24. Househusband
24
HOUSEHUSBAND
KRUZ
It’s almost unsettling how normal this feels—how everything has shifted back into place after the chaos of the last few weeks.
Quinn sits cross-legged on the couch beside me, her face lit up as she waves her hands, recounting some ridiculous story about Jack. Her laughter fills the room, bright and unrestrained, and it stirs a lightness in me I haven’t felt in what seems like forever.
It’s like we’ve rewound the clock, back to when things were simple. When it was just the two of us, teasing each other over coffee and bad decisions, when our lives were still mostly untouched by the Assembly. Except now, everything feels clearer and more vivid.
Likely because we now both know how easily everything can be flipped on its head or ripped away entirely.
She still has no idea about the real reason Ezra and I went away together, nor does she know he was the one who orchestrated the downfall of the Assembly—or that he was even a part of it. And I think that’s for the best.
She knows I fell off the pier, but not how or why, and she never questioned the rest. Ezra is disturbingly good at covering up the fact that he was shot, probably because it wasn’t the first time.
The version of Ezra that he shared so much of with me doesn’t entitle anyone else to the most broken parts of him, and I kind of like that I’m the only person who will ever see every facet of him.
If Quinn noticed anything off, she must have chalked it up to exhaustion, and I never gave her a reason to think otherwise. I was sick when we made it back—really sick—but I let her believe it was just from the cold. It was easier that way. Some things are better left buried.
I glance toward the kitchen, where Ezra moves easily around the space. He’s chopping vegetables, his back to us, the sight of him so fucking domestic it’s honestly surreal. His sleeves are rolled up, the lean muscles of his forearms flexing as he works, and if we were alone, I’d likely be climbing him like a tree right about now.
Quinn follows my gaze and smirks. “He’s really leaning into this whole ‘househusband’ thing, huh?”
I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my lips. “He likes to stay busy.”
Busy to keep his mind occupied while he works on healing and building a new life, but also, I think he enjoys all the normal, boring things he’s missed out on. He throws himself into teaching—forensic psychology is truly his passion, which feels ironic, given his past, but he’s good at it. His students like him, even if they’re a little intimidated.
Outside of work, he’s figuring out what life looks like without the Assembly dictating his every move. He’s taken up running, cooks more than he ever used to, and has somehow developed an interest in fixing up old watches, of all things. It’s strange, watching someone so capable of destruction find solace in something as delicate as tiny, intricate gears.
And even though the Assembly still exists—something that big doesn’t just disappear overnight—he’s done his best to reorder things, to strip away its worst elements and create something that no longer operates in the shadows. He’ll never be free of it completely, but maybe, just maybe, he can reshape it into something that doesn’t destroy everything it touches.
“Busy or obsessed with making sure you’re eating enough?” she quips, nudging my shoulder.
“Both,” I admit, shaking my head. “I think he’s convinced I’m going to fall apart if he stops hovering for five seconds.”
At one point, that may have been true. There was a time when I felt like I was just playing a role—doing what was expected, shaping myself into what I thought I had to be to survive. But now? My present situation, the vision I have for my future? That’s all I need to hold me together.
I’m not just reacting to the chaos anymore; I’m choosing my own path. I don’t know exactly what the future looks like, but I know it’s mine. I’m not bound by expectations, not shackled by the burden of the past.
I feel free. And that’s enough.
Quinn leans back against the couch, her smile softening. “Can you blame him?”
She has no idea, but what she does know is the Kruz I have always been to her—a mess, terrified of what waits around every corner, a ball of fucking anxiety.
She assumes that’s the Kruz that Ezra has gotten to know, but what she doesn’t know is that version of her best friend is long dead, and that he has a whole other list of reasons to fret over me.
Her words hang in the air for a moment, and I glance down at my hands, twisting them in my lap. “No,” I say quietly. “I can’t.”
She doesn’t push me, doesn’t ask for more. That’s the thing about Quinn—she always knows when to let silence do the talking, and I have always loved her for that.
The smell of something savory wafts into the room, and Ezra steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He glances between the two of us, his expression unreadable for a moment before his lips twitch into a small, so-very-him smile, reluctant like he doesn’t really know how to allow himself to be happy and feel safe, but he’s trying.
“Lunch is almost ready,” he says, his voice calm but firm, like he’s already decided we’re going to eat, whether we like it or not. I guess some parts of him will never change, and I’m honestly kind of glad the demanding part of him is what stuck around.
He can boss me around any day of the week.
Quinn bursts into laughter. “Look at you, all domestic and bossy. I’m impressed.”
She’s seen the sides of him he’s always shown to the rest of the world, and even those parts stand in stark contrast to the person he is when he is with me.
I think Quinn, Jack, and everyone else just assume I have softened him.
And I probably have… but he’s softer now for a whole slew of other reasons.
The hold of the Assembly is finally off his shoulders—not entirely gone, because something like that never truly vanishes, but it’s no longer bearing down on him like it once did. He’s no longer constantly looking over his shoulder, calculating every move like a man expecting a knife in the back.
And then there was the island. That time changed something in him. It stripped everything down to the rawest version of ourselves, forced us to confront things we might’ve otherwise ignored. He let himself be vulnerable there, maybe for the first time in his life. He let me see him.
But more than anything, I think he’s softer because, finally, he has the space to be. There’s no looming threat, no obligation pulling him back into the darkness. He’s figuring out what it means to just be Ezra—not a pawn in someone else’s game, not a man bound by secrets and survival. Just himself.
Just mine .
Ezra arches an eyebrow at her. “Someone has to keep you two alive. If not for my amazing culinary skills, I am fairly certain that you’d happily gorge yourselves on mimosas, eat a couple of grapes and a cheese slice, and call it brunch.”
I snort, shaking my head as he disappears back into the kitchen. “He’s not wrong.”
Quinn leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”
The question catches me off guard, but when I think about it, the answer is easy.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think I am.”
After everything—after he tore my life apart and meticulously put it back together—I actually believe it.
When lunch is ready, Ezra brings everything out on a tray, setting it on the coffee table in front of us. He’s quiet and attentive, the way he always is when he’s focused on taking care of me.
Quinn raises an eyebrow at him as he pours drinks for us. Mine without alcohol. “You know, you’re setting the bar really high for the rest of us. When I tell Jack about the service you’ve provided today, his number one goal will be to outdo you the next time we have our girl date at our place.”
Ezra smirks, his gaze flicking to me. “He can try.”
That sounds amazing, actually; the two of them constantly trying to outdo one another to be the better host, Quinn and I reaping all the benefits. Sign me up.
I suppose I have a lifetime membership now, though.
I can’t help but laugh, the sound feeling lighter than it has in weeks. As we dig into the food, the three of us fall into an easy rhythm, the kind of banter that feels like home.
This isn’t where I thought I’d end up—not even close. But as I sit here, surrounded by the people who matter most to me, I realize it’s exactly where I want to be.