Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Amber
The tea in my mug is steaming gently, swirling with the scent of raspberry leaf and moonflower essence.
It’s a comforting blend, one that usually calms the jittery feeling in my hands, but today, it’s not quite doing the trick.
Across the kitchen table, Maisie is kicking the leg of her chair, a rhythmic thump-thump-thump that matches the dark storm cloud hanging over her head.
Her red glasses are sliding down her nose, and her bottom lip is stuck out in a pout that could rival a professional sulker.
“It’s not fair,” she grumbles, stabbing at her pancakes with a fork. “It’s not snowing that bad. The other team could have driven. We practiced all week.”
“I know, bug,” I say, taking a sip of my tea. “But the highways are closed. It’s too dangerous for them to travel. The school made the right call.”
“I was going to win,” she says, dropping her fork. “I had my opening statement memorized perfectly. I was going to destroy them.”
I reach out and pat her hand. “You’ll get them next time. This just gives you more time to practice. You’ll be even more prepared.”
She sighs, a dramatic, heaving sound, and slides down in her chair.
Rufus, sensing her distress, trots over from his spot by the back door and rests his heavy head on her knee. She immediately begins to scratch him behind the ears, her fingers tangling in his golden fur.
I look away, staring out the window at the gray, slushy morning. I feel a terrible pang of guilt. I should be consoling her better, but I can’t ignore the whisper of relief in my own chest.
The truth is, I haven’t received my first paycheck from Blade & Butter yet. The money was supposed to hit my account yesterday, but there was a delay with the direct deposit setup.
If the debate had gone on today, I wouldn’t have had the forty dollars for the registration fees and the team uniform. I would have had to ask Jude for the money again.
And I just… I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t ask him for more money when he and Norah are already housing us, feeding us, and practically raising Maisie alongside me.
So, while I hate seeing my daughter disappointed, a small, selfish part of me is grateful to the weather.
The back door opens, letting in a blast of cold air and the scent of pine and rain. Norah, Jude, and Dorian stomp in, shaking off their coats.
Norah looks tired but glowing, her hand resting unconsciously on the small swell of her belly. Dorian looks weary, his hair wet from the snow.
Jude looks… intense. He always does, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he looks at Maisie.
“Morning,” Norah says, moving to the coffee pot. “Please tell me there’s coffee left.”
“Fresh pot,” I say. “Just made it.”
“Thank god.”
Jude hangs up his coat and walks over to the table. He leans down to kiss the top of Maisie’s head. “Morning, champion. Why the long face?”
“Debate is canceled,” Maisie grumbles. “Snow.”
“Ah. Well, safety first.” Jude looks at me, his gaze shifting to my left arm. I’m wearing long sleeves, but the edge of the white gauze bandage is visible at my wrist. “What happened there?”
I quickly pull my sleeve down. “Oh, nothing. Just a minor accident at the restaurant yesterday. A little run-in with a hot tray.”
Jude frowns, his protective big-brother instincts flaring up instantly. “Burned yourself? How bad is it? Did you put anything on it?”
“I’m fine, Jude. Knox took care of it. It’s just a little red.” I force a bright smile. “I’m clumsy. You know me.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push, likely because Maisie is watching us. He pours himself a coffee and leans against the counter. “You need to be more careful. Kitchens are dangerous places.”
“I know. I’m being careful.”
We move into the rhythm of breakfast. Dorian joins Maisie, listening to her rant about the unfairness of the weather, while Norah sips her coffee and rubs her back. It’s a cozy, domestic scene, but I feel a distance between Jude and me that hasn’t been there before.
After we eat, I head to my room to get dressed for my shift. I pull on black slacks and a white button-down, wincing slightly as I brush against the burn on my forearm.
I grab my bag and meet Jude at the door. He’s already got his keys in hand.
“I’ll drive you,” he says. “It’s too cold for you to walk, and I need to go into town anyway.”
“Thanks.”
The ride to the restaurant is quiet at first. The snow has turned to sleet, rattling against the windshield. Jude keeps his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.
“Listen,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “About the other night. When I questioned you about the pack.”
I look out the window. “Jude, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” he cuts me off. “I was out of line. I was projecting my own fears onto you. I know you’re careful.
I know you’ve come so far. You’re doing an amazing job with Maisie, and with the shop, and now this new job.
