Page 35 of Down in Flames

“Like what?”

“Like it’s an insult.”

“Ain’t no one who can make you feel bad about where you come from,” he said, sticking his head in the fridge and pulling out cartons of milk and eggs. “Not without your consent.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you ignore the little shit,” West said with a grin.

She laughed, and it was like the trill of a little bird. She worked at his elbow while he mixed up batter, chattering at high speed as if she were trying to make up for his long absence all in one shot. She didn’t ask why her father had been hugging him. He wondered if she’d even noticed, or if she’d still been half-asleep, until she blurted, “We missed you. Daddy said you must have had something real important keeping you away, but I told him there wasn’t anything more important to you than us.”

“You did, huh?” West ruffled her hair. “When did you get so smart?”

“I was born that way,” she said with the artless confidence of childhood. “But if you love us, how come you stayed away for so long?”

“I guess I wasn’t born as smart as you,” he said around the sudden lump in his throat.

“Well, don’t do it again.” Her tone was severe. “It makes Daddy sad.”

“What makes me sad?” Michael asked, strolling into the kitchen looking fresh and handsome with a towel hanging off one shoulder.

“My pancakes,” West said in a rush, shifting to the side as Michael reached past him for the coffee pot. Michael’s hand settled briefly on West’s back, calming him like he was a spooked horse. The rich scent of sage in his soap made West's mouth water.

“Hmm,” Michael grunted, peering at the first blackened discs in the frying pan. He dropped a quick peck on the edge of West’s jaw. “Better let Abby handle that. She’s been flipping cakes since she was five.”

West didn’t know if she’d caught the discreet kiss, but he figured probably not. All he knew was that she had a big old grin on her face that morning. They all did. West could feel his smile burning in his cheeks, but he couldn't help himself. Nowhere on earth felt more like home than sitting between his two favorite people.

After breakfast, Michael tackled the dishes while Abby got dressed for school and West slipped off for a quick shower. As he lathered up with a black bar of spicy-sweet soap, he wished he could do something to earn the affection that Michael and his daughter offered so readily. If only he could deserve it. If only he could protect them. They’d already lost so much, and taking on a bad bet like him was only a guarantee that someday they’d lose again. Maybe not because of his condition. After all, Mary Whittaker had been in perfect health, and she was still lying six feet under a hawthorn tree at the edge of the town cemetery.

But West had never been responsible for anyone else's happiness, and it terrified him. His decisions had been his own for such a short time, and now it felt like they didn't belong to him again.

As he wiped away the steam from the bathroom mirror and stared at his ugly mug, he tried to see what a stranger might. There wasn’t much to work with. Jaw too sharp, cheeks too hollow, and a nose that was misshapen even underneath its current swelling. He’d always thought his thin lips made him look weak.

Michael was out of his damn mind for choosing him when he had every woman in the county throwing herself in his arms. But West wasn’t strong enough to turn him down, not even for his own good. All he could do was everything in his power to make sure he was there when they needed him.

That was how he managed to already be halfway across the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel before the first screams from outside had even faded.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The change that overcame Michael was stark. Gone was the steady calm that always grounded everyone around him, and in its place was something raw and awful. It flashed across his face in a split second, there and gone, but West was certain he’d never forget it. Even with everything he’d been through as a kid, he didn’t think he’d ever felt fear like that. Fear that hurt just to look at.

He dropped the cast iron pan he’d been scrubbing and tore across the kitchen.

“Whoa, hey,” West caught him by the elbow, but it felt like trying to stop a freight train. “It’s okay. It’s just Aiden.”

Michael’s chest heaved. “How can you tell?”

“We grew up together,” West said with a shrug. “You get to know what it sounds like. Besides, I can hear Cal laughing.”

Michael cocked his head, listening, just as Aiden let out another yell.

“If you don’t get that thing away from me, I’m pitching it! I swear to God!” he yelped.

“He won’t hurt you!” Abigail’s sweet, trilling voice shot back.

“Jaysus! It tried to bite me!” Yup. That was definitely Aiden. When he got spun up, only he could come close to hitting that octave.

“You’re scaring him!” The distress in Abby’s voice stiffened Michael’s spine like a whipcrack, and he was out the door in an instant. He’d been favoring his bad leg since yesterday, but he could still move quick as lightning.

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