Page 4

T he next couple of days pass in a blur. I’m busy helping Mom sort out some weapons in the basement, cleaning them, and making sure they’re all ready to go when necessary. She noticed immediately that I wasn’t as talkative as usual and that I’d been keeping to myself, though she didn’t voice out her concerns.

She’s giving me space, and I couldn’t be more thankful for that.

From what Blair has told me, Jackson, surprisingly, is still breathing, though barely. Arlo did put him in a hospital wing, and as of right now, it’s uncertain what the future holds for him. His face was smashed beyond recognition, and Arlo didn’t stop just at ruining his face — he broke both his arms and legs for good measure.

It’s a little overboard in my opinion, but then again, who am I to judge? I kill people for a living.

With a deep breath, I enter the living room, tossing my car keys onto the small counter. I’m not even sure why I came back to Mom and Dad’s house. I’ve been living on my own for the past six months in an apartment they bought for me ages ago. Yet, today, I find myself going back home.

Since I’ve been helping mom with the weapons over the past few days, coming back feels nostalgic. I’m not sure if it’s because my feelings are still hurt over what Cove said to me, or if I’m just in a mood, but I want to be closer to Mom and Dad.

It’s lunchtime, and I can hear them talking in the kitchen. I kick my shoes off, toss on a pair of slippers, and make my way toward them. They are at the stove, cooking together and talking. Blair and Arlo are setting up the table. Once they spot me, all four of them turn their attention to me.

Mom drops the wooden spoon she was stirring the pot with, letting it fall to the floor. Dad blinks, as if he’s trying to process what he’s seeing. Blair and Arlo, on the other hand, seem more… baffled, almost shocked at the sight.

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?”

Mom’s words ring in my ears, and although the tone might sound accusatory, I know she’s just surprised to see such a drastic change. My hair was always in my natural shade, a deep brown, the same as Mom’s. Although it was never as long as Blair’s, it reached just below my chest.

I decided to change it. Yes, some of it does have to do with the fact that I’m still bitter over Cove’s words, but switching it up did help with my confidence a lot. I cut it, and now it lands just below my shoulders. I dyed it, too. The front pieces and the bottom section of my hair were bleached until we reached the white shade, the same as my brother. The rest of my hair is pitch black, and I happen to like how it looks on me.

“It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Yes! Absolutely,’’ Blair offers her signature smile, approaching me and inspecting the new hairstyle close up. She starts touching, lifting, and gazing through the strands. “It definitely suits you. Makes your eyes stand out.’’

I smile, then glance at my parents.

Dad sighs. “Figures. Your brother started bleaching his hair, and you jumped on the wagon. What’s next? Getting your entire body tattooed like him?’’

I shake my head, walking over to Dad and giving him a tight hug. “Nope. I’m terrified of needles.’’

He laughs, resting his chin on the top of my head as he hugs me back. “Thank God. Otherwise, I don’t know how I’d be able to deal with two delinquents in the house.’’

Mom scoffs behind him, hitting the back of his head with a kitchen towel. “Don’t listen to him. If anything, he’d encourage your delinquent behavior. Now, help set the table.’’

Dad slowly unwraps his arms from me, pressing a kiss to my forehead and bending down to pick up and clean up the mess Mom created when she dropped the wooden spoon. I take a quick glance at the table and see that it’s already set for the five of us.

“Are we expecting anyone else?”

“Yeah, Cove’s coming,’’ Arlo adds, going to reach for another set of utensils and plates.

My brow twitches in annoyance, but I hold my tongue back. Speaking recklessly will provoke Arlo to probe and question me until I cave in, so instead of showing how that sentence alone pissed me off, I simply nod and help him out.

Dad opens a bottle of whiskey, pouring a glass for everyone except me. For me, he gets some sparkling water, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Mom softly grabs my arm and pulls me to the stove, giving me a new wooden spoon to stir the deliciously smelling chicken soup she’s been making.

“You’re acting weird,’’ she notes, adding some spices and grabbing a spoon to taste it.

“Weird how?”

“When you were seventeen, you vowed never to dye your hair,’’ she hums at the taste, putting the spoon in the sink, then turning her attention to me fully. Dad, Arlo, and Blair are at a safe distance from us, engrossed in their own conversation and too busy to eavesdrop.

“I was seventeen,’’ I chuckle. “Don’t take it too seriously.’’

Her deep brown eyes narrow at me, and I know she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. She’s been quiet for the past couple of days, but I think she’s finally reached her limit. She takes a deep breath and steps forward, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know, thank you,’’ I smile. “But I’m fine. Completely fine.’’

“You’re lying. Why?”

“Okay, I really don’t want to talk about it, and besides, it’s nothing dramatic or life-changing. I’m just in a mood, alright?”

She holds my gaze for a moment longer, though it doesn’t look like she’ll back down anytime soon. She removes her hand from my shoulder, placing both of hers on her hips and giving me a stern look. Immediately, I came up with a semi-lie.

It’s a lie because it’s not the reason I’ve been acting odd, but also not a lie because I’m still hung up on knowing where the next Kortlek games will be held, and I have every intention of attending the game.

