Page 75 of Pretty Lethal
It only makes me prouder to call her mine.
A lesser person would have let what those assholes did defeat them, and while Emilia wallowed for a few days afterward—a part of the normal healing process after what she went through—she picked herself up and dusted herself off.
That’s not to say she doesn’t struggle at times. She thinks we don’t notice, but she frequently awakes from a nightmare at night and has to soothe herself back to sleep. She hasn’t turned to any of us for help, and the only reason none of us have brought it up is because, once she’s calmed herself down, she curls up against one of us before falling back to sleep.
However, the second she startles awake, we’re all alert. There if she needs us but giving her the space to work through her demons by herself.
Turning away, I grab my plate of food, leaving Hawk and Wilder to fill their own plates—I made breakfast, the least they can do is plate up their own food—and join Emilia at the kitchen table.
“Where’s mine?” Wilder immediately grouses.
“You have arms and legs, don’t you?” I snark before shoveling a mouthful of food in my mouth.
He glowers at me before pushing his chair back and going to get his own breakfast, and Hawk arrives, freshly showered after his morning workout, stacking his plate with a tower of pancakes before joining us at the table.
As we’re finishing, Emilia’s phone buzzes on the table, and when she lifts it, I notice the name ‘Mom’on the screen as she blows out a breath and her shoulders drop. She excuses herself from the table, and I watch, concerned, as she steps out of the room.
She explained once that her mother is an incredibly independent woman who encouraged Emilia to be the same way—relying on no one but herself. Still, I’m not entirely sure what their relationship is like, or even if she knows what her daughter has been through these last few months.
“Ugh, can that idiot not take a hint?” Wilder grouses when his phone buzzes with an incoming message. “How many texts do I have to ignore for him to cop on that I don’t wanna talk to him?”
“Robbie?” Hawk asks, not looking away from his plate of food. We already know it is. After what happened in the woods, there was no word from him or the Elite for nearly a week, but the last couple of days he’s been texting Wilder more and more frequently, demanding that he stop by his office.
Wilder has ignored every single one. Neither he nor Hawk has been to the frat house since that night, and from what I gather, they have no intention of returning except to grab their things at some point.
“What does he want?” I ask, earning a shrug from him.
“No idea. He just keeps telling me to stop by, like what they did the other night wasn’t completely fucked up.” The words are barely more than a vicious snarl by the time he finishes.
I make a mental note for us all to sit down and discuss our next move for Robbie and the Elites. We’ve deliberately been avoiding talking about it, especially when Emilia is within earshot, wanting to give her time to heal before we broach the subject. However, now that Robbie is done giving Wilder his space, we’re out of time and need to discuss what we will do sooner rather than later.
“Shit,” we hear Emilia curse from the hallway, food forgotten as chairs scrape against the floor and we all get to our feet.
Before any of us can move away from the table, though, Emilia steps into the kitchen. Her lips are pulled down in a severe frown, her brows furrowing in worry.
“What’s wrong?” I bark instantly, my mind already conjuring possibilities and trying to identify solutions.
Her nose wrinkles in an almost adorable way, her gaze jumping between each of us before she says, “My mom is coming to Ridgeway.”
“Your mom?” Wilder queries at the same time I ask, “Why?” and Hawk asks, “When?”
“Tomorrow. I knew she’d been worried ever since Mel called her. I thought I’d convinced her everything was fine. I’d told her Mel and I were no longer friends, but apparently she called my old work and discovered I quit. She demanded to know where I’d been staying, and when I told her, she said she was coming. That no amount of arguing would make her change her mind.”
Her shoulders deflate, and I usher her into a chair while Wilder refills her coffee mug.
“She’s just worried about you,” he says surprisingly softly, sliding into a seat on her other side and dragging it right up beside hers, effectively eliminating any space between them.
“I know,” Emilia concedes. “But she’s not going to be okay with any of this.” Her finger swivels between the four of us, her meaning abundantly clear. I witness the anger that flashes across Wilder’s face before he masks it. Admittedly, my own annoyance at Emilia’s mother flares. I don’t give a shit about what anyone thinks of our relationship. I don’t care what Emilia’s mother thinks, butEmiliacares.
I’m not concerned that her mother will plant doubts in Emilia’s head. I think it’s safe to say that we’re all completely invested in this now. We’re all the way in. Nothing and no one will come between us.
However, I’m not sure what to do if that woman hurts my Blackbird with her words. If she turns her back on her daughter because she’s gone against conventional norms to date three men.
“If she can’t see how perfect we are for one another, then that’s her loss,” Hawk grunts, giving away his own frustration.
“It’s not that so much as I don’t think she’d be happy to know I rearranged my whole life because of any guy—regardless of whether it’s one or three. Self-reliance and independence are two things that were instilled in me at a young age.Don’t ever rely on anyone else, least of all a man, Emilia. They’ll do nothing but break you down,is what she used to say.”
“Jesus,” Wilder hisses. “Your dad really did a number on her.”
