Page 20 of Branded Souls (Ember Hollow Romance #3)

Skye

R aleigh stayed until the food was warmed up. She portioned out two plates, setting one in front of me at the small dining table, and then gave me one last squeeze.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” she said excitedly before leaving for the night.

The cabin was quiet and empty when she was gone. I stared down at the plate of food, mouth watering. The tortellini looked delicious and the garlic bread was made completely from scratch. I’d had it many times in the past and it was the best.

I picked up my fork, ready to dig in, when the bathroom door opened. A billowing cloud of steam rolled out, followed closely by Fox. He had a towel around his neck, his brown hair wet and dripping. His duffel bag hung from his hand and our eyes met from across the room.

“Have a nice shower?” I pretended my stomach didn’t tighten at the way his white T-shirt clung to his damp skin.

He tossed his duffel bag onto the couch, and looked around the cabin quickly.

“Mom left,” he said, more of a statement than a question .

“She did.” I nodded. “She also invited me to family dinner on Sunday.”

Sunday. Today was Monday, so I had almost a whole week to prepare. Still, the thought had a pang of nervousness shooting through me.

Fox used the towel to tousle his wet hair. “Okay,” he said flatly.

I waited for a follow-up comment, wondering whether he would ask if I had accepted the invitation. When he didn’t, I glanced away. He didn’t seem too excited about having me for dinner at his childhood home.

My mouth went dry. The delicious tortellini suddenly did not sound so appetizing. Fox walked over to the plate of food Raleigh had left on the counter. Tension wound tight in my gut as I anticipated him coming to sit down.

But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned against the kitchen counter, plate in one hand, fork in the other, as he ate his food.

I stiffened, cheeks flaming. He didn’t even want to sit at the same table with me to eat.

My jaw clenched.

This was ridiculous. For once, it wasn’t guilt that overtook me. It was anger. Frustration. Annoyance.

I placed both my hands on the table, palms down, a little harder than I intended. The sound wasn’t exactly loud, but it wasn’t quiet either.

Fox stilled, fork almost to his mouth.

“You know, you’re allowed to sit at the table with me,” I snapped. “I’m not diseased.”

A long, agonizing beat of silence passed. His narrowed gaze wasn’t angry, or even his usual grumpy—it was almost pensive .

He pushed off the counter, straightening his spine. He set his plate on the table across from me, pulled out the chair, and sat. We stared at each other—me, glaring; him, assessing.

He was always assessing. Those eyes scanned my face as if they were searching for something. Like there was a piece missing he couldn’t quite place.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to sit with you,” he finally said.

I blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t I want you to sit with me?”

He speared a piece of tortellini with his fork and popped it in his mouth. He chewed, as if he knew making me wait would annoy me.

“I’m not trying to force myself on you by being here,” he finally said after swallowing. “I’m not trying to disrupt your life.”

My frown sharpened. “What does that have to do with eating dinner with me?”

“I didn’t know if we were on dinner-eating terms.”

“Do you want to be on dinner-eating terms?” I asked.

His eyes held mine for a beat. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

One thing I always had appreciated about Fox was that he was honest, but that stung.

I straightened my shoulders, pretending it didn’t affect me. “Well, I’m coming to Sunday dinner. One way or another, we’ll probably have to figure it out.”

With that, I forced myself to take a bite. It was as delicious as it had smelled. I stifled a moan. It had been a long time since I’d had food this good. I wasn’t much of a cook, and takeout from a restaurant wasn’t the same.

I inhaled three more bites before Fox spoke again.

“I’m surprised you accepted her invitation. ”

I swallowed an extra-large bite of garlic bread, wincing as it scraped my throat. “Your mother is practically impossible to say no to.”

A tiny smile curled the corner of his lip.

He opened his mouth, but my phone rang before he could say anything.

I grabbed it from the back pocket of my jeans, brows bunching at a number I didn’t recognize.

As a journalist, I often got calls from numbers I didn’t know.

I never knew whether someone was contacting me with important information.

I answered the call. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” I tried again.

I waited, on the verge of hanging up when someone finally answered.

“Hey, Skye.”

The voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I flinched. I knew that voice. I recognized it from my nightmares.

There was a rasp to it now, a weight of age—but it was undeniably his.

“What?” He sounded amused. “You’re not gonna say hello to your father?”

I clutched my phone so tight my hand shook. The cut on my palm flared with pain as it started to tear open.

“What do you want?” I choked out.

The scrape of a chair startled me. I looked up in a panic—meeting Fox’s eyes. He was already on his feet, concern etched into his face.

“You’ve grown a lot over the years, kiddo,” my father said.

“Who is it?” Fox demanded.

I shook my head, anxiety overtaking me, smothering me until I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Where are you?” I tried to sound commanding, but failed .

His laughter sent a chill down my spine. My father had never been a laughing man. When he did, it wasn’t about anything good. Not many good things made my father happy.

“Don’t need to worry about where I am,” he snapped. “But I know where you are.”

My blood turned to ice. My eyes darted toward the windows.

“Skye, give me the phone.” Fox snapped, but I turned from him.

“How?” I asked my father. “Why?”

“Stop asking stupid questions,” my father spat. “And stop putting that nose where it doesn’t belong. You were always such a nosy little kid. I couldn’t stand it.”

Pressure built beneath my sternum. Flashbacks from my childhood threatened to overwhelm me. Images of my father backhanding me for no reason, him holding me up against the wall, a hand around my neck.

Each breath came sharp and fast. I couldn’t control it, even though I was sure he could hear the gasping.

“You picking at your skin again?” He chuckled, lifeless and sharp. “You always did that when you were scared.” He sighed. “Don’t worry, my nosy little Skye. As long as you stop snooping around, I won’t hurt you…unless you give me a reason.”

And then the line went dead.