Page 75 of What Remains

His gaze bounces from me to Easton, then back to me.

Oh shit.

Really?

Are you going to ask if there’s something going on with Easton? Like here in front of everyone?

Dad clears his throat. “Uh. Never mind.” He unhands me as Easton enters the kitchen. “You eat lunch yet?”

“Um.” I shake my head. “Only in the mood for coffee for now.”

Dad pivots, eyeing Easton starting up the Nespresso machine, his profile to us. “Looks like he has what you need, then.”

I gulp as I stare at Easton and can’t help but . . . well, agree. “He does,” I muse in a daze, “doesn’t he?”

CHAPTER 24

Gwen

I’m ready to slam my head against Jerry for the second time today, but I refrain since there are nine witnesses in my presence, eight of whom will worry about me.

Oliver, Mya, and Mason joined us two hours ago, studying their own screens. Then there’s Zoey, Carter, and Julian working on leads as well. Gideon—the brooding one who’d probably not give a damn whether I bop my head against my rig—is next to Zoey, pointing at something on her screen.

But most importantly, Dad’s and Easton’s watchful eyes are on me, and I’ve spent the last four hours doing my best to act chill so they don’t stress out. Like the world is spinning exactly as it’s supposed to.

When Gideon abruptly leans closer to Zoey to view her screen and bites out, “They were ADF,” chairs scrape softly as Dad and Carter step behind them, the space around the table suddenly too tight.

Easton’s sitting across from me on the other side of Gideon, so he has a clear view of the screen. He tips his head back toward the ceiling, his tanned throat tightening. He’s not even grinding his gum. There’s just barely contained rage there.

When Dad’s gaze shifts to me, I catch the fire in his eyes, and it clicks.

“The men from that room . . . You found out who they really are. And they were Australian military?” I swallow. “Both the blue-eyed one and the blond guy?”

“They were, yeah,” Gideon confirms, then looks to Dad. “Do you think your path crossed with theirs at some point?”

Right. A memory I’d prefer not to bring up, but now I have to. The blue-eyed one wanted to stick it to Dad. He must’ve known Dad, or knew of him, and didn’t like him.

Dad drags both hands through his hair. “I worked with ADF a few times, but these guys are too young to have served alongside me back then.” His hands drop to his sides. “Does one of them have an older family member who also served?”

And I can’t do this. I thought I could, but that man’s face is on his screen, and I’m going to be sick if I stay here a second longer.

“I need a minute.” I stand to make my exit. “Excuse me.”

I walk into Easton’s living room, passing by the gray couch we’ve sat on a dozen times watching movies together. I used to clutch one of those midnight-blue accent pillows in front of my face during the gory or scary scenes until the inevitable happened, and I curled up against him for protection from fictional monsters.

Turns out, only real-life ones are an actual threat.

I stop in front of his balcony door, another view we’ve shared plenty of times. This entire room is one big reminder that he left me.

But . . . he came back. He’s here now.

“You okay?” Mya asks, joining me and resting her back against the door beside me.

The conversation behind us fades into a dull hum as I stare at the twin icy peaks rising against the sky. When the sun hits them just right, they glint a deep, impossible blue—like sapphires thrust up from the earth, beautiful under pressure.

I wish I felt half as unbreakable as the place built in their shadow.

“Distract me,” I say instead of answering her. “Talk about anything but why we’re here.” My voice fractures as I add, “Please.”