37. Zyran
ZYRAN
He didn’t yell; that’s not like Cyran. He just looked at me in that quiet, certain way he has and said he heard about her the same time everyone else did—when I had called to say that I was bringing someone home and that the fact that I kept her to myself for this long told him more than anything I could’ve said out loud.
That this was the same thing as after I got shot, that I was quiet and handling everything alone.
He wasn’t wrong, and I felt guilty for it.
Cyran is more than my brother, and I’m keeping secrets from him; he just doesn’t realize it’s hurting me more than it is him.
Esperr walks beside me, looking up the stairs, and I put my hand on her back, letting her start walking up first.
“Rhys might not make it to dinner,” I say as we reach the landing. “He doesn’t do well with new people.”
She nods, looking down the hall, taking in the four doors one by one.
“Rhys,” I point to the first door on the right and then the last door on that wall. “Raiden and Sybil. Cyran,” I pause just slightly over his name, pointing to the first door on the left. “And mine.”
She snaps her head towards me, a goofy grin plastered to her face. “Oh hell yeah, show me yours.”
Esperr doesn’t wait for me to answer before she grabs my hand and starts pulling me down the hall. And I let her, because stopping her would require more energy than I have right now and also because I don’t actually want to.
She pushes the door open and steps inside, and I follow, dropping her hand to lean against the doorframe while she doesn’t stop until she reaches the middle of my bedroom.
The room is exactly as I left it, with the bed barely made and the blankets thrown haphazardly.
A jacket on the back of the chair and my second favorite pair of boots kicked off by my desk.
And the window that looks out over the back of the property, where the tree line starts, but the curtains are drawn.
She moves slowly, taking her time, and I track her the way I always do, scanning every motion that passes through her. And I smile the moment she sees them, following her eyeline to the shelf on the wall above the dresser.
The cups.
Every single one of them is lined up in a row, different sizes and colors, with the doodles she drew on them in whatever marker she picked out that day—a small sun on one, a crooked star on another, and something that might be a cat or might be a cloud on the one in the middle.
She stares at them for a long moment and then slowly turns to look at me.
“You actually kept them,” she whispers.
“I said I did.”
She looks back at the shelf and then at me.
“All of them.”
“Yes, all of them.”
She fully turns away from the shelf and blows out a breath while her expression shifts from the woman that was excited to see my room to something that reminds me of the look Sybil gives Raiden before all hell breaks loose.
“We need to talk.”
I push off the doorframe, kicking the door shut. “About what?”
“Please sit.”
I look at her for a second—this woman that I’ve dreamed about, standing in the middle of my room with her arms crossed and her chin slightly lifted, daring me to argue with her. And then I walk to my bed and sit on the edge of it.
Esperr stands in the middle, not moving a single muscle like she’s deciding where to start, and all I can do is watch her work through it and feel something tighten in my chest that I can’t figure out.
“Tell me why Cyran is mad.”
“That’s not your concern,” I say, sitting up straighter.
Something flickers across her face, and for a split second I think she’s going to reach across and smack me, but she doesn’t; instead, she nods her head and crosses her arms. “It became my concern the second I walked into this house and felt something between the two of you. And when I can clearly see that it’s me that’s the problem.
” She holds my gaze and doesn’t blink. “So, you don’t do that. ”
I frown. “Do what?”
She steps forward but keeps her arms crossed. “Shut me out of something that has everything to do with me!”
I can’t look at her. Not when I’m clearly lying. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“Zyran.” She says my name the way she does when she wants me to not just hear her but to listen.
She exhales through her nose and rolls her head, staring at the ceiling. It’s like she’s choosing what angle to fight with me about this, and it’s oddly more unsettling than I thought.
“He either doesn’t like it or he's hurt. Which one is it?”
I don’t answer.
“Well, those are really the only two options,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.
“And I mean while I’m not exactly everyone’s cup of tea, I can’t imagine it’s that.
We just met, literally spent five minutes in the same room.
” She pauses, eyes moving over my face. “So maybe it’s because you didn’t tell him.
I can figure you didn’t tell them about me until I said I wanted to meet them.
So the person you’re supposed to share everything with, your brother—your twin—you just… ” she opens her hands, “didn’t.”
