“Yes,” I snap. “What happened today won’t happen again.”
It’s a lie. A desperate one. I can’t control other people. And I clearly can’t control myself, either.
Johnny pushes off the wall, like he’s going to leave, but pauses beside me.
“Don’t be mad at Axel. He’s just concerned.”
I say nothing.
“And you don’t have to worry. He didn’t tell Mom or Ben. As far as they know, you were at school the whole day.”
He walks past me without another word.
Left in the hallway, I’m unsure what I feel more: grateful or exposed.
Johnny descends the stairs, at least leaving me with the knowledge that no one else knows. I rub a hand over my face, frustration simmering beneath my skin. What happened todaycan’thappen again. But how do I stop something I can’t control?
My stomach growls again just as the smell of something delicious hits me. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and Darren saw to it that I didn’t get more than a few bites in before the world turned sideways.
My body shudders at the thought of him.He’s going to be hell to deal with.
The sight that greets me at the bottom of the stairs causes me to pause. Ben and Maryanne are sitting at the kitchen table, talking and laughing. Johnny’s grabbing drinks from the fridge, and Axel—Axel—is standing at the stove, cooking like it’s something he does every night.
For a second, I just watch. The scene is too perfect, just like something from a Hallmark movie. It makes something ache deep in my chest.
So, this is what a real family looks like.
I consider slipping back upstairs, not wanting to ruin whatever this is. But Johnny turns, sees me, and jerks his head toward the kitchen like,Come on.
I take a deep breath, shove my feelings down where they can’t get in the way, and step forward.
“Hey, sweetie! How was your first day?” Maryanne greets me with a bright smile.
Axel glances over his shoulder and gives a subtle shake of his head. I catch the signal:they don’t know.
“It was good,” I reply, slipping into the open space beside him. “What’s for dinner?”
He’s stirring a creamy-looking sauce in a pan, working a wire whisk like a pro.
“Chicken in a garlic Dijon sauce,” he says. “Here… stir this a sec.”
He offers the whisk, and I blink.
“You sure? I’m not exactly… culinary.”
“You’ll be fine. Just keep it moving,” he says, stepping aside.
I take his place and stir carefully, half expecting it to spontaneously go up in flames.
Axel returns with something green and leafy in his hand. He chops it like he knows what he’s doing, making quick, efficient chops before scooping it into the pan.
“Basil,” he says, catching my confused expression.
Of course,” I murmur, pretending I totally knew that. He sees right through me and grins, flashing those ridiculous dimples.
“So... you cook?”
“Of course,” he mimics, tossing me a wink.
