That terrible, beautiful feeling
Chapter twenty-eight
Penny
The coffee machine hums low while I stand at the counter packing Elle’s lunch. Apple slices and pretzels, plus one of the little yogurt pouches she likes because apparently the tube makes it “taste more fun.”
My still ache when I twist too fast, and every now and then, a cough catches deep enough in my chest to remind me exactly what smoke feels like on the way down.
Gus lifts his head from his sleep when Elle thunders down the hallway in mismatched socks. “Penny, where’s my library book?”
“No idea,” I answer automatically, sealing the lunchbox. “Did you check the coffee table?”
“Yes.”
“Did you actually check it?”
There’s a pause.
“…no.”
I huff out the closest thing to a laugh I’ve managed in a few days, and she disappears back toward the living room.
Down the hall, a door creaks. A few seconds later, Evan appears in the kitchen doorway wearing grey sweats and a station shirt, hair sticking up on one side from sleep.
His face still carries that rough, exhausted look grief leaves behind, and there’s a fading bruise disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt that catches me right in the throat every time I see it.
His eyes find me immediately. They always do.
Without saying anything, he crosses the kitchen and slides one arm around my waist from behind, pressing a sleepy kiss against my shoulder while he reaches for the coffee pot with the other hand.
“Morning,” he mutters.
The familiar comfort of him settles around me instantly, and I realize how much it’s a necessary part of my day now. His warmth, his hands. Just him.
“Morning.”
His fingers drift absently beneath the hem of my hoodie, palm flattening against my stomach. He’s been doing this frequently—holding onto me for a second before fully waking up, and I lean back into him.
That’s the problem. Everything inside me still reaches for him automatically.
“You’re supposed to be in bed still,” I murmur.
“So are you.”
“I’m making Elle’s lunch.”
“You’re putting snacks into a container,” he corrects, voice still raspy with sleep. “Very different.”
The radio scanner rumbles faintly from his phone charging near the toaster, low enough to blend into the background until a burst of static cuts across the kitchen.
Every muscle in my shoulders tightens before I can stop them, and Evan feels it immediately. His hand stills against my stomach, and he turns his head toward me.
“Hey.”
“I’m fine.”
Another lie that sounds weaker every time I say it. He studies me for a second, exhaustion and concern sitting side by side in his expression.
But before he can say anything, Elle barrels back into the kitchen clutching her library book over her head triumphantly.
“Found it!”
“Miraculous,” Evan says dryly.
She grins and launches herself at his side, and he hauls her up against his hip.
I know his ribs still hurt, because the movement makes him wince.
Because now all I seem to notice are injuries.
The cut healing across his knuckles, and the stiffness in the way he reaches overhead.
The bruise beneath his collar. The exhaustion carved into him.
Damage. Everywhere I look, there’s fucking damage. And somehow, my brain keeps arranging it into the same shape.
Me.
Evan sets Elle down as she dashes off again and reaches for his coffee.
“Chief called last night,” he says casually. “Investigation team wants us back out at the tower next week for walkthroughs.”
The world stills enough that I can hear the refrigerator humming.
“You’re going back there?”
He glances at me over the rim of his mug.
“Yeah.” As though there’s no other answer. “It’s part of the investigation,” he adds. “They want statements from everyone who was inside.”
Inside.
Heat flashes behind my eyes so fast, it almost makes me dizzy. Rope burning against my wrists. Smoke licking up concrete walls. The sound of the building groaning around us.
I stare down at the knife in my hand. “Have they figured out what happened with Stacey?”
Evan frowns and shakes his head once. “Not everything.”
My stomach drops a little, and he rubs his free hand over the back of his neck.
“She’s talking now, at least.”
“Talking?”
“Yeah. To the police—and the investigators.” His expression hardens. “Chief said they’re still trying to untangle who she was involved with. The money, and the people she owed.”
Immediately, I think of the man in the tower. His hand knotted tight into the hair at the base of my neck. The scrape of concrete under my knees.
Evan must see the memory move across my face, because his mouth tightens.
“They’re still looking for him, too.”
“Do they know who he is yet?”
“No,” he mutters. “But they will.”
My gaze drops to his roughened knuckles, and I nod, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. None of it changes what happened.
The investigation is ongoing. Colt is still dead. And Evan still carries the evidence of that night on his hands and in his eyes when he doesn’t think I’m watching.
