15. Chapter Fifteen
My phone buzzes on my nightstand, but I ignore it. Kyrielle can’t seem to let it go. There’s no drive inside me demanding to open up to her. Clearly, she’s trying to mend the toothpick bridge connecting us.
A month ago, it might’ve worked. Until my father’s hand was on my body again, there very well could’ve been hope.
The irony is that her rejection was the final nail in the invisible coffin cradling my heart. And now she wants to pry off the damning nail? It won’t be that easy.
With the fresh reminder of exactly what I’m worth in this life, I have no desire to reach for more.
When the phone buzzes three more times, I grab it with a frustrated groan.
Kyrielle: Are you ignoring me?
Kyrielle: Are you cleaning your sty?
Kyrielle: I can come help.
Against my better judgment, I smile. She’s definitely persistent.
Trinte: My sty is clean.
Kyrielle: What would have happened?
Sighing, I place the phone down, staring at the ceiling. History has proven time and time again that a relationship is not in the cards for me. Our fate would’ve been inevitable, possibly hurting me more than any of the others.
The phone buzzes.
Kyrielle: Come on, at least give me this.
Trinte: It wouldn’t have worked out.
Kyrielle: Why not?
Trinte: Because it never does.
Kyrielle: You must’ve had at least a few long-term relationships. You’re how old? Thirty-four?
Trinte: Thirty-five, and no. I’ve had nothing but bad luck with women.
The phone rings. Her name appears on the screen in big, bold letters. Fuck. I could ignore it, but something tells me she’ll continue to be tenacious.
“Yes?” I drawl.
“Seriously? Never?”
“Never,” I confirm.
“What’s wrong with them?”
A warmth spreads in my chest spreads at her automatically assuming they’re the problem. Even though she can’t see it, I shrug. “Various reasons. They apparently didn’t see commitment material, which was the overarching theme.”
“Why?” She sounds genuinely bewildered.
My pulse picks up speed. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure out what’s wrong with me.”
The words hurt to say, like a dagger inching into my heart at an agonizing pace. Everyone always says I’m great, but no one sticks around. It has to be me; I’m the common denominator.
“Oh, Trinte. There’s probably nothing wrong with you.”
I snort at the use of probably. “I appreciate the bill of confidence.”
A smile tinges her voice as she says, “You’re very welcome.”
Silence stretches between us, but it’s uncomfortable. This feels like a moment where I can decide the direction we go in. Where do I want to go from here? My hands shake as I clutch the phone to my ear.
“Thank you for coming to check on me that day. I was an ungrateful piece of Pegidung.”
“It was ungrateful.”
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”
“Not happy. Vindicated.”
“Fine. You don’t have to sound so vindicated.”
She giggles. “Too bad.”
I smile. “Now is your moment to gloat. Go on. Gloat.”
“No need to gloat,” she says smoothly. “Just promise me you threw away all the expired food.”
“I threw out all the expired food.”
“Did you actually?”
“No.”
“Did you just lie to me?”
“You couldn’t see it, but I had my fingers crossed.”
“That’s not how that works.”
I laugh. “You’re the lie police now?”
“Yes. And you’re under-arrest.”
A grin splits my face. “Oh, noooo. Don’t put those cuffs on my hands. Please … no … don’t.”
Kyrielle giggles again, the sound lifting my spirits. I didn’t realize how much I’ve ached for it all these months until now.
“I need to go.” She sounds sad as she says it.
“Okay.”
She pauses. “Trinte?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you at all. They just weren’t worthy.”
She hangs up.
Well, fuck.
***
Tonight, I’m going to have dinner with my new family. After almost a month of keeping to myself, Orliana has finally worn me down into agreeing to sit at a table.
A smile stays on my face as I get dressed, replaying the conversation with Kyrielle. It’s crazy how a single sentence can change the way someone feels about themselves.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you at all.
There’s someone in this world who would strongly disagree, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Grabbing the flowers I’ve bought for Orliana and Talia, I stuff them into my backpack and walk outside.
Shifting, I carefully grab the backpack between my talons and take off for their home.
Orliana has essentially already moved in.
For as much reluctance both of them showed for weeks, they’re now eagerly catapulting themselves into the future.
I envy them. Don’t get me wrong — I’m extremely happy for them. I manipulated every possible scenario to make it happen, because they were willfully blind for most of it. The moment I met Orliana and saw the way my brother watched her, I knew it was worth a try. My gamble paid off.
A small, quiet part of me has always envied Fynn for the love he’s found in life. Rhuth was a phenomenal woman, with a heart of gold and the spirit of a summer breeze. Their marriage was a good one.
Orliana isn’t much different. Fynn, in all of his strength, deserves kind, soft women.
I don’t know what kind of woman I deserve, but I doubt it’s a soft one.
Would Kyrielle be insulted to be called soft? I think of the Fire Sprite in all the scenarios I’ve seen her in. Three months ago, I quietly stood in the back of the arena and watched her leap onto the back of a grown Cyclops to choke him out with her thighs. My cock was hard for a week after that.
Then there’s the way she stormed into my apartment, cleaning while delivering threats and insults.
Women from the battle gym speak of the way she’s gone head-to-head with their abusers, literally burning her way to a successful extraction. Recently, according to Richor, she all but clipped the wings of an abusive Seraphim. No, she couldn’t be mistaken for soft.
A little part of me is terrified of her.
But she can be hurt. My continuous taunting eventually made her snap. I nearly got a paper cut on my chin from the way she slammed the mail into my body. When I all but refused to speak to her at the battle gym, the wounded expression on her pale face haunted me for days.
Something tells me Kyrielle isn’t soft — she’s a forged material all of her own.
And I’m clearly not impervious to whatever it is.
