I would sit there, and I wouldpretend.
But if she met my eye, if she reached for me, if she so much as whispered my name?—
God help us both.
Dinner was nothing. Just an act. Four strangers playing house, pretending there’s no history bleeding through the cracks in the drywall.
Shane set down plates with that practiced ease, eyes bright with some breed of optimism I’d never understand. Sabrina hovered behind him, a nervous hurricane of words and movement. You could hear her energy in the way she set the forks.
Amelia sat across from me.
Not beside me. Across. As far away as the table would allow, tucked small between her hair and the shadows like she could disappear if she tried hard enough.
But she couldn’t. Not from me.
Shane poured the wine. “Look, I know it’s not five-star, but I think you’ll be impressed. Maybe even convert you, Sabrina.”
She grinned. “Anything’s better than my cooking.” A pointed look at Amelia. “Except for your lasagna. Still dreaming about it.”
A nothing laugh from Amelia. Fragile, like glass about to crack. “Not a high bar. I lived mostly on cereal and instant ramen for years.”
My jaw flexed. My eyes flicked to her hands, small and quick, twirling pasta in practiced motions. I remembered those hands. Fisted in my shirt, clawing at my neck, trembling when I kissed her. She was doing it again. Hiding the tremor. She always tried so fucking hard not to be seen.
I wanted to see her. I wanted to see every raw nerve.
Sabrina beamed. “You should cook for us next time, then.”
Her head snapped up too fast, startled. “Maybe,” she mumbled. “If you’re brave.”
Shane shot me a knowing look. “You could use some tips from Amelia, right, Caiden?”
Every word hit like gravel in my throat. I shrugged. “Doubt she wants my help.”
A twitch in her lips. Not quite a smile, not quite a snarl.
Sabrina was relentless. “You’re practically family now. It’d be nice. Healing, you know?”
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. Nothing about this was healing.
I shoved food into my mouth, chewing hard enough to feel my teeth grind.
Sometimes I caught her looking at me. Just a flick. Just the smallest glance, like she couldn’t help herself. Like she remembered how I kissed her in that room, dragging her down with me, drowning her in the heat and the hunger. I could feel it in the way she held every muscle tight, waiting for me to snap.
She was scared. Of me, or of herself, or both.
I could have told her I was scared, too. But I’d never say that out loud.
Shane and Sabrina kept up the chatter, trading war stories about open houses and work and shit that didn’t matter. Sabrina’s voice got sharp whenever she asked Amelia about her writing. Like she wanted to pull her closer, make her feel welcome. Amelia answered with half-sentences. Never offering more than she had to.
I envied that. The ability to be quiet, to hide. I’d spent my whole life being too fucking loud.
I pushed away from the table when I was done. Couldn’t take another second.
The others followed, drifting toward the living room. Some movie was queued up already, light from the TV flickering across the couch.
Amelia hesitated in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. She looked up, caught me staring. For a second, the whole fucking world froze.
Then she looked away.
