Page 80 of The Price of Forever

“Quasi-hug status, huh?” He shut the door behind us.

“Yeah. For now.” I looked over my shoulder as he joined me in the middle of the hallway.

“Cool. I can live with that.” He gestured for me to follow him into the huge living room; low, boxy furniture sat expertly arranged and pristine, like he’d just held an interior design photoshoot moments before. Tall, skinny vases stood in clusters; sprays of exotic looking foliage bursting out of them. But the way he sank into the couch told me this furniture was here to be used, not just admired.

“Sit down,” he encouraged, probably noticing my hesitation. “What have you been up to? You tired? Need a drink?”

I sat on the armchair facing the couch, unsure where to begin. I inspected my nails for a moment, caught between wondering if Seven was mad and whether or not I should just dive into childhood trauma.

“I’ll take some water, actually. I was walking around the city a lot earlier.”

“Of course. Where’s Seven?” Damian got up, heading to a little wet bar tucked away near the huge span of windows. My gaze drifted to the light streaming through the glass, realizing it wasn’t a picture—it was actually the fucking city I was looking at, not just a perfectly hung image.

“Oh, he had some things to do,” I said. “He told me he’d be back later. I was supposed to stay at the apartment but…I left.”

Damian grabbed a glass water bottle from a small stainless steel fridge hidden behind a sliding wood panel. He handed it over to me before sinking back into the couch. The bottle had a label in a different language—only after some squinting could I make out that this was bottled French spring water. Classy. I cracked it open and took a gulp. It was more refreshing than expected.

“God this water is good,” I said, looking at the label again.

“We’re obsessed,” Damian admitted. “We buy it by the caseload from a French distributor. It’s le expensive but worth it.”

“Do you speak French?”

He laughed. “Hell no. Did I sound like I do?”

“No,” I admitted, capping the bottle and setting it on the small table beside my chair. “In fact, that was a pretty bad accent, so I was worried you were trying.”

He laughed, but my own smile faded more quickly. My thoughts had returned to Seven. “Hey, don’t get Seven in trouble.”

“For what?”

“He’s doing his job really well,” I said. “I slipped out on him today. If anything, I’m the one who should be in trouble.”

“You can go and do things by yourself if you want…” he started.

“I know. I just…I’ve been feeling really lost.” Here it was. The words I’d been struggling to bury and unearth in equal measure. My chest loosened, allowing some of the pain to pour out. “Ever since you and Axel showed up in the coffee shop, I’ve been really confused. I guess that’s the only way I can put it.”

“I’ve been feeling the same,” he admitted. “Only because I was positive you were dead.”

My brows furrowed, some of that anger I’d unleashed around Seven crawling back to the surface. “But how could you think I was dead? I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been scanning public records for mention of your name for years.” He crossed a leg over his knee, a contemplative look in his green eyes. “I set up an automatic database scan pretty early on. It was crude, but it was able to sift through most local newspapers and county registries. I started that after we moved to New York for college, because by then I’d already lost track of you.”

“My foster family moved,” I said quietly. “I think the summer after you guys graduated. The lady found a bigger house, one that would let her accept more kids.” I paused, a distant thump thump thump snagging my attention. It grew louder. Suddenly, Axel burst into the room at a run from the far end of the kitchen.

“Hey guys, I’m here.” He took a deep breath. “I sprinted across this entire penthouse, too.”

“I let him know you were coming,” Damian explained.

“Couldn’t miss a second with our little sister.” Axel pinched the top of my ear as he passed by me and settled into the armchair angled in the corner of the area rug. He wore a navy business suit, tie and all.

“Where’d you just come from?” I asked.

“A meeting with some investors.” He flashed me a smile. “They want to donate to your charity.”

“My charity?” I echoed.

“We started a non-profit in your and Kaylee’s names about six years ago,” Damian filled in. “Between our collective childhoods, the way Kaylee died, and your disappearance, it was why we chose the foster system as the focus of our charity efforts.”

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