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“You don’t trust me!” he roars, and I stare at him in shock. He drops my wrists, and his voice is as hard as a brick. “Trust is everything.”
“No, darlin’,” Beau breaks in, firm and clear. “I don’t think either one of you should say one more word. You two are in a time-out.”
“Tell him all of this is my fault. I trust him. I do. It was my mistake.”
“Just tell him,” I whisper. “It’s okay. It’s really okay to hate me for hurting him.”
“Oh, darlin’,” he breathes. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t ever.”
“I . . . I’m mad at you. I’m mad about so many things, and God, Eden, I could just shake you.”
“You don’t win friends, or any fucking respect, by shitting all over everyone, Jayk. You just have to play the villain every god-damned time.”
“Beaumont, de-escalate. Step back. You’re
not in the right frame of mind to have this discussion. We can handle this like gentlemen.”
“Stop, Beau. Not like this. He’s not the one you’re mad at.” “The hell I’m not. This isn’t right.” Beau looks over Dom’s shoulder, his gaze all hot, sulfuric anger. “You think we’re going to follow you anywhere? You can’t just take everything, you bastard. You don’t fucking deserve any of it, and you’re hurting people. You don’t deserve my room. You don’t deserve to replace Dom, who has never been anything but a fucking great captain to you. You sure as fuck don’t deserve Eden. You ruin everything. We were all having a good time until you showed up.”
“He’s wrong, Jayk. You deserve everything,” I tell him steadily, and his shoulders loosen. But before he can relax too far, I add, “But you could have joined us. This doesn’t have to be a fight.”
“You’re not the only one who cares for Eden. This is her home, and we are her family now. I don’t appreciate you implying otherwise. And I certainly don’t appreciate you impeding her ability to be with who she chooses.”
“Last night, you behaved like an immature, musclebound meathead. I’m not sure in what world you thought kidnapping a recently kidnapped woman was a brilliant idea, but as usual, you display the emotional capacity of an enraged hippopotamus.
“You saw how Jayk was there for Eden after we got her back. More than me, more than you, more than anyone. He helped her get through it. He’s not crossing her lines with these stunts, he’s helping her to find them. He knows what he’s doing.”
“I was there. I was living with her—every day, I was there, helping her through her nightmares, through her triggers, helping her figure out all of you and your damn problems. Being there isn’t enough. It doesn’t mean she’ll share anything at all about what she did or how she felt. She might love you—but it doesn’t mean she trusts you.”
“Who else knows exactly where we are, who we are, and how many people are here? Didn’t you hear the man yesterday? ‘I never thought they’d be so pretty,’ he said. They had to know there were women here if they had time to imagine what we’d be like.” She looks back at Jayk, terse. “And Akira went out with you to repair the cameras, so they were able to avoid those. She’s the only one who knew all of that. She told them to come in force so they could pin us here.”
Her shoulders are steeled like they were when she faced Alastair. Her chin tilted up, and her sharp, clever eyes calmly staring down the small army against us.
I’m not blind to her heart or her kindness or how she wants to help. I know she’s smart, and proud, and resourceful. But this is different. This woman is angry. And devious.
“You brought armed men here? Kasey is here, Akira. She’s fourteen,” Eden bites back, unfazed by the lethal look. Her hair fans about her like a crown. “Hate me, I always understood that, but these women did nothing.”
“The civilians aren’t going with the Reapers. They don’t trust that easily. Not like you seem to.” Her expression softens. “You didn’t have to leave Bristlebrook, Akira. It was dangerous, going to them.”
It’s you, Eden. You want to play the hero, but you’re really just a devious, murdering bitch.
Eden’s standing there, compassionate—being her kind self to a woman who painted her room in blood. Eden, who only schemed and lied and killed to save herself. She killed to save me, and I know how much that cost her.