I need to learn to trust your judgment. If you say these guys are good people, then I believe you. ”
I turn to look at him. His jaw is set, but his eyes are sincere.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “That… that means a lot, Jude.”
“I just want you to be safe,” he says, glancing at me quickly. “But I can’t keep you in bubble wrap forever. You’re an adult. A capable one.”
“I appreciate that.”
He pulls up to the back of Blade & Butter. The drive took longer than usual due to the slushy roads. I can see the lights on in the kitchen.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.
“Call me if you need a ride home,” he says. “And text me later. Let me know how the day goes.”
“I will.”
I get out and close the door, watching him drive away. I take a deep breath of the cold air and head for the back entrance. But before I even reach for the handle, I hear it.
Shouting.
It’s muffled by the heavy steel door, but the tone is unmistakable. It’s not the playful bickering I’m used to hearing between Fallon and Eli, or Knox’s usual stern directives.
This is an actual argument. Voices are raised.
I freeze for a second, my hand hovering over the handle. I hesitate. Do I really want to walk into that? I’ve already had enough drama for one week.
But I’m on the clock. I can’t stand out here in the snow.
I unlock the door and step inside. The shouting cuts off instantly.
It’s like pressing the mute button on a TV. The kitchen goes dead silent.
Knox is standing by the stove, his back to me, his shoulders rigid. Eli is at the prep counter, staring down at a cutting board, his glasses in his hand. Fallon is leaning against the island, wiping down the surface with a rag that he’s scrubbing a little too hard.
All three of them freeze when they see me.
“Amber,” Eli says, his voice sounding strained. He shoves his glasses back on his face. “You’re here.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, looking between them. “Is… everything okay? I heard shouting from outside.”
Knox turns around slowly. “We were discussing the menu.”
“It was a spirited debate,” Fallon adds quickly, a little too loudly. “Creative differences on the spice rub for the new pork chop special.”
I look at Eli. He’s avoiding my eyes, staring intently at a pile of diced onions. I look at Knox. He looks like he’s trying to burn a hole through the floor with his gaze.
Something is definitely wrong. And I have a terrible, sinking feeling that it’s about me.
The dream flashes in my mind again—Knox’s intensity, Fallon’s charm, Eli’s sweetness. The way Knox looked at me in the office yesterday when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I open my mouth to ask, to press them, but I’m terrified of the answer. What if they’re fighting because of me? What if I’m causing a rift in this pack that I barely understand?
“Right,” I say, my voice coming out a bit weak. “Well… I’ll just go put my apron on.”
“Actually,” Fallon says, pushing away from the counter, “I need to run to the hardware store. We’re out of heavy-duty cleaner for the floors, and I need to pick up some new scrub pads. Do you want to come with me? Give you a break from the onion chopping?”
I blink, surprised. “Oh. Sure?”
“Great.” He tosses the rag into the sink and grabs his coat. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
He’s practically ushering me out the door before I can even process the abrupt exit.
We walk out to the parking lot. It’s not snowing anymore, but the sky is a low, heavy gray. Fallon leads me over to a massive, lifted pickup truck.
It’s black, with big tires and a custom paint job that gleams even in the gloom. It looks like it could drive through a blizzard without flinching.
He opens the passenger door for me—I have to climb up to get in, the seat is so high.
I settle into the leather seat, and the door shuts with a heavy, reassuring thud. The interior smells incredible—like expensive leather, a hint of the tobacco he smokes, and the salty, fresh scent of the ocean.
It’s a masculine scent, warm and comforting, but distinctly wild compared to Eli’s sugary warmth.
Fallon climbs into the driver’s side and starts the engine. The truck rumbles to life, a deep, powerful vibration that I can feel through the seat.
He doesn’t say a word as he backs out of the spot. He reaches over to the dashboard and fiddles with the radio until a classic rock station comes on. The Rolling Stones fill the cab.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, navigating the slushy streets of Fox Hollow. I watch the town go by, my hands folded in my lap.
“Okay,” I finally say, unable to stand it anymore, “what was that about in there? I’ve never heard you guys yell like that.”
Fallon sighs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. “Eli and Knox… they sometimes have these energetic arguments. About the food. About the business. They both have very strong visions. They butt heads.”
“It didn’t sound like a business argument,” I say softly.