Page 10 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

Darla tilts her head to the side, indicating a brewing pot of coffee. I open a few cabinets around it before I find one with mugs and fill one, leaving room for some cream.

“So you’re a snooper, huh, Rabbit?”

Rabbit . Matthias Keane’s twist on Cal’s teenage nickname for me. He knew just how much I hated Bunny back then and decided to annoy me even further by calling me Rabbit . He was the only Keane who knew about Cal and me. I guess not everything has changed.

I look up to see Matthias glaring down at me.

Matthias has always towered over me—not that it’s difficult when you’re five-six—but I stare up my nose at him, anyway.

Sweat drips down the side of his face from his wavy brown hair.

He’s wearing gym shorts with a towel tucked into the waistband, and nothing else.

His toned chest and abs sparkle with perspiration, and my face heats, but I refuse to let him intimidate me.

“Searching for a mug in a kitchen is hardly snooping, Mattie. Your room, however…” I trail off, delight in throwing the old nickname back at him perking me up more than the coffee warming my hands.

When he started calling me Rabbit , I started calling him Mattie.

Was it petty? Of course. Was I going to stop?

Absolutely not. Taking the chilled carafe of creamer from his hands, I turn away from the reddening man in front of me with a roguish twist to my mouth.

“Guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on you.” Matthias reaches over me to grab a mug and fills it to the brim .

I meet his stare once again and arch a brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a simple wife.” I flash my ring with a sip from my mug, the freshly brewed coffee mollifying my inner shrew.

Matthias’s upper lip curls. “You are a mockery of a wife. And everyone here knows it.” At that, he stalks off, but the tension in the kitchen has thickened immeasurably. His insult lands as intended, and my self-assurance wilts under his scorn.

Darla looks between the empty doorway and me, then speaks to her chef. “Lex, show Mrs. Keane to the dining room.”

Lex nods and lowers the heat of his dish to a simmer. He wipes his hands on his apron and crosses over to me. His dark complexion is slick with sweat, and he brushes a brawny arm over his face to wipe it dry. Compassionate jade eyes land on mine, and Lex smiles brightly.

“This way,” he says, taking off.

His long legs make for covering much ground, and I struggle to keep up.

Thankfully, we only have to exit the kitchen and take the first door on the right to find the dining room.

Inside, there’s a long wooden table with at least twenty seats around it.

Candles and fresh flowers serve as centerpieces throughout the table, and a few people have already taken their seat.

Conversations hush as we enter, and I whisper a hurried “thank you” to Lex as he abandons me to the sharks.

I step into the grand room, with floor-to-ceiling windows letting in natural light. Two chandeliers hang above the table, and a burgundy, patterned rug sits below the table and chairs. It’s nothing short of grand, which I expect here at the Keane residence.

Either I arrived early, or some seats remain empty at each meal. There are two groups of three, each already seated. One group sits at the left end of the table, and the other near the middle. They all watch in silence as I walk around to the head of the right end of the table.

The chair slides out easily, and a hushed gasp echoes when I sit. Why though? There’s another man sitting at the other end of the table.

“It doesn’t say reserved,” I joke with a tight smile, choosing to sip on my coffee.

As if shaken from their stupor, they resume their conversations, this time even quieter than before. There’s only a few darted glances to where I sit.

The minutes pass, and I watch the birds on a broad oak tree. They fly around each other and chirp, and I can hear them through the glass, filling the morning with a peaceful ambiance. I zone out, letting the hushed conversations flow right past me.

Then Darla enters, pushing a cart of plated food, and sets them in front of those present.

They thank her, and she smiles warmly back at them.

With a few more plates on her cart, she looks up to where I’m sitting.

Her eyes go wide, but she shakes off her surprise and delivers the plates.

To my left, she places a berry parfait, loaded scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a few sausage links.

In front of me, she places the same, but without cheese on the eggs.

“Thank you,” I say, unrolling the silverware and placing the napkin on my lap.

Darla smiles and nods, placing a few other plates with small but distinct variations at the surrounding seats. It seems seating is assigned, then. She tops off my coffee and leaves the pot on a hot plate, then retreats from the room.

I take a large bite of eggs and try not to make a fool of myself. It’s delicious—as if I ever thought it wouldn’t be—and I make it a point to take one bite of everything before I dig in. I need to look into hiring a chef—possibly even poach Darla herself—when my two-years is up.

Within minutes, more people trickle in and sit down to eat, each one eyeing me as they do. No one says anything to me, but the hushed whispers are louder than they think.

“ He’s going to lose it, ” one says.

“ Oh, this is going to be good .” another comments.

I let the words slide over me. If every seat was assigned, taking someone else’s was inevitable.

Based on their reactions, I’d wager I was in Cal’s.

Well, I’d love to see him try to kick me out.

I might be his wife , but it will be a cold day in hell that I’d let Callahan Keane issue me any sort of order.

As if my thoughts conjured him, the man himself steps into the room.

