Page 112 of Sticks & Serpents

“Good morning!” she chirped, her face lighting up as she turned to me.

“Morning,” I replied, forcing a smile despite my swirling thoughts.

As we exchanged pleasantries, my phone buzzed on the counter. I grabbed it eagerly, thinking it might be Damien checking in after everything that had happened. But when I saw the name flashing on the screen—one that sent a chill down my spine—I froze.

It was Damien’s mother.

I hesitated before opening the message. My stomach dropped as I read her request:

We need to talk about Damien.

I should have ignored it. Blocked her number without a second thought and put her out of my mind for good. But something kept me rooted to the spot.

This wasn’t just about me anymore; this was about Damien too.

So with shaking fingers, I typed out a reply:

Fine. I’ll come. But after this, we’re done.

I hit send before I could change my mind.

“Everything okay?” Everly asked, glancing up from the stove where she was scrambling eggs.

I looked up from my phone and sighed. “It’s Damien’s mother,” I said, feeling a knot form in my stomach.

Everly stiffened, her cheerful demeanor slipping. “What does she want?”

“She wants to talk about Damien,” I replied, bracing myself for her reaction.

“Holl,” she warned, her voice low. “I don’t know?—”

“I know,” I interrupted, cutting her off. “But…”

“But?” Everly pressed, eyebrows raised.

“I have to try,” I insisted, swallowing hard. “You don’t understand. This woman… she has a way of twisting everything.”

I didn’t want to spill everything about my history with Damien's family. The emotional scars left by his mother were not something I wanted to share—not even with Everly, who always seemed to know when something was off with me.

“Just… be careful,” she said, her voice softening as concern filled her eyes. “Make sure your phone is charged, and if you need anything, call. Or text.”

I gave her a long look, taking in the way she cared for me like a sister would. Then I pulled her into a hug, feeling the warmth of her friendship wrap around me like a blanket against the chill that crept in whenever I thought of facing Damien’s mother alone.

“I’m lucky you’re my best friend,” I murmured into her shoulder.

Everly grinned against my hair. “Same,” she replied. “Now eat before you leave.” She nudged a plate toward me, steam rising from the scrambled eggs and toast piled high.

With a resigned sigh, I sat at the table and forced myself to take a bite while my mind raced with thoughts of what awaited me later that day. Each forkful felt heavy as if they weighed down the tension in the air between us—a palpable worry about what this conversation could lead to.

As I chewed slowly, contemplating the implications of what Damien's mother might say or demand from me, Everly watched silently but attentively. Her presence felt reassuring amid the storm brewing inside me; it was hard to remember when I’d ever felt so vulnerable yet determined at once.

After breakfast, I changed quickly, slipping into a pair of jeans and a simple top. The weight of what I was about to face pressed against my chest like a heavy stone, but I pushed through the unease. I couldn’t let fear hold me back—not today.

As I drove toward the Sinclaire estate, my thoughts raced with memories of Damien and his family. The sprawling mansion loomed ahead, its pristine façade contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside me. I parked in front of the grand entrance and took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead.

I knocked on the door, my heart pounding against my ribs as silence enveloped me.

No answer.

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