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Mom took a stumbling step back and bumped into the couch. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“I don’t like it when you fight! Stop! Stop it!”

“Dylan—” I started. I’d never seen his eyes flash, norliteral smokeblow from his nostrils. Suri had said it might happen, but honestly, I’d thought it was an exaggeration. But the smoke was real. Oh, Lord, was my son about to burn this house down?

A series of loud knocks broke the tension. I hurried to the door and flung it open, instinctively knowing—or maybe hoping—who was on the other side.

Stephan. I nearly slumped forward with relief. “Come in. Um, Dylan’s…”

Stephan was wearing dark jeans and a dark long-sleeve shirt, but the edges of his tattoos were still visible at his wrists and the neckline of the shirt. His brows were pulled together. “I heard enough,” he said.

“These dragons,” Mom sneered. “They’re all sonosy?—”

“That’senough,Mother,” I snapped. I was more confident with Stephan here to keep Dylan under control. “Seriously. Enough.”

“That’s enough from you, too,” Stephan said to Dylan. “Take a deep breath. Control your fire.”

Dylan inhaled deeply, then exhaled hard. The smoke drifted from his nostrils and in between his teeth, then dissipated into nothing.

Stephan turned his hazel eyes to me. “Harley, I don’t think Dylan should be in this environment.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Mom snapped.

Stephan and I both whirled to glare at Mom simultaneously. Cowed, she snapped her mouth shut.

“She doesn’t respect you,” Stephan continued, speaking again to me. “Or me, which I understand. But she shouldn’t take that out on you. And I don’t want Dylan to see that kind of behavior. Especially right now. This is an important time.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “This is where we’re staying,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”

“It’s not your only option,” Stephan said.

“Well, Lakeview’s a little busy this time of year,” Mom said. “You think Harley can just run into town and grab a room at the bed-and-breakfast? The tourists are everywhere.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow at me. “There’s plenty of room. You won’t even have to be close if you don’t want to be. It’s a place to stay away from all of”—he glanced around the dim house, his gaze lingering on the bottles of booze stacked around the kitchen—“this.”

“What is he talking about?” Mom asked.

“You mean at your place?” Dylan chimed in. “We could stay with you, Dad?”

“If it’s okay with your mom,” Stephan said.

“Mom!” Dylan rushed forward and tugged at my arm. “We could stay with Dad! Can we? Please? Please?”

“You don’t want to stay with your Mama Liz?” my mother asked Dylan.

Dylan frowned. “I don’t know,” he said, suddenly sounding more shy. “It seems like you kind of want your own space.”

“He’s right.” I set a hand on Dylan’s shoulder and squeezed. “It might be best if you had your home back to yourself, Mom.”

“Harley—”

“You heard her,” Stephan said.

“Go pack your things, baby,” I said to Dylan.

Dylan grinned, excited, then ran back upstairs.

Mom shot me a disappointed look, then poured herself another big glass of wine, headed to her room, and slammed the door.