He’s furiously typing, his nose practically buried in his phone, but damn, he looks good.

Freshly shaved and wearing a pressed blue suit and crisp white shirt, no tie.

He makes it all the way to his spot at the table before he looks up, and we lock eyes.

His gaze narrows, but he says nothing. I take an unhurried bite of my parfait, never breaking eye contact as I drag the spoon between my lips.

Cal arches a brow and looks around the table to find his breakfast. When he spots it to my left, he sits without a word.

He simply picks up his silverware and begins to eat.

A hush falls over the room, highlighting the clattering of the silver fork against the ceramic plate.

If Cal refuses to acknowledge it, then neither will I.

I pick up a crisp piece of bacon and crunch on the end, savoring the maple glaze and the satisfaction of the quiet.

Inevitably, people resume their conversation .

After finishing the piece of bacon off, I wipe my hands and fold them on the table. “So about Mason,” I begin.

Cal shakes his head. “Not here.” He doesn’t look around, but the table has mostly filled out, with only a few open spots around us. “Come to my office at”—he checks his watch—“eleven-thirty. We’ll discuss your brother then.”

“No, I want to talk about him now . Every minute, every hour, is another chance for him to be hurt. You already made me wait two weeks. Cal, please.” I place my hand on his, stilling his fork against his plate.

Cal freezes, staring a hole into my hand. Then he looks up and searches my face. He’s silent, even as Matthias and Luc enter, crossing the room to our side of the table. Open disdain twists Matthias’s face.

“What the fuck is she doing?” he spits out, a vein throbbing in his neck, looking like it’s about to burst.

Cal slips his hand from my hold and sips his coffee. He leans back and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “And?” His tone is bored, as if it were no bother to him.

Matthias seethes where he stands. “ And? You’ve sucker punched me— twice , I might add—because I dared to sit in your seat.”

A light chuckle escapes Cal, amusement brightening his brown eyes. “That’s because you’re you”—he waves a dismissive hand toward his younger brother—“and clearly, you didn’t learn your lesson the first time.”

Luc is silent as he drops a newspaper by Cal and sits on my right, seemingly unperturbed by the new seating arrangement. He digs into his plate. When he speaks, his words are muffled, but I hear them well enough. “You don’t have a pussy, either. He’s not gonna sucker punch his wife, idiot.”

It’s so minute I almost wonder if I imagined it, but Cal’s jaw twitches just before he chuckles. Matthias’s face grows redder by the second, but he takes his seat on Cal’s left, and it pleases something sick inside me.

“You can try to sucker punch me, Mattie,” I reply sweetly with a saccharine smile. “I’m sure that will work out swimmingly for you.”

Matthias grips his butter knife until his knuckles are white. “I will if you call me that again.” He points the tip of the knife at me.

My smile grows even bigger as I flash my teeth at him. “Matt—”

Matthias lunges forward, but Cal raises a bored hand, halting him in his place. “Not at the dinner table, kids.”

“Technically, it’s the breakfast table right now,” Luc mumbles between bites as he continues to plow through his food.

It’s been many years since I’ve seen Lucas, and since he wore a tux during the wedding, I didn’t know he’s covered in tattoos.

Intricate flowers, snakes, and feathers wrap around both arms, and a broken skull is tattooed in the center of his throat.

The gray-scale scheme of his tattoos blends the designs together well atop his light brown skin.

When he catches me staring, he winks one of those olive-green eyes at me.

“Right,” Cal concedes. “Not at the breakfast table, kids.” He rolls his eyes and shakes out the newspaper, flipping the page in clear dismissal.

“Callahan.” His name is sharp on my tongue, and his fingers crinkle the paper where his grip tightens.

He looks up to catch my stern gaze, his eyes flicking between mine until he eventually sighs. He turns his attention to Lucas, who’s busy looking between us with a smile like a cat who got the cream, then his gaze swings to Matthias.

“Push my seven-thirty to eleven,” Cal says .

Matthias’s brow furrows as his eyes dart between Cal and me. “ I’m your seven-thirty.”

Cal just arches a brow in silent answer. I press my lips together to hide my amusement as Matthias upends his chair and storms out of the dining room. Cal watches with thinly veiled humor as the door slams shut behind Matthias’s speedy departure, then he turns his attention to me.

A question I’d forgotten to ask earlier bubbles to the surface. “Where’s Murphy?”

Lucas stills for a curious moment, then shoves another bite into his mouth, glancing to Cal.

“She’s at NYU. She couldn’t get leave for the wedding like Hale did. He returned to Columbia straight after the ceremony.”

Interesting. Cal and Matthias weren’t allowed to go to college. Instead, they took online classes and explored more…hands on learning opportunities.

Cal folds his newspaper and stands. “You have an hour. Let’s not waste it.” He moves to the door, not waiting for me to follow as he opens it.

I scramble up, abandoning what’s left of my coffee and breakfast as I catch the door before it falls shut, following Callahan without a second thought.

Something I swore I’d never do again.