Page 72 of All the Missing Pieces

He chewed once. Twice. Then his brows just about hit his hairline. “This is really good.”

I grinned. “No death by veggies on my watch.”

Colt took a bigger bite this time, letting out a groan. “Damn, Chaos. You can cook.”

Why did that feel like the best praise in the world? Maybe because it had been a long time since I’d gotten any sort of praise at all beyond comments on the internet. I’d forgotten what it felt like.

“What’s wrong?”

I jolted, my gaze snapping back to Colt, who was staring at me intently. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie,” he ground out. “Tell me to mind my own business, but don’t lie.”

That was fair. Colt deserved way more than my lies. I sliced off a bite of the casserole. “I was just thinking it was nice to cook for someone who appreciates it.”

Colt studied me as I chewed. “It’s hard to build a community when you’re constantly moving from place to place.”

I nodded. “My community is online mostly. Other than the occasional in-person meeting.”

“What about your parents?” He asked the question gently, as if approaching a possible land mine.

“I don’t see them much. Maybe once a year. They didn’t handle Avery’s disappearance well.”

I felt Colt’s gaze on me as I ate another bite of casserole. But he didn’t ask another question, simply waited for me to fill the silence. I appreciated the gentle pressure that was far from forceful. It was more like a quiet invitation to share more.

“My mom tightened the reins to the point of unhealthy,” I went on.

“In what way?” he asked softly.

“Didn’t want me to leave the house after dark, even with friends. Wanted me to text her every thirty minutes. Didn’t want me to move out.”

“That’s rough. On both of you.”

I toyed with another bite of food, not lifting it to my mouth. “I tried to get her into therapy, but she refused.”

“What about your dad?” Colt asked.

“He just sort of stopped living at all. Goes to work. Comes home. Eats dinner. Makes sure Mom eats something. Watches TV. Does the same thing the next day. I don’t blame him. But I also couldn’t do that. Do what my mom wanted just to ease her anxiety. So I left.”

I lifted my gaze to Colt, expecting to see judgment there. Expecting that he would think I was an asshole or worse. But instead I found understanding.

Those deep-brown eyes searched mine. “You needed to go out and live.”

It was the first time someone had really understood it. That need. That desperation. “I feel like I have to live for her and me. Experience everything I can because Avery will never get to.”

Pain streaked across Colt’s face. “That’s a lot on your shoulders.”

“And there’s not the same sort of weight on yours?” I asked. Emerson was still here but marked by what had happened to her, changed.

“I need to make sure it doesn’t happen to other people,” he rasped. “Help when the horrible happens. But you know that pull too.”

I did. And it was easy for it to become a compulsion. It was interesting, the way we all dealt with trauma, some of it so similar, and other parts as different as night and day. “I want to make sure they all get a voice. All the ones who lost theirs.”

Colt’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t see that at first.”

I lifted a brow. “At first?”

He chuckled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, at all. Until recently. Been listening to more episodes over the past few weeks. You do good work.”

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