My once-pristine home is cluttered with their belongings and Beaumont’s carelessly discarded furniture. Someone’s lime-green bra is under my foot, and the trail of dirt leading down the hall seems to return so often, I can only assume it’s their preferred aesthetic. And by far the worst of it—I cannot escape the smell.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasized about tossing the lot of them out on their repulsive, hollering behinds so I can pour myself some tea and enjoy my apocalypse in peace.
These women have all fought hard for themselves for far too long—far harder than we’ve had to. They shouldn’t have to fight any longer. Despite how their presence grates on me, we’d be less than men if we weren’t willing to fight for them also. This is their home now too, after all.
Then how about you all use your Ranger magic to figure that whole siege fuckery out, and we’ll go on doing all the hard work. Keep everything running. Make meals out of wishes and air. Make sure our new friends don’t shoot us while you’re playing with your maps. You know, the little things.”
“The bazooka. You might remember it from your breaking-and-entering stint.”
“Lucky’s right. We can’t use high explosives or area defense rounds. Maybe something with the smoke?”
It’s not her own weight Eden’s struggling to carry at all . . . it’s ours.
Jaykob’s defensive resentment, Dominic’s guilty retreat, Beaumont’s fury, and Lucky’s reckless anxiety . . . My absence.
“Bristlebrook.” The arguments cease in an instant, and every head turns toward her.
I saw him lose all the people he loved. I saw his resolve to die rather than face the world without them in it, and I was the one who took the gun from his shaking hands.
“I’m not here to fix you, Beaumont. I’m here for you,” I reply softly. “I know I’m fucking up.” He doesn’t look at me. “I’m just . . . I think you were right, that time we spoke. Maybe Dom was, too. I repress things. I don’t know how to talk about it, and then it gets worse, and everything falls apart. And it wasn’t him that always fucked everything. Or Eden. I did it too. And I think . . .” He chokes. “I think I’m kind of an asshole.”
Admitting it is the first step.” My lips tilt, and Beaumont snorts, then his breath catches on a wild laugh.
“It will save me needing to carve up your entrails for hurting our girlfriend.”
Suddenly, surprise and hope and gratitude flicker across her face so fast it’s hard to track each expression. Then she smiles at me.
Everything crystallizes—sharp and dazzlingly simple. This is what she needs. This is what a family does, after all. They show up for each other.
“You are brilliant. I love it when you scold us.” “It would be easier if you didn’t need scolding.”
I still think you have your head wedged up your asshole, and you need some kind of reality check about Eden, and we’re going to have a talk about where you put all my underwear, but . . . this is a good plan. You did good. With tonight, I mean. The civs, too.”
“Ah, Jayk. Come on, now. You know as well as I do—it’s always about the girl.”
Because right on Bristlebrook’s lawn, under a river of string lights that look like stars, a hypnotic horde of barely clothed women . . . are wrestling.
“One day I’ll understand why I get so terrified whenever good things happen.”
“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like this was going to get taken away. We need to talk, and I need to get myself set right on some things, but . . .” He sighs, but when he meets my eyes, it’s sure and steady, like he’s pressing the words over me like a pressure dressing. “I’m not going anywhere, darlin’. Not while you still want me.”
“No, I need you to hear it, Eden, because I don’t think I’ve been clear. I love you . . . and nothing is changing that. Even if I have to remake every part of myself that ever had the power to hurt you.”
I’m still learning. How to be happy,
“It’s okay to dream, darlin’. It really is.”
Slowly, I press the damp cloth to his sweaty temple, letting the cool water well up against his skin before I drag it away. With gentle care, I tend his face, wiping the dirt from the heavy ridges of his cheekbones
and around the swell of his lips.
“I’m sorry for how I treated you after Cyanide. I was unkind and unproductive and . . . I shouldn’t have cut you out. I was so caught up in being hurt that you didn’t talk to me, I didn’t stop to think about why. I made it worse than it had to be, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t still care.”
“I loved Lucien for seven years before we were together. I am patient. I am risk-averse, and I didn’t want you to be hurt while the rest of us resolved our differences. Do not mistake that for indifference.
