Page 146 of Judas

“Since when does your mom make all of the decisions?”

I listen in on the two of them going back and forth as he opens the door for the both of us to climb in. My door is shut first, hand moving instinctively to the seatbelt over my right shoulder, as the next words that come out of Sadie have me choking.

“Since we out number you.”

Takes every bit of my restraint to keep from laughing, her quick wit and how easy it is for her to put people in their place has me in stitches more often than not. A keening cry comes out of Bruce and Kace shuts her door with a bit of a huff. Leaving us alone for a moment, he gives Babel a firm hand shake and a goodbye.

“Where are we going now?” Sadie asks.

“Home, sugar. Home.”

Chapter fifty

Babalon

Two weeks later

When Kace said that it is quiet here in Pennsylvania, I didn’t believe that it was going to bethisquiet. I can actually hear birds as they flap around and chirp in the trees outside of our home. There are so many too. I’ve seen cardinals that are said to be visitors from the grave, grackles, sparrows, an enormous owl, and some pretty white birds, too. They all live harmoniously here, full trees that stretch for as far as I can see, down the too long driveway and then some. I’m amazed they haven’t gone into hibernation yet but it’s coming.

The first time Kace drove us down the drive, Sadie and I were glued to the windows of his truck. Both of us having come from neighborhoods that were more concrete than wooded—we wereamazed that this was where we would be living. It’s not the trees that set everything apart, it’s the knowledge that it’s ours and we belong here—that this is home.

Pulling up in front of the house? Not what I expected at all. Knowing where his family comes from, and the money associated with his father’s name, I pictured a very angular abode with more windows than metal. Maybe stone too, utilizing the surrounding landscape and materials but was surprised at what I found.

Where I assumed there would be angles, were curves. A modest amount of windows too. English ivy sprawls up several dark green painted brick walls to the second story. Window treatments stained deep brown, copper plated accents, a two car garage nestled under the window of an upstairs living space, black stone chimney, and hundreds of other plants bring it all together. Cozy with the warm incandescent lights that illuminate a rock pathway up to the front door. Understated and beautiful—a far cry from where I came from.

I’m still not accustomed to being here, it’s so quiet everything else is loud but I’m making due—we’re making do. Sadie spends a lot of time in the bay window of her new room. I find her curled up there a lot, reading the thickest books I’ve ever seen while I’m outside on the grounds. That’s where I prefer to be, barefooted, in clothes that are mine, hair doing whatever it wants, a chilled breeze making chills erupt across my skin. Sitting amongst the flowers and foliage—my favorite’s being moon flowers. They grow a lot here, with it being heavily shaded in certain areas. Adding the perfect amount of white and blue.

The yard is so kept I likely won’t ever see dandelions here but Kace did the next best thing—-they’re not dandelions, but they’re close enough… Marigolds. Mini sunflowers now are peppered in pots and planters everywhere. Some more orangethan others, reminding me of how different stars truly look at different stages of their lives.

He brought the entire night sky directly to me.

I’m drifting in and out of consciousness, between the birds and random pings and pangs coming from downstairs. Kace must be in the kitchen doing something making all that racket. When he isn’t shooting out back or in the garage with his big-boy-toys, he’s in the kitchen. Suppose seven years of terrible prison food will make you appreciate a plethora of kitchen gadgets and fresh ingredients.

Rolling over, I reach for my phone to check the time and see that it’s getting close to noon. Can’t really tell with all the tree coverage and winter headed for us. Deciding to get up, I drag on one of Kace’s t-shirts and pad down to the kitchen. I round the end of the back stairwell and see his broad back after I finally step into the kitchen. Joggers hang low on his hips, a sin in itself, and shirtless. Moving on the opposite of the sink where he’s fucking with the espresso machine. Grumbling lowly to himself when he gets blasted by some of the steam—trying to perfect my favorite hot coffee. Breakfast plated on the bar which frames the space to the right of the machine.

Sadie must have come out and grabbed hers already. There’s an empty place setting with a napkin abandoned close by—silly kid never takes it with her. Guess that means it’s just the two of us at breakfast this morning.

“Smells good in here, whatcha making?”

I don’t quite move yet, leaning against the corner of the wall with my arms braced behind my back. Kace turns around, his hair flopping over his forehead looking like he got up and took a shower for it to dry in messy clumps. Mismatched colored eyes as bright as ever, if there was more light shining in here, they’d probably glow. Turning back to what he is doing, he lifts an arm and waves me over.

“Trying to do this fucking cappuccino-chu-frappe-matcha-mocha what the fuck ever you like. Burning the hell out of myself.”

Laughing, I close the distance. Beside him, my hand slides along his lower back, feeling him tense slightly but he doesn’t move away. We’re still acclimating, it’s going to take some more time but for the most part we’re good. He hurts too, ribs healing well enough for not being braced or supported because the stubborn asshole refuses to worry about small things like that. So he says. Leaning into him, mindful of the steam jet, I press a kiss to his bare shoulder.

“It’s just a latte with a pump of chocolate. So dramatic.”

“I’m sorry, Miss I don’t drink black coffee.”

He grins, not looking at me, yet I see it anyway. More focused on the way his hands move—knowing what they can do.

“I’ve been tortured enough, there’s no need to drink it black.”

“Valid point. Go ahead and sit down to eat, I’ll be there in a second.”

I give his shoulder a little bite and pat his ass playfully, moving over to one of the barstools next. Checking out the plate of food, my stomach growls, it all looks so simple and delicious. Thick slices of French toast, bacon, some fried potatoes with what looks like a red pepper and onions—trying to fatten me up. Not waiting to dig in, I scoop up my fork and take a bite of the French toast and groan.

Kace has impeccable cooking skills. Between jobs and spying on me and Sadie, I suppose cooking is all he had left to do. I remember the days where he would criticize the food in the prison, a little too tasteless and lacking the correct texture for mister fancified-palette here. No complaints though, I’m reaping the benefits of his boredom and distaste.

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