Her eyes light up, and she nods. “Oh, that sounds lovely. I could use a good coffee.”
I gently rest my hand on her arm, guiding her toward the vehicle, careful not to move too fast, not to let anything startle her. She walks beside me easily, like this is completely normal.
But the moment we get closer to the SUV and she notices the three brothers following behind us, the fear snaps back into her face.
She stops abruptly, her grip tightening around my wrist.
Her whole body stiffens. Her breath quickens. Her eyes dart wildly between them, filling with fear. “Who are they?” Her voice is sharp, her fingers digging into my skin. She takes a step back.
Damian stops walking.
“Mom, it’s us,” Bridger says, his voice soft.
But she doesn’t hear him.
Or maybe she does, but she doesn’t recognize them.
Her eyes stay locked on them, and then, barely above a whisper, she says, “Are they Clay’s friends?”
I feel Damian’s energy shift, a slow, simmering strain winding tight inside him. Cody’s throat bobs with a hard swallow.
Delilah shakes her head, gripping my wrist tighter, her breath coming faster. “Clay’s friends are no good,” she whispers. Her eyes are wide now, almost frantic. “They are very, very bad people.”
A sharp chill runs down my spine.
Damian’s hands curl into fists.
I don’t know who Clay is. But whatever he was to her, whoever he was in her life—it was somethingbad.
I lift my hand slowly, keeping my body turned toward her, like I’m shielding her from them. Then I gesture toward Damian first, my voice smooth. Reassuring. “Oh, no, no, you’re mistaken,” I say, offering a soft smile. “That’s Jason’s father, Damian. And these two?” I nod toward Bridger and Cody. “They’re his very concerned uncles.”
A flicker of hesitation passes through her expression. The panic in her eyes dims just a little. She’s trying to fit the pieces together in her head.
I keep going, gentle but firm. “They’re not Clay’s friends. They don’t even know who Clay is.” My voice dips, softening. “But they do care about Jason. A lot. They just want to help me. Jason is such a handful. We really need your guidance.”
She blinks, her brows knitting together. Her fingers twitch against my wrist.
I press on. “They even offered to drive us to get coffee. They’ll even pay.” I tilt my head slightly, giving Damian a pointed look.A silent message.Look what I’m doing for you. Lying to your mother. Covering for you. Because we both know you’re not nice guys.
Damian’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say a word.
I turn back to Delilah, keeping my voice light, coaxing. “That sounds nice, doesn’t it? Coffee? Somewhere warm?”
She hesitates, her wide, uncertain eyes flicking to Damian, then back to me. The fight inside her wavers, the edges of her fear blurring.
Finally, after what feels like forever, she gives a small nod. “Yes,” she says, her voice distant, distracted. “Yes, that does sound nice.”
Relief crashes through me, but I don’t let it show. I just keep my hand on her arm, guiding her toward the SUV. She follows, her steps slow, tentative, but no longer fighting me.
I open the door, helping her inside, and only when she’s seated, her hands folded neatly in her lap, do I let my shoulders relax.
I glance at Damian again, meeting his eyes just before I shut the door.
You owe me.
The brothers move like ghosts, silent, shell-shocked, their expressions frozen somewhere between disbelief and pain. They don’t look at each other, don’t speak, just move on autopilot, opening the SUV’s doors.
I slide in beside Delilah, keeping my hold on her frail hand, the feel of it so fragile and delicate, the wrong move might break her all over again.