“Do you ever think,” I begin, “that maybe some people are just unlucky for everyone?”
The silence is heavy and immediate, and Evan sets his mug down.
“Don’t start that.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I swallow hard. “Look what happened.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Stacey manipulated you, and an abandoned tower collapsed.”
“And you broke protocol to come get me.”
The words land sharp enough that even Gus looks up, and Evan's jaw works.
“You think I regret going in there?”
“No.” My voice cracks. “No, that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean, Penny?”
The lack of anger makes this ten times worse, because he’s looking at me like I’m saying something hurtful. And maybe I am.
My throat tightens, and I look away first. “I just… Everywhere I look now, there’s something broken.”
The kitchen goes quiet again, and I keep my eyes busy by looking anywhere but at him.
The grief sitting inside this house suddenly feels so visible.
In the flowers dying slowly near the window, and the casserole dish Leah hasn’t collected from the fridge.
In the way none of us say Colt’s name unless we absolutely have to.
Evan exhales through his nose, then he steps toward me again. Always toward me. His fingers hook gently beneath my chin until I look at him.
“This isn’t on you.”
I want to believe him so badly it hurts. But then my eyes catch on the healing cuts across his knuckles, and something twists violently inside me.
“Penny.”
His thumb brushes softly beneath my eye before I even realize tears have gathered there. Behind us, Elle reappears.
“Am I still going to school?”
The question hits the room so unexpectedly normal, that both of us freeze.
“Yeah, bug.” Evan huffs out the faintest laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re still going to school.”
Elle looks between us for another second as though she wants to ask more questions, but she’s distracted when Gus wanders over and drops a slobbery tennis ball against her foot.
“Gus-Gus,” she gasps. “That’s yuck!”
His tail starts thumping furiously, waiting for her to pick it up, and I take the moment to compose myself.
“Go brush your teeth and then we’ll get going,” I tell her, nudging her backpack toward her.
The kitchen quiets again after she’s gone, and I try to focus on the rest of her lunchbox prep. My hand stills when Evan leans against the counter and reaches for it, his thumb brushing across my knuckles.
“You haven’t played music in here for a while,” he says after a moment.
It’s been exactly nine days.
I look down at our hands. “Haven’t I?”
“I miss it,” he says.
God.
“I didn’t know you realized I stopped,” I admit softly.
“I liked waking up to it,” he adds quietly. “Made the house feel alive.”
He says the words so simply, but I hear the message underneath. That he misses the sound of me, and I hadn’t even realized I’d turned myself off.
His fingers lace through mine properly, squeezing gently, and there it is again.
That terrible, beautiful feeling of being held onto. Of being chosen and loved, while some ugly part of me still insists every awful thing that’s happened traces back to me.
My thumb brushes over the healing scrape on his knuckles before I can stop myself.
“I’ll put some on later,” I whisper.
His mouth softens faintly at the edges. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The morning light spills gold across the kitchen floor, and down the hall, Elle’s arguing with herself about shoes while Gus barks to contribute.
Evan lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss against my knuckles. Then another.
“You should sleep,” I say.
“So should you.”
“I’m taking Elle to school.”
“I know.”
His fingers tighten around mine, and then he’s tugging me gently into him. Warm palms settle low on my hips as he dips toward me, his lips brushing my forehead first before his mouth finds mine in a slow and familiar kiss.
I melt into it before I can stop myself, one hand sliding up into the soft mess of his hair while his thumb strokes absently against the curve of my waist.
“Come back to bed after drop-off,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Okay,” I whisper, and he kisses me once more before letting me go.
But when I do walk back in after drop-off, the house is quiet—as though the whole place asleep along with Evan.
“Hey, buddy.” Gus lifts his head from the couch and wags his tail when he sees me, then settles back down again with a sigh.
I drop my keys into the bowl on the counter, and stand there as the silence presses in almost immediately. Maybe I’ll take a bath in the guest house. Sit in hot water until my lungs stop feeling so tight all the time. Maybe read something, or sleep for an hour. Anything to make my head quiet.
Down the hall, the bedroom door is cracked open slightly, and I carefully push it wider.
Evan's completely asleep. One arm is stretched across my side of the bed, his fingers curled into the sheets.
Something tight and painful aches deep inside me, beneath all the healing bruises and smoke damage. Even asleep, he reaches for me.