Chapter 25 Damien
Damien
There’s nothing like the promise of roast night to get every guy in the Sin Bin out of his cave. Even the ones who never show up for breakfast make it a point to crawl out for Killian’s roast.
I come down fresh from a hot shower, hair still damp at my temples, sweatpants slung low, and one of my old Blackthorne tees stretched tight across my chest. The kitchen is thick with the smell of garlic, rosemary and beef as I take the stairs two at a time, following the sound of clattering cutlery and half a dozen voices already sparring in the kitchen.
Killian’s at the stove, sleeves rolled up, cussing Ryan out for poking at the potatoes before they’re ready.
Ryan looks deeply unrepentant, fingers covered in oil and grinning.
Luca is slouched low with a sports mag open in front of him, but barely glancing at it, eyes half-lidded with that look he gets after a heavy practice.
Roman and Thorn are tossing a football back and forth over the kitchen island, ignoring Killian’s threats about broken crockery. Liam’s on his phone, one leg up on the bench, and Adrian’s helping stack drinks in the fridge, not saying much, headphones around his neck.
I drop down into the empty seat next to Luca, giving him a nudge with my elbow. “You miss me?”
He rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches up. “Not even a little. You’re too loud.”
“Yeah, but you love me anyway.” I grin, then nod at Ryan, who drops down on my other side.
He immediately gives me a once-over, eyebrow raised. “Did you bring offerings to the table, or are you just here to freeload off my charm?”
“Your charm is the only thing less appetizing than your taste in music,” I shoot back, grinning. “You want a bite of my protein bar? It’s banana flavor.”
He groans, fakes gagging. “Keep your chalky athlete snacks away from me. This is roast night. Killian will murder you if you don’t eat real food.”
Luca lifts his eyes, searching my face for something. He sees it in a heartbeat—the softness, the afterglow that hasn’t faded even after a cold shower. He sets the magazine aside and nudges my shoulder. “You look different.”
“Different how?” I say, already bracing for it.
“Like you finally slept eight hours. Or got laid. Or maybe both?” His mouth twitches, daring me to deny it.
Ryan perks up, interested. “Oh, hell. Did you finally lock it down with Noah or what?”
I snort, shoving him lightly. “Yeah. We’re officially together now. We talked about everything that happened and why I really left, but he still wants me, so we’re gonna work through it, I guess.”
Ryan lets out a loud whoop and slaps my back so hard I nearly choke. “?Por fin, puneta! Bro, I was starting to worry you’d turn into a nun from all that pining.”
Luca’s smile is softer, proud in that big-brother way he reserves for moments like this. “Good for you, man. You deserve that.”
I grin, heat flooding my chest. “Thanks. We’ve got a lot to figure out, but… It’s worth it. He’s worth it.”
Ryan snorts. “You gonna start writing poetry next? Jesus, someone get this man a rose.”
“Fuck off,” I laugh, jostling him with my shoulder. “Just because you’ve never had feelings—”
He fakes offense. “Please. I have feelings. I feel hungry right now. And I feel like you’re about to get all sappy and make me lose my appetite.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t hide how relieved I feel. For once, there’s nothing to hide. Nothing to spin or dodge. I lean back and let the noise of the house fill me up, a steady hum I didn’t realize I missed.
“Details,” Ryan demands, nudging me with his knee under the table. “How’d it happen? Was it dramatic? Did you climb up to his balcony, Romeo?”
“Shut up,” I laugh. “You want the Hallmark version or the real one?”
“Real one, always.”
I shrug, suddenly shy, but Luca elbows me for it. “Come on, since when don’t you kiss and tell?”
I cave, grinning helplessly. “Something kinda happened between us at the pond, after he bossed me around for twenty minutes. Then we nearly kissed, and I freaked out, thinking I was being pushy. I spent the whole night losing my mind before showing up at his apartment like a lovesick idiot. Told him everything. We talked it out, kissed, and cried a bit. It was… Honestly, it was perfect. I can’t believe it’s real. ”
Ryan makes a face, but his eyes are soft. “You’re disgusting. I’m happy for you. Don’t ever make me hear the word ‘pond’ in that tone again.”
