He tilts his head in question, but when the server approaches, he turns his attention to her. “I’ll take the egg-white omelet with a side of hashbrowns and a coffee. Citi?”
“I think I’ll have oatmeal. Is it possible to get it with raisins, brown sugar, and a little cinnamon?”
“Sure, hun. As long as we have it all, I don’t see it being a problem. Drink?”
“Hot chocolate, please.”
“You got it. Food won’t be long. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
Ambros nods before she walks away. His focus returns to me, leaving me fighting the urge to squirm. “So, asking you if you’re okay is something I should avoid doing?”
I huff out a laugh at him circling back. “It’s one of those things, you know? I’m not okay. I’m a work in progress. I’m not sure I’ll ever be truly okay or if I’m even supposed to be. But that’s a long answer to give someone. So if they ask, I say, yes.”
“Right. Sorry.”
I sigh. “I’m not trying to make things awkward, but sometimes a little white lie is easier than the cold, hard truth. If someone asks me if I’m okay, like my sister or one of the MC brothers, I’ll always say yes. Because if I don’t, the next question is always some variation of ‘what’s wrong?’ That’s when it gets really freaking awkward because what’s wrong is that I was abducted, raped, tortured, neglected, and a dozen other things you don’t need me to tell you about. But everyone knows that. So when they ask, I want to scream. Did they just forget? If so, lucky them. If not, then am I supposed to have gotten over it already? Was there a grief timeline I failed to follow?”
He reaches over and snags both my hands with his. “I get it. People ask it on a superficial level without really thinking about the truth buried underneath it.”
“Yeah, well, some of us don’t have the luxury of burying anything but bodies. Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
He grits his teeth, taking the hit I didn’t intend for him to feel. “It’s fine.” I cock my head, making him huff out a laugh. “Touche. It’s not fine, but I know you didn’t say it to hurt me. I guess this was a lot easier when we were texting each other. Makes it harder for me to fuck up.”
“You think you’re worried about fucking up? I haven’t had a friend since I was ten. And then all we had in common were Barbie and Dora the Explorer.”
He grins. “My sister loved that show.” His smile fades at the thought of Ella, but I give his hand another squeeze, keeping him here in the present with me. “How did you and my sister…”
“Meet? The day I was being discharged, she was heading to the oncology ward. We collided, and then she started babbling about books and bullets randomly. It wasn’t until she called me Nevaeh that I realized she thought I was my sister.
“I mumbled my excuses to leave when she started swaying on her feet. I grabbed her, and given how weak I was, instead of actually helping, we both ended up on our asses. Luckily, neither of us was hurt, but it did give me a chance to explain who I was to her. She was so embarrassed. And then she got a look on her face, one that told me she’d just remembered my story. It was all over the news at that point. You’d have had to live under a rock to escape it. I thought she’d pepper me with questions. Instead, she took my hand, just like you always do, like she’d done it a million times before, and decided we were going to be best friends. Just like that.”
He smiles, but it’s edged in pain. “Now that sounds like my sister. She never met a stranger. I swear she drove my parents to despair when we were kids.”
“Your parents? They’re…gone?”
He nods. “Mom died when I was eleven. She had a stroke. My dad died when I was nineteen from a heart attack. Both were healthy, kept fit, ate all the right things, and never smoked a day in their lives. And yet neither of them reached fifty. And now Elle is gone too. I can’t help but think the Deveraux name is cursed somehow.”
“I’m sorry, Ambros.”
He nods, pulling his hands back when our drinks arrive.
“Thank you,” I tell the server softly.
“No problem, doll. Food is two minutes out.” She winks and leaves as I lift my mug and take a sip. I moan in appreciation, my eyes slipping closed.
“Good?”
“Yeah. It sounds stupid, but I used to dream about hot chocolate when I was—you know. My mom used to make it the best.” I swallow, not wanting to deal with the grief of her loss just yet. I can’t bear the weight of that on top of everything else, so I pack it away in a box for later, along with all the other fucked-up shit.
“I’m sorry about your mom, Citi.”
I blow out a shaky breath and crack the box open just a little, knowing this isn’t something I can talk about with my dad or sister.
“I feel like I lost her twice. Once when I was taken and then again when I came back, and she was gone. The problem is, she’s been gone for everyone else for a long time. They had time to deal with it all. For me, it’s still a raw wound.”
I put the mug down when my hand starts to shake.
“They’re so mad at her, Ambros, for what she did. I think I’m supposed to be mad, too, but I’m not. I’m just sad. Sad that Jasper broke her in the same kind of way he tried to break me. I was gone, but Nevaeh was still there. That should have been enough. At least that’s what I think they feel. And I get it. I do. Iheld on for Star, after all. Without her, I’d be with my mom right now.” I swipe at a tear that slips free.
