"Like what?" Cole asked, following me as I headed back downstairs, my steps buoyed by a new energy.
"Breakfast," I declared, striding purposefully toward the kitchen. "A proper fucking feast. Something to celebrate." Colechuckled behind me, the sound rare enough these days to make me glance back at him.
"Ry, you’re fucking insane. You can barely make toast without setting off the fire alarm."
"Details," I waved dismissively, already pulling open the refrigerator. "How hard can it be? Eggs, bacon, pancakes... oh, and those fancy pastries Rosa bought yesterday. And fresh coffee. And orange juice. And-"
"Slow down," Cole said, amusement colouring his voice as he caught up to me. "Let me help before you burn the house down."
I grinned at him, feeling a manic energy building inside me, the kind that used to frighten people, but that Cole had always understood was just my way of processing emotions. And right now, I was feeling so many emotions: relief that Cade was healing, happiness that she and Logan had found their way back to each other, pride that she had taken this step, and beneath it all, a simmering rage at everyone who had hurt her, who continued to hurt her.
"Fine," I conceded, handing him a carton of eggs. "You can be my sous chef."
"I think you mean I can be the actual chef while you create chaos," Cole corrected, but he was smiling, and for the first time in weeks, it reached his eyes.
We worked in companionable semi-silence for the next hour; me bouncing between tasks with frenetic energy while Cole methodically corrected my mistakes and prevented disasters. I burned the first batch of bacon, set off the smoke detector twice, and nearly knocked over an entire carton of orange juice. Still, by the time the sun was properly up, we had assembled what could generously be called a feast: slightly charred bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, thanks to Cole, a stack of pancakes with various degrees of doneness, the fancy pastries from the bakery, freshcoffee, and a fruit salad that I'd chopped with more enthusiasm than precision.
"Not bad," Cole admitted, surveying our work. "Though I'm pretty sure Rosa's going to have a heart attack when she sees the state of her kitchen." I glanced around at the chaos we'd created, flour dusting every surface, eggshells scattered like confetti, a suspicious burn mark on one of the tea towels, and laughed.
"Worth it."
We were in the process of transferring the food to the dining room when we heard movement upstairs. I froze, a plate of pancakes in each hand, suddenly uncertain. What if Cade wasn't ready to face us? What if she regretted what had happened with Logan? What if seeing us reminded her of everything she'd lost, everything that had been taken from her? Cole seemed to read my thoughts.
"It's going to be okay," he said quietly. "Just be normal. That's what she needs right now." I nodded, forcing a casual smile as footsteps approached the stairs. Logan appeared first, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his dark hair tousled from sleep. He paused when he saw us, his expression cycling through surprise, embarrassment, and finally settling on a cautious warmth.
"Morning," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. "You're back."
"Just in time for breakfast," I replied, lifting the plates of pancakes as evidence. "Made it myself."
"With significant intervention," Cole added dryly. Logan's mouth quirked in a half-smile, but his eyes were searching ours, looking for judgment, for anger, for any sign that we resented what had happened between him and Cade. I met his gaze steadily, letting him see that I was genuinely happy for them both.
A small movement behind Logan drew my attention, and there she was: Cade, wrapped in one of Logan's oversized hoodies, her purple hair, the hair Cole and I had so carefully dyed for her, tumbling around her shoulders in sleep-mussed waves. She looked uncertain, vulnerable, but there was something else in her expression, too, a quiet strength that had been missing for too long.
"Hi," she said softly, her eyes darting between Cole and me, gauging our reactions.
"Morning, Poison," I replied, using the nickname that had evolved from an insult to a term of endearment.
"Hungry? I made breakfast. Well, Cole and I made breakfast. Well, Cole made breakfast, and I created artistic chaos." A smile, a real smile, spread across her face, small but genuine. "I can see that," she said, glancing at the flour dusting my shirt and the streak of what might have been pancake batter in my hair.
"It looks... impressive."
"That's one word for it," Logan murmured, but his hand had found Cade's, their fingers intertwining with a casual intimacy that made my heart ache with happiness.
"Come on," Cole said, gesturing toward the dining room. "Before it gets cold and Ryder's hard work goes to waste."
We settled around the table, passing plates and pouring coffee with a domestic ease that felt both foreign and deeply right. Cade didn't eat much; her appetite was still recovering from her ordeal, but she tried a little of everything, making a point to comment on the pancakes I'd made, the least burned ones, carefully selected by Cole.
"These are actually good," she said, sounding genuinely surprised. "I didn't know you could cook."
"I can't," I admitted cheerfully. "This was a fluke. Or possibly Cole secretly made them when I wasn't looking."
"I wish I could take credit," Cole said, "but those are genuinely Ryder's work. Apparently, pancakes are the one thing he can't mess up." Logan laughed, the sound startling all of us. It had been so long since any of us had laughed freely.
"Maybe we should put you on permanent pancake duty," he suggested, nudging me with his elbow.
"Only if you want to replace the smoke detectors weekly," Cole countered.
The banter continued, light and easy, as if we were just four normal people having breakfast together, not three broken men trying to help an even more broken woman find her way back from hell. But maybe that was what healing looked like: moments of normalcy amidst the trauma, small steps toward a future that wasn't defined by pain. After breakfast, we migrated to the living room, settling onto the large sectional sofa with Cade nestled between Logan and me, Cole sprawled in the adjacent armchair. Logan found a movie on Netflix, something light and mindless, perfect for a lazy morning. Cade curled into his side, her feet tucked under my thigh in a gesture of casual trust that made my throat tight with emotion.
