Page 161 of The Story of You

The breeze blows across the sweat on my skin, cooling my brow and sending rapid shivers up and down my nervous system. “Thank you,” I say a little more clipped this time.

She tightens the grip her shawl has around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. There’s something in your eyes and I can’t bear it.”

“Something in my eyes?”

“Pain. Demanding pain. Exhausting pain. Pain you can never put down.”

I look away. How is it that a few minutes with a ghost from my past has me reduced to the younger self that existed here? All the turmoil I never dealt with roils forth.

Another pattern breaker saves me. Darius. He and his massive energy barrel out of the house at full force, the strings of his hoodie—which is actually Wyatt’s hoodie—flap against his neck. The breeze fluffs his now wild hair. I don’t think he’s put his standard gel into it for the duration of this trip.

“Darius,” Mrs. Brandywine says.

Asher and Wyatt pile out of the house after him, standing near like they are his own personal bodyguards. “Mrs. Brandywine. Guys, that’s Mrs. Brandywine. She used to make this awesome zucchini and cranberry loaf. Where the fuck did Oliver dance off to?” he says, looking at me.

Darius isn’t less protective of Oliver; his methods are simply different from mine. “In the house.”

“I offered him food,” she says.

“No wonder. That kid would take candy from strangers. Am I too late? Has he eaten you out of house and home, ma’am?”

She laughs. “Not yet. Why don’t you come over too?”

“Hell yeah. C’mon, Asher. You’ll want in on this.” They traipse across the yard.

“I should go feed the house of hungry boys I’ve amassed.”

I shake my head. It’s not as though we didn’t eat a hearty breakfast. “Thank you, Mrs. Brandywine.”

She touches my arm. “Lucille. Lucy for short. And … I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable than I already have, but I saw someone here. I suppose I could have been imagining things. It was last week. I caught a glimpse in the window.”

“We have a cleaning service to look after the place. Must have been them.” I’ve already found evidence that someone was here who wasn’t the cleaning staff and I’d really like to fucking deny it and get the hell out of here before I’m forced to admit to myself who it was.

The universe won’t let me. It’s ferreting me out of the hole I’ve hidden in for two decades.

She squeezes my wrist. “Take care.”

Haunted air is left in her wake, her silver hair flows behind her all the way to her house. How much does Mrs. Brandywine—Lucille—know?

“What was that all about?” Wyatt asks, teetering to the balls of his feet and then back to his heels.

I take a breath. Where the fuck is Lakshan? “I think it means we should go.”

He hums in agreement. “I’ll head over and make sure they don’t stay too long.”

Wyatt. He’s a good addition to our family. “I would appreciate that.”

“No problem. Silas? If I were you, this place would fuck me up too. Hell, it’s fucking me up a bit and I don’t have any kind of attachment to it. You’ve held it together admirably, Captain Randall.”

He claps me on the back before heading across the lawn. He’s an interesting man. I haven’t missed how having a mini-crew to care for has brought his confidence back as breakneck as a bolt of lightning.

When I turn, Lakshan is there. I jump. “Baby?”

He laughs. “I scared you. That’s a rarity.” He reaches a hand up to move the too-long hair from my eyes. “Silas. There you are.”

“What do you mean? I’m always here.”

“No. Not always. You’re coming back.”