They’re all staring at me. All three of them. Looking at me like I’m something they’ve been tracking for years and finally found.
My ovaries are screaming. My heart is trying to escape through my throat. Every single nerve ending in my body is firing signals that amount toyes, them, please, now, and I have to physically lock my knees to keep from swaying.
This is the opposite of fair. How dare they all get hotter? How dare they stand there looking like some kind of dangerous boy band designed specifically to destroy my sanity?
Behind me, Charles clears his throat. “Silas. Cal. Jace.”
The sound of his voice breaks the spell slightly, and I watch confusion flicker across Silas’s face. Then something darker. His jaw clenches as he glances at Charles, and I can see the moment he realizes what happened. Charles had told him that he wasn’tsure if I was coming to the funeral when Silas had called on the plane.
You told me she hadn’t responded. You said you didn’t know if she was coming.
That’s most likely the thought Silas is having now. But, considering how lies tend to make the world go round, especially in our world, it’s a bit of a ‘pot meet kettle.’
“Nice throw,” Cal says, but there’s something sharp underneath the charm now. His smile is all edges as he looks between me and Charles. “Very professional. Also very... surprising.”
A pause. Then his grin widens, turning wicked.
“But then again, when has Parker ever been one to miss making an entrance?” His amber eyes glitter with something dangerous. “Or an exit, for that matter.”
The words land like a slap and immediately I’m reminded of the morning I left. The way I disappeared without saying goodbye to any of them.
“Wasn’t a throw,” I manage, finally finding my voice even though it sounds thin and reedy to my own ears. “Just an escort.”
“Aggressive escort,” Jace observes, and his tone is carefully neutral. Too neutral. The kind of neutral that means he’s processing information and reaching conclusions I’m not ready for him to reach. “Effective.”
Aria is still crying, stumbling toward the moving truck, hurling insults that I don’t bother listening to. One of the staff members—Marcus, I think—gently guides her toward the passenger seat while another begins securing the last of her boxes.
“Well,” Charles says behind me, a smile in his voice. “That went better than expected.”
I force myself to move, to walk down the steps like a normal person instead of someone whose entire world just tilted sideways. Silas doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. Just watches me descend like he’s cataloging every detail.
When I reach the bottom step—when I’m close enough to smell cedar smoke and something darker—he finally speaks again.
“Welcome home, firefly.”
The nickname hits like a physical blow. No one’s called me that in years. No one else ever could.
“Silas,” I say, because what else is there? What do you say to the man who loved you, protected you, drove you crazy, and then made love to you like the world was ending?
What do you say when you’re standing three feet away from the three men you ran from while their sons are playing in the library behind you, and they don’t even know it?
Charles jogs down the steps past me, already focused on the moving truck situation.
“Let me make sure she actually leaves,” he calls over his shoulder. “Marcus! Can you help secure that last box?”
The moment he’s out of immediate earshot, the air changes.
Everything goes very still. Very focused.
“When did you get in?” Silas asks, his voice dropping to something only I can hear.
“This afternoon,” I admit, because lying seems pointless now.
The silence that follows is deafening.
“This afternoon,” Cal repeats slowly, his eyes cutting toward where Charles is directing the loading. “So you’ve been here for—what? Three, four hours?”
“Something like that.”
