Page 75 of After All The Wreckage

YOU AIN’T BEEN IN LOVE

Performed by Nate Smith

I wokewith a crick in my neck to soft whispers and a gentle clang of a pan on the stove. The sun was filtering in through the closed blinds, but it had the gentle glow of early morning.

After I’d settled Rory in my bed, I’d landed on the couch in my normal pajama bottoms and T-shirt and been unable to sleep for at least another hour. This time it was because of images of Rory tangled in my sheets.

The kiss we’d shared had been fueled with pent-up desire and emotions. I’d put myself out there in a way I’d never expected to do and yet had found myself unable to stop. She hadn’t rejected it—me—but she hadn’t accepted what I’d offered either. She’d pulled away, saying she needed time to think.

Maybe she was right. Maybe we both should take the time to really figure out what we wanted. Or maybe I just needed toprove to her how we didn’t have to be the single column holding up a bridge all on its own.

I dragged a hand over my face and sat up, blankets falling away.

Monte and Ivy were in the kitchen. She was sitting on the counter stirring something in a large bowl, and he was at the stove dropping butter into a pan. It sizzled and snapped, and his head twisted in my direction.

“Did we wake you?” he asked with a sheepish smile.

It was good to see the grin. He’d smiled more last night than he had in a while, even with the visions haunting him. Did we have Rory to thank for it?

I rose and joined them, prepping the coffeepot and eyeing what they were doing. “Pancakes?” I asked.

Monte nodded. “You always make them for us. We thought we’d try to make them for you… and Rory.”

Ah. He’d seen her then. Or Ivy had and told him.

“We were up late talking about”—I glanced at Ivy—“everything. I didn’t want her driving home on her motorcycle in the rain.”

Monte’s lips twitched. “Sure. Makes sense.”

I eased over, pulled him into a headlock, and rubbed his hair with my knuckles. “Don’t get ideas, Chubby Cheeks.”

He laughed, but then groaned as he grabbed his side.

I let him go instantly, a frown replacing my smile. “Shit. Sorry. How are you?”

“Shit!” Ivy repeated, waving the spoon and causing pancake batter to fly everywhere.

“Don’t say that,” I said, taking the spoon and putting it back in the bowl before reaching for the paper towels.

“I’m doing okay. Sore, but okay,” Monte said. “Go sit down. I want to do this.”

I debated. I didn’t want my brother to think he had to start cooking for us. He was a kid. That wasn’t his job. But I also saw the look of pride in his eyes as he pulled the bowl from Ivy and started spooning batter into the hot pan.

“You know when to turn them, right?” I asked, grabbing a coffee cup and filling it.

“When the bubbles appear.”

I nodded and headed for the table crammed into the corner on the opposite side of the entryway. We didn’t use it often, but it was still a piece of home I’d refused to give up. Sturdy oak with scratches and grooves from not only our life but generations of Palmers before us.

Rory appeared at the edge of the hall. She was in a pair of my sweats and an old Prince Darian Tavern tee. Her hair was down and tangled around her shoulders. She looked like the very best kind of morning. Rumpled and tired and yet with a light in her eyes. Her gaze journeyed from me at the table to Monte and Ivy in the kitchen and back.

“They wanted to make you breakfast,” I said.

Her eyes widened.

“Wowy!” Ivy shouted. She squirmed on the counter, and I held my breath just as Monte caught her in time to help her down. He grimaced again, holding his side, before standing straight. My heart banged, and I almost said something, but one look at his face told me he didn’t want me smothering him with my concerns.

Ivy’s wild curls bounced all over the place as she ran toward Rory, colliding with her shins and holding on in a way that made Rory reach for the wall to stabilize them both.