Chapter 9 Brian #2
We weren't a couple. But standing there in the warm kitchen, with her looking up at me expectantly, the spoon hovering between us, it felt like we could be.
I leaned in, letting her feed me. Her eyes stayed on my face, watching for my reaction. The flavors hit my tongue. Rich, savory, perfectly seasoned. My eyebrows shot up before I could stop them.
Ava's lips curved. "Well?"
"That's good."
She swatted my arm with the spoon. "Don't sound so surprised. I can learn."
"You burned soup last month."
"That was a fluke. And we agreed never to speak of it again."
I grinned, stealing another taste directly from the pot. She didn't stop me.
"Seriously, Ava. This is really good."
Something pleased flickered across her face, quick and almost shy, before she schooled it back into mock annoyance. "Set the table, Torres. It'll be ready in ten minutes."
We ate on the couch because neither of us felt like being formal. Bowls of stew balanced on our laps, steam curling up between us. Watson positioned himself in the middle, yellow eyes tracking every spoonful from bowl to mouth, hopeful and shameless.
"The crew's working on something," I said between bites. "Shane, Garrett, and me. We reached out to a journalist. Sloane Harper."
Ava set down her spoon. "A journalist?"
"Investigative. She did the foster system exposé last year, the one about Tommy Vickers. We're hoping she can help us dig into the Langs. Build a case the DA can't ignore."
"Why a journalist?" Ava's brow furrowed. "What about Detective Diaz?"
I hesitated. Set my own spoon down.
"I called the precinct today. Diaz has been pulled from the case."
Ava went still. "Pulled?"
"Reassigned. No explanation, no forwarding information. The case belongs to some new guy now. Detective Morrison." I shook my head. "He practically recited from a script. Kept telling me the investigation was 'proceeding according to protocol.' Wouldn't answer a single direct question."
The color drained from Ava's face.
I watched the fear settle into her features. The tightening around her eyes, the way her fingers curled against her thigh.
"So the investigation is dead," she said quietly.
"Through official channels, yeah." I reached over and covered her hand with mine. "But Sloane Harper doesn't work through official channels. And Garrett says she's dedicated to the truth. That we can trust her."
Ava was quiet for a moment. Then she looked up.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I trust your judgment."
The words landed somewhere deep. Trust. After everything, she was putting her faith in my decisions.
I tried not to let my face show how much that meant.
"Shane's arranging a meeting," I said. "Next time all our schedules align."
"Okay." She picked up her spoon again, though she didn't eat. "Sounds good."
We finished dinner. I washed the dishes while Ava dried, a comfortable rhythm we'd fallen into without discussing it. Domestic. Easy. The kind of ordinary I could get used to.
Ava's phone buzzed from the coffee table. She crossed the room, picked it up, and sank onto the couch.
Her whole body stiffened.
"My father. Again."
She didn't answer. The phone kept buzzing. Three rings, four. Then silence.
Watson jumped up beside her immediately, settling into her lap like he'd been summoned. I dried my hands on the dish towel and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the set of her jaw, the way her fingers had curled into the cushion.
"Maybe you should answer."
"Brian—"
"I know what you told me about him. I'm not saying forget any of it." I chose my words carefully. "But he's a corporate lawyer with connections. And right now, you need weapons the Langs aren't expecting."
"His help comes with strings. It always has."
"Then use him anyway. Take what's useful and leave the rest." I spread my hands. "You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to let him back in. But if he can fight the Langs in court while Sloane works the press and we gather evidence, that's three fronts instead of one."
Ava stared at the silent phone. Watson kneaded her thigh, oblivious.
"He'll think he was right," she said quietly. "That I couldn't make it on my own. That I came crawling back."
"You're not crawling back. You're deploying an asset." I caught her eye. "There's a difference."
I watched her consider it. The hesitation was there. Years of history, of hurt, of carefully constructed walls. But underneath it, I could see the resolve building. The same steel I'd seen when she refused to recant.
"Okay," she said finally. "You might be right."
Twice in one night. Twice she'd trusted my judgment.
I watched her dial, something settling in me that felt like hope.
Something warm spread through my chest as I watched her dial.
"Dad." Her voice was steady. Neutral. "You've been calling."
I couldn't hear his response, but I saw her expression shift. Surprise first. Then something I couldn't quite read. Confusion, maybe. Or wariness.
"Tomorrow," she said after a long pause. "Somewhere public. Noon." She gave the name of a restaurant in Midtown. "And come alone."
She hung up. Set the phone down carefully.
"What did he say?"
Ava's brow furrowed, like she was still trying to make sense of it. "He knows about the Langs. Says he wants to talk to me about it. That he has information."
"He's been keeping tabs on you."
She let out a humorless laugh. "You see what I mean now?"
"I see a hint of it. Yeah."
Ava took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Watson purred against her legs, oblivious to the weight of the moment.
"Just hear him out," I said. "Then if you don't like his plan, say so. You're not agreeing to anything by showing up."
She looked at me. Held my gaze for a long moment.
"Okay."
I felt my mouth curve into a grin. Probably too wide.
"What's that smile for?"
"Nothing."
"Brian."
"You're just very agreeable tonight, that's all."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm too tired to argue. Don't get used to it."
Watson meowed, demanding attention. Ava scratched behind his ears, her mind clearly elsewhere. The tension in her shoulders hadn't fully eased, but some of the fear had faded. Replaced by something that looked almost like determination.
I crossed the room and sat down on the couch beside her. Close, but not quite touching.
"Hey."
She looked up.
I reached over and gently poked the furrow between her brows. "Stop thinking so hard. You'll give yourself wrinkles."
The furrow deepened for a second, indignant, and then she laughed. A real one, surprised out of her.
"Did you just poke my face?"
"You looked too serious. Someone had to intervene."
"You're ridiculous."
"And yet you're smiling."
She was. Small and reluctant, but there. She shook her head, scooping Watson into her arms as she stood.
"I'm going to bed before you do anything else."
I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. "Anything else like what?"
"I don't know, and I don't want to find out." But she was still smiling as she said it, already heading toward her room. At the door, she paused. Glanced back. "Goodnight, Brian."
"Goodnight, Ava."
She disappeared into her room, Watson's yellow eyes peering at me over her shoulder until the door clicked shut.
Tomorrow would bring her father. And Sloane Harper. And whatever else the Langs decided to throw at us.
But tonight, she was smiling.
For now, that was enough.