Page 33 of Balance

Bryce and I shared another long glance, and this time, I knew we were on the same page.

The only bad habit here was Damen’s emotional instability. Think of how easily he could have just broken something.

“What are you doing?” Finn asked, still studying his brother.

“I’m getting everything together. Bianca’s cooking dinner,” Damen replied, sliding a canned jar of tomato sauce next to the pot. “Colette kicked us out.”

Finn frowned. “There’s a lot to digest in those statements,” he started cautiously, moving toward Damen. “But I’ll begin with the simplest thing first. I’ll make dinner.” He reached for a wooden spoon that had been laid beside the pot.

“No.” Damen tugged the spoon out of Finn’s reach. “Bianca said she’ll do it.”

“ButIwant to do it.” Finn snapped forward, snatching the utensil before Damen could so much as blink. “I’ve been wanting to make pasta for a while.”

“What are you talking about?” Damen narrowed his eyes and grabbed the end of the spoon, placing the two of them into a tug-of-war contest over the counter. “Why are you trying to help now? You’ve never offered to do a single chore before. Go away, I want to eat Bianca’s cooking.”

“Just let me do it.” Finn grunted, glancing at me. “Bianca wants to take a bath before dinner anyway.”

How dare he presume to tell me what to do?

Then again, now that he brought it up, the idea did have merit. Finn was a decent cook, and if he was offering…

“Okay.” I wrapped my arms over my stomach, not missing the way Finn glanced nervously in my direction.

If he was trying to placate me, it was working. The man did, after all, know most of my weaknesses. And a nice bath bomb assisted soak would be heavenly.

“What?” Damen let go of the spoon, blinking at me in shock. “Whoareyou?”

“I’m just tired,” I told him, and it was true. Even though I’d been doing less than usual, it felt like I had no energy to do much of anything these days. All I felt besides this exhaustion was the occasional surge of anger. I wasn’t even as anxious anymore.

It didn’t feel right—I didn’t feel likeme. And I was so sick of feeling this way.

“You’re tired?” Damen was there before I could blink, basically pulling me into the room and ushering me onto one of the barstools. He crowded in front of me, warm hands pressing over my cheeks and forehead. “Are you sick? Should I call Julian?”

“I’m fine.” It took both hands to restrain one of his, and I held on to his fingers, bringing his hand between us. “It’s just been a long week.”

“You’re really that worried about Miles?” he asked.

I blinked at him, brows furrowing. What kind of question was that?

Damen’s thick lips pressed into a line, his gray eyes holding mine. “Or is there something else bothering you?”

No, not really. Everything else was perfectly fine—why wouldn’t it be?

I didn’t respond—I wasn’t sure how without sounding snobbish or rude, which, at the moment, was the last thing I wanted. It seemed like I was going from zero to one-hundred real quick these days. I couldn’t push my luck.

Finally, Damen’s shoulders slumped and the intensity radiating from his form faded. “You’re not going to talk to me yet?” he asked. Then, not waiting for an answer, he continued. “Why don’t you go take a bath? Try to relax.”

Relax? I’d ended up attacked by a ghost the last time we’d had this conversation, but sure.

This time I wasnotattacked in the bathtub, and the long soak did help return me to a miniscule sense of normalcy.

The worst thing about the last few weeks, in my opinion, wasn’t even really Miles leaving. If him running off wasn’t so unheard of, then it was actually annoying. And it wasn’t the fact that I’d almost died.

No, it was thateveryoneknew more about me than me.

Dr. Kohler said they’d studied about my past lives, which insinuated that books existed on the topic.

Books that I would, very soon, insist on having in my possession.