“Esperr—”
“Did you tell him where you were going for the storm? About any of it before you called?”
“That’s enough.”
She shakes her head. “Because that’s?—”
“I said that’s enough.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to, and the room goes quiet immediately. “I was protecting you.”
“You don’t get to say that.”
“You can’t call it protection when you’re running away from your fears.”
Her words land like a fist to the sternum—crushing me.
I don’t say anything, just letting the truth fester inside me. It’s something I’ve been carefully avoiding for a long time, and I don’t want to talk about it.
I’ve been hiding her.
And not in a way that matters—but from Cyran, who would’ve seen the way I look at her immediately. Who would’ve looked at me once and known that this wasn’t just a woman I was keeping tabs on, wasn’t someone who needed protecting. Would’ve known long before me what she was.
And I wasn’t ready for that.
I was hiding her from Raiden, who would’ve asked questions I didn’t have answers to yet—still don’t.
Slater, who despite being mute would’ve had a lot to say.
From all of them, because bringing her into this world meant admitting that she mattered in a way that scared me more than anything I’ve walked into in a professional capacity.
Esperr matters, and I didn’t know what to do with that, so I kept her quiet and called it protection.
“I should’ve told him.”
“I know.”
I finally look up at her, seeing her still watching me with her arms crossed, but she’s no longer looking at me like she’s angry—she never truly was.
She crosses the room, taking my face in her hands, and I lean forward, resting my face in her tits. Something in my chest releases, like whatever was happening inside me just disappears.
She wraps her arms around my head and then drags her nails through my hair.
“You know this is a lot of emotion for a man who grunts as a primary form of communication.”
I chuckle into her chest. “I don’t grunt.”
I definitely do.
“Yes, you absolutely do.”
“You know that’s just how my voice sounds now.”
She bends down, kissing the top of my head. “Which is very sexy, my love.” She grabs my chin, tilting my head up. “But you grunted at me this morning instead of saying good morning.”
I smile, and she shakes her head before looking at me very seriously, like for a second, her thumb moving along my jaw.
“Fix it with him,” she sternly says. “Tonight, after dinner… or I will.”
I look at her, trying to get a read on her, but she’s closed up tight.
“You wouldn’t.”
She raises a brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Try me.” And then she’s dropping her hands and stepping back. I wasn’t ready for her to stop touching me, and I can’t help myself from reaching towards her. “I will walk downstairs and tell your entire family everything, and you know I’ll do it.”
I open my mouth to call bullshit when she gives me that certain look, so instead of calling her out, I’m muttering, “Fine.”
“Good boy,” she says, smiling, and then rushes to the door. “Now give me the rest of the tour.”
Sybil’s been talking for four minutes straight.
I know because I’ve counted. And somehow in those four minutes she’s covered the storm, the state of the roads, though she hasn’t been on them, and something that happened in the gym a few days ago that I only caught half of.
And is now going on about the chicken that she had no part in making.
Raiden is eating and nodding and has the expression of a man who stopped actually listening somewhere around a minute but has perfected the art of appearing present.
Esperr, on the other hand, sits beside me, listening to every single word Sybil says. Her body is even turned slightly toward her, and I keep my eyes on her, watching her laugh at something Sybil says.
Then there’s Cyran, who sits across from me and not on the other side like he usually does. He has looked at me once since we sat down, his jaw set in a way that I recognize because I’ve seen it in the mirror plenty of times.
I reach for another piece of cornbread, staring daggers into Cyran.
“—and I told him that’s not how you season anything, but does he listen?” Sybil goes on.
“She didn’t tell me anything; she watched from the counter,” Raiden mutters and then shoves another bite into his mouth.
“I offered suggestions.”
“You said more garlic three times.”
“And was I wrong?” Sybil asks, raising a brow.
Raiden tilts his head, and instead of asking me or Cyran, he turns to Esperr, who swallows a whole piece of chicken. “Was she wrong?”
Esperr blows out a breath and then takes another bite of chicken, chewing it and swallowing. “Hmmm… tastes like I’m going to stay out of this one.”
Sybil laughs and then sticks her tongue out at Raiden before going back to her plate.