Landing in front of Fynn and Orliana’s home, I shift. Shaking off the thoughts of Kyrielle, I grab the backpack and saunter up the pathway. Without knocking, I open the door.
Immediately, I’m struck with the energetic difference of it all. Fynn has never been one to create a depression sty — not like me — but his grief certainly had a vibe that all fifty-something plants couldn’t stave off.
This home is different now. Soft music plays, and Joulian laughs from somewhere. My heart immediately grows at the sound. He’s a good kid; spunky with that adolescent tongue, but good nevertheless.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Trinte!” Joulian hurtles out of the kitchen. If there’s one major benefit to having Orliana in our lives, it’s finally having a nephew. I grin, opening my arms. When he launches into my chest, I pick him up. Still scrawny, he basically weighs nothing.
“Hey buddy! How’s it going?” Depositing him back on the ground, I peer down at him. “Have you been putting Fynn through his paces?”
The boy, with bright blue eyes and golden skin, cocks his head. “Paces?”
I brace against my knees to whisper, “It’s actually required to test him, to make sure he’ll make a good dad.”
Joulian lowers his voice. “How do I do that?”
I make a piss-poor attempt at looking innocent. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t tell anyone I mentioned it, okay?”
Joulian gives me a serious look. “Okay, I won’t. But do you have any tips?”
“I can literally hear you,” Fynn growls from the kitchen.
Joulian and I share a grin. Ruffling his dark hair, I smile. “Busted.”
Throwing an arm over his shoulders, I guide him to the kitchen.
Fynn and Orliana bustle around the kitchen, cooking dinner. Talia sits on a stool, reading something on her phone. When I enter the room, she looks up, beaming.
“Trinte!” She wraps me in a warm hug. Indulging in the comforting touch, I inhale her warm scent of cinnamon.
Since the moment I met her, I’ve been defenseless against Talia’s mothering.
It’s almost assuredly because I’ve always wanted one, and she clearly adopts anyone willing to be mothered.
It took less than five minutes for me to cave from the moment we met at headquarters all those weeks ago.
She came to pick up Joulian, took one look at me, and demanded I join them for dinner. It was impossible to say no.
Mainly because I didn’t want to.
“Hey,” I say into her hair. “You aren’t letting Fynn do most of the cooking, right? Because he’s awful at it.”
She releases me, laughing. “I realized that when he burned the green beans.”
Fynn growls, stopping in the middle of the kitchen to glare at the two of us. “I did not burn them. They’re roasted.”
“They’re a little more than roasted,” she whispers, smiling.
I grin. “Is Orliana any better?”
“Say one more word, and I’ll sick Moxie on you,” Orliana threatens with a laugh. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt, showing off the permanent Dragon bite mark at the base of her neck. Her long hair flows freely, and a glow emanates from her skin. Fynn isn’t the only one lit up now.
Moxie flies onto my shoulder and lowers her horn. Craning my neck to look at the purple ugopeg, I croon, “Who’s a pretty girl? You are! You’re the prettiest girl!”
She immediately melts, batting her dark eyelashes. Like most females, she loves a genuine compliment. Giving Orliana a smug smile, I say, “I think I’ll be fine.”
Orliana rolls her eyes good-naturedly, coming to give me a hug. Fynn’s eyes flash in warning, so I make the hug brief. It’ll probably take at least a year for him to get a handle on his territorial instincts.
He points a sauce-covered spatula at me. “Is your brother really the last to get a hug around here?”
“I was merely hugging in the order of who I like the most,” I joke. Joulian crows with victory. Talia huffs out a laugh; Orliana raises an eyebrow.
Fynn lets out a long-suffering sigh, then gives me a tight hug. In it, I can sense all of the unspoken worries. Are you okay? We’ve missed you. Are you going to disappear again?
We release the embrace, and I scan the room.
For years, Fynn refused to clean up anything Rhuth left behind before her death.
For years, items collected dust like museum artifacts.
It's a delight to see that the sweater no longer hangs off a chair; the hairbrush is gone from the counter. I didn’t look, but the shoes by the door are probably gone.
Relief washes away any lingering anxiety for my brother. After watching him waste away for five years and struggling to keep everything afloat, I can finally relax.
I scent the air. “What’s cookin’?”
“Garlic angel hair pasta with crisped dove, truffles, and parmesan,” Joulian announces from the table, as if he’s cooking it.
My stomach grumbles in appreciation. Walking over to the alcohol cabinet in the corner of the room, I grab the old bottle of Minga that’s my favorite. Rhuth’s cousin bought it for their wedding, but Fynn never drinks it. I made it a mission years ago to savor it over time. Waste not, want not.
I’m about to take a swig when Orliana chides, “Trinte! A glass! Stop being a heathen!”
Flashing her a mischievous grin, I put the bottle to my lips. Fynn scowls. It gives me great pleasure to irritate him like this. Keeps him on his toes.
“Trinte Gleanscale,” Talia chides. “Wipe that off right now and use a glass.”
Frowning, I refrain from rolling my eyes. Grabbing a glass and napkin, I wipe off the lip of the bottle and pour myself a glass. Talia raises an eyebrow when I look at her again. Somehow, she makes me feel both loved and like a misbehaving child at the same time.
It makes me incredibly happy.
Sauntering over to the stool next to her, I say, “So when is dinner going to be ready? I came over, thinking my feast would be prepared in time.”
“Oh, we’re still waiting on one more,” Orliana says, dumping vegetables into a salad.
A cold sensation slithers through my veins. “One more?”
“My other daughter is almost here,” Talia announces, checking her texts. “Kyrielle says she’ll be here in three minutes!”
And just like that, my good mood shifts back into anxiety.