“Okay, promise not to freak out?”

She just gives me a stern look.

“I’m sick and tired of being excluded from the games.’’

Mom’s eyes soften a fraction, and a small smile is on her lips. “Oh, sweetheart. You should’ve just said so; no need to go and change your entire personality.’’

I chuckle. “Yeah, easier said than done. Arlo’s adamant on never letting me be a part of it.’’

“For a reason, sweetheart,’’ she takes another step forward, quickly fixing my hair. She pushes a fallen strand of my hair behind my ear, her hand lingering on my cheek. “But, you’re an adult. He can’t command you or order you around. I raised you to be an independent person and not to answer to anybody. So, if you’re that curious…’’

My eyes slightly widened. “Yes?”

Mom leans in and whispers. “I’ll get you the address and the date.’’

My eyes light up in excitement, the whole Cove ordeal immediately shoved at the back of my head. I start feeling giddy, a wide smile tugging on the corner of my lips. I give mom a tight, bone-crushing hug, and she laughs.

“Thank you, Mom. You’re the best.’’

“Yes, yes, I am,’’ she chuckles, kissing my cheek and turning back to the stove. “Now stop moping around; go sit down; lunch will be ready soon.’’

I sit down next to Blair, and Dad immediately flings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer. He continues to talk with Arlo, and from what I can gather, it’s mainly about business, recent missions, and what they have to do within the next month. During all of this, Blair seems oddly bored, though I don’t comment on it. I can understand why she finds all the details and all the mundane aspects of the job boring. I find them boring, too.

Soon enough, Mom puts the food on the table, and the business conversation comes to an end. Blair and Arlo sit on one side of the table, Mom and Dad at the head, and the spot next to me is empty. A feeling of dread washes over me when I remember that Cove is joining us.

As if on cue, the front door of the house opens, then closes softly. Judging by the footsteps, I can immediately tell it’s Cove. Mom smiles widely and stands up to wait for him. Once he steps into the dining room, she is all over him, touching his face, turning it every which way to inspect for any injuries, giving him a stern look, and making sure he’s not in pain.

“Cove, honey, how are you feeling?”

Cove’s blank expression remains, though it softens a fraction. It’s only for a moment, and a smile doesn’t grace his face, almost as if I imagined it. He gives Mom a stern nod, standing there awkwardly as she hugs him. He’s never been the one to show affection to anyone, and she knows it, so she doesn’t pay it any mind that he doesn’t hug her back.

“I’m fine, Noah,’’ he responds in his usual gruff voice. “Aria did a good job handling the wound.’’

I hid a scoff behind my cup, knowing damn well I managed to make it worse by pushing my fingers in it. My eyes are glued to the table as I sip on the sparkling water, then I put the glass down and fill my plate with food.

Cove greets everyone politely as he takes a seat next to me, and my shoulders immediately go rigid. Blair’s eyes narrow at me, noticing the sudden tension in my body, but she knows better than to comment on it while everyone is present.

He’s engaging in small talk with my parents and Arlo. They’re asking him about the wound, what he wants to do with Jackson, and what he plans to do moving forward regarding the entire fighting thing. He responds, his answers always straight to the point and as short as possible.

Yet, all I can do is try to eat in silence, acting like the scent radiating off his body doesn’t bother me. As usual, he’s dressed in a fucking compression shirt with grey sweatpants. Compression shirt. Grey sweatpants. That was a calculated move on the bastard’s part, and I’m trying my best to remember that I, in fact, am no longer bothered by the proximity or Cove as a whole.

But my mind loses the game to my heart, and I find myself chilling the more I inhale his scent.

It’s sandalwood, mixed with something minty, dark, and strong. All of a sudden, the smell of Mom’s delicious cooking takes a backseat, and all I can smell is Cove.

Cove. Cove. Cove.

My heart jumps, racing in my chest at the mere thought of him. I didn’t avoid him the past few days; I was simply too busy to hang out with Arlo and Blair, although now that he’s so close to me, I’m slowly starting to hate myself.

My resolve seems to be slipping the longer he’s next to me, and my heart goes into a frantic motion, unable to stop beating rapidly. It’s fucking pathetic and annoying, but there’s nothing I can do to prevent it from happening.

As if sensing my gaze, Cove’s attention turns to me, the dull look in his eyes as vividly present as always. He blinks and slightly raises his brow as he takes in my face, or more likely — the changed hair.

“What brought that on?” He asks, voice deep and raspy.

“None of your business,’’ I mutter under my breath, trying to focus on the food before it gets cold.

“Aria!” Mom scolds as if I’m a child, and I roll my eyes, not wanting to engage in anything further.

Cove takes the hint, and the conversation moves forward, his eyes moving from me and settling on everyone else around the table. A sigh of relief slips from me, but I can’t help but notice that throughout the meal, he keeps stealing glances my way. It’s subtle; it doesn’t happen too often, and it lasts before I can understand why he’s looking at me like that.

It could very well be my imagination, but the intensity in his eyes tells me that he wants something.

The thought of what he could possibly want sends chills down my spine.