Page 69 of Through the Flames
Eighteen
Ella
I had the couch, a bowl of cereal, and the TV just loud enough to pretend the silence didn’t creep me out. Hunter wasn’t home, and the house felt too quiet. Too…curated.
Naturally, I remedied this by blasting a dramatic French Open replay like it was Sunday Mass, letting the surround sound he’d meticulously set up fill every corner of the living room.
The crowd noise drifted through the rooms like canned ambiance, keeping the emptiness at bay.
Ridiculous?
Totally. But hey, if pretending I was courtside kept me from spiraling, I’d take it.
A ray of winter sunlight sliced across the hardwood floor and hit my cereal bowl like a spotlight. The scent of cinnamon, oat milk, and fancy coffee lingered in the air.
My hoodie sleeves were pulled over my hands — Robot Boy liked it way too cold — and my spoon clinked against the ceramic bowl.
I’d been here two and a half weeks, and I still felt like I was squatting in a museum. To contradict this feeling, I kept cluttering up one corner of the living room like a feral raccoon.
It was the principle, at this point.
I’d also officially claimed the good throw blanket, one coffee mug, and the left side of the couch.
Hunter hadn’t commented on it, not like he ever really did. He was more of a recluse, disappearing into his “bat cave” and spending most of his time holed up in his room rather than wandering around the house.
My phone, sitting face down on the armrest, buzzed, but I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Eh. If it were really important, whoever it was would call.
Suddenly, there was loud and erratic banging. The door was rattling as someone pounded their fist against it like they wanted to fucking pulverize it. Never a good vibe at 9 a.m.
“Ella!” My brother’s voice boomed through the door. “You home? Open up!”
I groaned, throwing my head back, and sighed. So much for peace. Well, my version of peace. The universe heard me relaxing and decided it was unacceptable.
When I unlocked the door, Dom barreled in, flushed and wide-eyed. His hoodie was only halfway zipped, and his gym bag was dragging off his shoulder.
The smell of sweat, old turf, and panic trailed behind him.
I walked back to the couch to hit pause on the French Open replay, freezing the dramatic cheers mid-crowd eruption, as I braced myself for the chaos he was about to bring.
His breathing was erratic, like he ran here, and maybe he did. Who knew with my brother.
On the other hand, he had pretty much fused with his truck like some big symbiotic blob, so it would be surprising if he ditched that monster.
“Ella. I-I need to talk to you. Right now,” he choked out, his knuckles turning white around the strap of his bag.
I furrowed my brows. “Um, based on the way you burst in here, I would’ve hoped there was something urgent going on. So, how did you fuck up? What is she mad about?”
He recoiled. “She?”
“Sierra. Duh! Your girlfriend. The one you made so mad, you need my advice.” I made a circular motion in the air.
“That’s not what … wait!” His eyes widened in panic. “Did she say anything to you? Is she mad at me?”
“No. I assumed maybe this time you were thinking one step ahead.” I shrugged.