Killian chooses that moment to speak. “Shut up and set the table if you want to eat before midnight,” he orders, pulling out the big roast and testing it with a meat thermometer, brow furrowed in concentration.
“Damien, grab plates. Ryan, you and Bishop get drinks and glasses. Luca, cut the bread. Adrian, cutlery. Liam, condiments. Eli, Jules—salads. Earn your fucking keep, peasants.”
“What about Thorn, Mommy? You didn’t give him a chore,” Ryan pouts as he and Roman walk towards the fridge.
Killian points the carving knife at him, eyes flat and utterly unimpressed. “Don’t call me Mommy again unless you want to eat through a straw for the rest of the semester.”
Ryan freezes mid-step, clutching a six-pack to his chest. “I—wow. Aggressive. I was just saying Thorn looks bored.”
Killian doesn’t even look at him when he adds, “Knight.”
Thorn, who’s been lounging against the far counter with a lollipop dangling from his lips, just winks at Killian. “Yes, Daddy?”
Killian sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t have one fucking night,” he mutters, half to himself. But his mouth twitches, just enough to give him away—he’s more amused than mad, and everyone knows it. “You’re on gravy duty.”
Thorn’s grin doesn’t falter. “You just want me close so you can watch my ass, King. Admit it.”
Killian doesn’t dignify that with a response, just points harder, knife flashing in the overhead light. “Gravy, Knight. And don’t burn it, or so help me—”
Ryan snickers and mutters, “Tyrant.”
Killian doesn’t look up from plating the roast. “What was that?”
“Nothing, Supreme Leader.”
Roman chokes on a laugh from the fridge, earning himself a glare from Killian. “You’re on thin ice, too, Bishop.”
“What—I’m literally just grabbing drinks,” Roman whines.
“Exist louder somewhere else,” Killian grumbles.
I pass Luca the breadbasket, nudging him out of his thoughts, and he hands me a plate, shaking his head as if to clear it. “It never gets old in here,” he says under his breath.
“Speak for yourself,” Ryan whispers loudly, clinking glasses together in a messy stack.
“My nervous system’s shot every time Killian picks up a knife.
My abuela used to wave her kitchen knife when she was pissed—she’d shout at the uncles and smack the table.
Never actually stabbed anyone, but you never wanted to push her.
She’d say, ‘Mijo, you want to lose a finger? Keep reaching for the croquetas before dinner’s served.
’ I swear, I’m traumatized. I see Killian with a blade, and I’m seven again, hiding my hands under the table. ”
Adrian lines up the cutlery beside me, quiet but precise as always, every fork facing the same way. “He’s not even the scariest one in this house,” he murmurs, glancing toward Liam, who’s loading up the condiment tray with military efficiency.
“Yeah, but at least Liam doesn’t threaten to shank us for talking back,” Roman points out, which earns him a look from Liam that says he’s only half-joking.
I’m so fucking grateful for this stupid, loud, chaotic house.
For a while, it’s just noise and food and the kind of ribbing that makes the place feel more like home than anything else.
We talk trash about the other teams in the last few games, debate about the best horror movie, and Roman starts an argument about whether hockey or soccer is more physically demanding.
I let myself fade back, doing nothing more than listening, and letting the normalcy of it all seep in.
But it’s not perfect. Something feels off—a weird tension, similar to a ripple under the surface.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the feeling gnaws at me, scratching at the back of my neck.
It takes me a few minutes, picking at my roast, half-listening to Roman complain about a ref, before I spot it.
Eli and Julian.
For as long as I’ve known them, they’ve been attached at the hip—best friends since before puberty, always clowning around, always together. If Eli’s not at Julian’s side, he’s on the phone with him.
Now, Eli is at the far end of the table, hunched over his phone, barely picking at his food. Julian is across from me, silently stabbing at a pile of roast potatoes with more aggression than the recipe deserves.
They’re pointedly not looking at each other, their body language so stiff it draws a dividing line down the middle of the table. To see them like this, Eli all but turned away, Julian shoving food around his plate in moody silence—it’s weird. Wrong.
I lean over to Luca and nudge him, lowering my voice. “What’s up with them? They fighting?”
Luca sighs but doesn’t look up. “If you’re talking about Eli and Jules, trust me, I’ve clocked it.”
