Page 134 of Through the Flames
When Ella looked over at me, though, her eyes were soft and her lips curved into a smile completely at odds with how wrecked I still felt inside. She smiled like I hadn’t almost killed three men in front of her, like she wasn’t scared of me.
“Sweetheart!”
Ella bolted out of the car before I cut the engine. I sat there for a moment longer, trying to control my breathing and push the rage back down so it wouldn’t spill out here.
As I climbed out of the cab, the woman’s eyes found me, and she beamed a wide, open and welcoming smile. Ella’s mom wasslender, with perfectly curled auburn hair which, while not quite as striking in color as her daughter’s, was still very distinctive.
She started toward me with her arms outstretched, and I froze.
Before she could touch me, Ella stepped in front of me, her hand reaching back to press against my stomach reassuringly.
“Mom, can we hold off?” she asked gently but firmly. “He’s not okay with that right now.”
Relief hit me in a rush, and my muscles unclenched. My skin stopped screaming. She didn’t lecture or pity me. She just stepped in and protected me. The way I always wanted to protect her.
Her mother paused, slightly surprised, but nodded nonetheless. The warmth in her eyes didn’t disappear; it just shifted slightly to give us some space.
I wanted to tell Ella just how much this mattered to me. It was so rare to have someone see you so completely and understand the subtle nuances without needing explanations.
She didn’t make me feel broken; she stood up for me and protected me, the same way I’ll always protect her.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry, Mrs. Kincaid, it’s not you, it’s–”
“Hunter, sweetheart, don’t you worry about a thing,” she drawled, the southern twang in her voice so much more pronounced than Ella’s or even Dom’s.
Then she pointed an accusing finger at me, and I almost jerked back in surprise at the sudden stern expression taking over her kind face. “And none of this Mrs. Kincaid nonsense. I’m Darlene, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Come on, supper’s ready,” Darlene said, stepping back and brushing at her apron, leaving us the space we needed while still welcoming us into her home.
I ducked my head, my next words only meant for my girl’s ears. “You’re amazing,” I muttered under my breath, letting her guide us inside.
Inside, the smell of fried chicken, collard greens, and fresh cornbread wafted through the air. It struck me like a blow to my solar plexus.
I didn’t have memories like this, of home or of food meaning love. For me, food has always been about fuel and survival. Here, it meant belonging.
A tall man stood waiting by the table.
Ray Kincaid — I’d done my research — was broad-shouldered, blond, and almost as big as me, but solid in a way that came from years of steady work instead of training camps. His handshake was firm, his gaze appraising but not hostile.
Ella’s little cousin came barreling in from the living room, a wiry blur of freckles and energy. Before I knew it, he latched onto my leg like a fucking koala, chattering football stats so fast I barely caught half of them.
“Did you know Brady threw for forty touchdowns one season? And Patrick Mahomes, he can throw sidearm, like, ninety miles an hour! Do you throw sidearm? Can you? Do you think you’ll be better than him?”
His words came out like machine-gun fire. I just blinked down at him, caught somewhere between panic and amusement. My hands hovered awkwardly in the air, useless, like I’d forgotten how to be human around small people.
“Uh …” My throat clicked. “That’s a lot of stats, kid. Also, um, I’m not the quarterback? So I don’t really throw the ball, you know.”
He grinned up at me, all teeth, completely unbothered by my lack of enthusiasm. “I bet you could beat him. You’re huge. Mom says you’re scary huge. Are you scary?”
My chest locked. Out of the corner of my eye, Ella’s dad watched the exchange with a slight smile, not rescuing me, just letting me dangle.
I swallowed hard, trying not to wince. “Sometimes,” I admitted carefully.
The kid gasped like I’d confessed to being Batman. “Cool.” Then he tugged harder at my leg. “You gotta throw the ball with me later, okay? Please? Please?”
My shoulders were tense as we sat down for dinner, sure, every second of this was a test. Waiting for the moment they’d see through me and kick me out.
