Page 96 of Cinder
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
He shrugs lightly. “Comes with it.”
I don’t push for details. I can see the residue of it in the way he’s holding himself, anyway. But I nod, folding one leg slightly beneath me so I’m angled toward him. “Still doesn’t make it easy.”
His mouth pulls at one corner, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No.”
There’s a beat where neither of us speaks, but I can hear the faint hum of the fridge, the ticking of the clock, and the soft shiftof Gus resettling somewhere behind us. These are the sounds Evan wanted, I realize. Normal, comforting, home sounds.
“Does it make you think about her?” I ask carefully.
He doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know who I mean.
“Yeah,” he says after a pause. “Especially ones like tonight.”
My stomach twists, thinking how heartbreaking it must be to experience these moments that could have easily been his own.
“I used to think I could manage it,” he continues, gaze drifting past me toward the dark hallway. “Her volatility and the excuses. That if I stayed steady enough, it’d balance everything out.” His jaw flexes slightly, and he shakes his head. “It didn’t. It doesn’t.”
I hum, and let those words sit for a second before I speak. “I used to think if I stayed long enough, it would get better, too.”
His eyes flick to mine.
“My stepmother,” I clarify. “I kept telling myself I just had to be patient, that if I was useful enough, agreeable enough, it would feel like home again.” A small, humorless breath leaves me. “It didn’t. It doesn’t.”
The symmetry hangs there between us, similar stories filled with pain in different ways.
“I won’t put up with that shit anymore,” he says with a shake of his head. “Not around Elle.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t blur lines for the hell of it.”
My eyes slide down to my hands, and I pick at my T-shirt hem. “I know that too.”
He studies me carefully. “You sure about that?”
It’s not banter, not tonight. Because this thing sitting here, this connection between us—it’s a blur.
“I didn’t move to Maplewood to crack someone else’s stability.” I swallow. “I moved here because I was tired of being somewhere that didn’t want me.”
His eyes soften just slightly. “You’re wanted here, Pen.”
Something ripples deep inside me, and I look back up at him.
“You don’t get to say that like it’s a fact,” I whisper.
He shifts closer without meaning to, his knee pressing more firmly against mine.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
I feel those words hit deep, not only because I’m attracted to him—this runs so much deeper. It’s history meeting history. Two people who left something unstable to build something solid. And now he’s sitting too close for me to ignore what’s happening.
“Did you stay with the kid?” I ask after a second.
“Yeah.”
“Was… was he okay?”