I scan the table again, the tension crackling between them so obvious it’s practically another person at dinner. Everyone else is too busy shoveling food to notice, but my stomach knots a little.
“That’s not normal,” I say, keeping my voice low. “The two of them always sit together.”
“Yeah, well, not tonight,” Luca says, and his tone is enough to warn me off. But now that I’ve seen it, I can’t let it go.
Dinner continues, the rest of the house oblivious, but I can’t stop tracking the weird static between Eli and Julian. Every time someone asks Julian a question, he answers in short and clipped phrases. Eli picks at his food, checking his phone every five minutes.
Midway through dinner, Eli’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, then stands up abruptly without an excuse, and slips out the back door, phone pressed to his ear. The table goes quiet for half a beat, everyone finally clocking the tension.
Julian’s jaw ticks, and he stabs at a tomato with enough force to splatter seeds across his plate.
I set my fork down. “Jules,” I say, keeping my voice low but firm. “You wanna talk about it, or are you just gonna murder your vegetables for the rest of dinner?”
He glares at me, mouth pressed into a tight line. “Drop it.”
I don’t. “Seriously. If Eli did something, just say it. If you’re pissed, let’s clear the air before someone throws hands and Killian bans us all from roast night.”
“You two gonna make up before or after dessert?” Ryan chirps, ever the instigator, but there’s a nervousness under it. “Because I can’t eat if you’re both staring daggers across the table.”
Julian just rolls his eyes and shoves back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’m not hungry.” He stalks out, leaving half his dinner behind.
The table is silent for a second, then Ryan comments, “Well, that was subtle.”
Killian shakes his head, but he doesn’t look all that surprised. “Let him go. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
Thorn looks at Luca with narrowed eyes. “Did Eli and Jules fight? That never happens.”
Luca shakes his head. “Don’t look at me. I’m on the same team as those idiots, and even I don’t know what’s going on. Julian’s been in a mood for days, and Eli’s acting all secretive.”
Ryan leans in, dropping his voice. “Wanna bet it’s about a girl? Eli’s been all weird about his phone lately.”
“Eli’s dating a sorority girl,” Killian says nonchalantly, passing a platter to Liam, “and Jules isn’t a fan. Welcome to college, boys.”
Luca’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “Why am I only hearing about this now? I’m literally on the team with them.”
Killian shrugs, all lazy amusement. “Because you’re too busy playing house with Sage, so you miss the fun stuff.”
I lean back, piecing things together. “Wait, so Julian doesn’t like the girl?”
Killian’s eyes flick toward the doorway where Julian disappeared. “Something like that. He says she’s bad news but won’t say why. Eli’s ignoring him, and now they’re both pissed off.”
Luca glares at him, more amused than angry. “Wait, why do you know this? Aren’t you supposed to be hockey royalty or whatever? When did you start keeping up with football drama?”
“Clearly, Killian’s got a mole,” Ryan adds. “Or maybe he’s just scarier than the rest of us.”
Roman snorts. “That tracks.”
Killian doesn’t even blink. “You’d be amazed at what you can learn when you keep your mouth shut and your ears open.”
Luca frowns, worry knitting his brow. “Should we… do something? Talk to them?”
Killian shakes his head. “Let ‘em work it out. If they don’t, we’ll stage an intervention. Or lock them in a closet until they remember they’re not twelve anymore.”
The tension lingers, but slowly, the conversation picks up again. By the time dessert rolls around—Killian’s famous bread pudding, because of course he shows off—I’m full and content, but still thinking about Eli and Julian. The Sin Bin is a machine, and when one part seizes up, everyone feels it.
After a while, the conversation returns to safer topics—upcoming games, a class someone’s failing, whether or not Killian is actually human. I join in, let myself laugh with Ryan and Luca, the kind of easy laughter that comes from feeling like maybe things are starting to go right again.
But even as I joke and eat, I keep thinking about Julian, about Eli, about the way best friends can split apart without warning.
It makes me hold onto what I have a little tighter.
Whatever’s brewing between Eli and Julian will work itself out, or it won’t.
But for now, it’s just another night in the Sin Bin—messy, loud, absolutely fucking perfect.