Distanced. In control. I’d learned this lesson enough times already.
I was ready to slip away on my own. The wine threatened to loosen me up again, and despite how much I reminded myself that distance was smart, my heart craved the closeness. Even if it was a ruse.
“Jordan.” Amid clinking glasses and dinner plates, Damian sat in the empty chair next to me and pulled out his wallet. “I almost forgot. I brought something for you.”
He fished out a small photo between thumb and forefinger. It looked old, like something from a real film camera. He offered it to me and I plucked it reluctantly from his fingers.
“I want you to have this,” he said quietly.
My gaze swept over the faded image. I recognized Damian’s young face first, tucked between the shoulders of two adults—our parents. Axel was at our father’s side, then Kaylee beside our mother, a bright-eyed four-year-old. I was a toddler in my mother’s arms.
A picture-perfect family.
A spear to my heart.
“It’s one of the last photos taken before the accident. Before…everything changed.” His gaze dropped to the floor, and he looked like he wasn’t sure what to say next. His jaw flexed for a moment. “I wasn’t sure if you had anything from them.”
“No, I don’t.” My voice was hoarse as my gaze swept over the photo. When our parents had passed away from the Christmas Eve car crash, we’d only had one living grandma at the time. She was too feeble to take us in—destined for a nursing home herself—so all four of us were kicked to the foster system. I didn’t even have a memory of what my parents looked like. I had no baby pictures. Nothing but sadness that covered my mind like a thick quilt, and a longing for so much more than I’d received.
“You should definitely have this then.”
“But won’t you miss it?” I couldn’t rip my eyes from the picture.
“I’ve made a high-res copy. Besides, if I ever want to see it, I can just ask you.” He offered a smile and squeezed my wrist. The small gesture made my throat clamp. I had to get out of there. Immediately.
“Thank you,” I forced out past dry lips. I tried to smile, to say more, but I couldn’t. The tears were coming now, which meant I had to leave. I shot to my feet and silently retreated to my room.
Only in the dim light of the bedroom did I let the sob bubble up and out of my chest. I knew how to tamp it down—I’d been practicing the art of silent crying my entire life. I sank to the floor at the foot of the door and clutched the picture to my chest, tears streaming down my cheeks.
I’d been part of a family once. I’d been born into and raised with love—until it all changed.
Seeing the evidence of this truth felt unbearable. Heart-wrenching in a way that could only be expressed with jaw-breaking sobs. And while Damian’s gift was a sweet gesture, it was also a warning bell.
You need to act fast. The longer you stick around, the harder it will be when you have to leave.
But at this point, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to leave.