Page 121 of Take It Offline

Ivy passes us each a glass. “Charlie, you should catch up with my younger sister some time. You could pass notes on sibling authority.”

“Don’t mind him,” Reese says. “We’re only legally related.”

Head tossed back, Ivy laughs, her necklaces jangling. Great, now there’s two of them. “That explains why you’re so much cooler.”

My heart twists a little more.

It’s a good thing they get along. At this rate, I’ll bet Reese has already roped Ivy into a game night. Emma adores Reese already, and the idea of them being friends makes me happy.

So there’s no reason for me to get worked up about it.

When Ivy leaves to take Emma a glass of wine, Reese wraps me in a tight hug. “You’re doing a good thing. Emma’s lucky to have you.”

I hug her back, even as I shake my head. She always does this when she thinks I’m secretly sulking.

“Don’t start,” I warn her. “I don’t even know what we are to each other right now.”

“Then you need to get your head out of your ass. That woman is head over heels for you. And don’t even think about telling me you don’t feel the same way.”

I pull back. “Stop meddling. And don’t forget the pepperoni.”

“No, no, no, no, no. Even mortal, Andromache would beat Black Window,” I say.

We’re sprawled across the living room, drinks in hand, waiting on food. The television is on, but we’ve muted it so we can argue about which characters would win in a fight.

Reese shakes her head so fast I get dizzy. “No way. Natasha is the best Red Room had to offer.”

“Andromache is six thousand years old,” I argue. “Natasha—and this is if we’re going by the comics, not the movies—is barely a hundred. No way she’s kicking an immortal’s ass.”

“But she’s so hot.”

“You’re always using that excuse.”

Reese groans. “And you’re a bad loser. This is just like the time you ran off Rainbow Road and blamed me.”

“I’m sorry, who ran me off the road?”

Reese only laughs.

“Remind me to never play Ticket To Ride with you two,” Ivy says, holding her wineglass aloft.

When the food arrives, I run downstairs, a strange feeling churning in my gut. I’m worried for Emma and angry at her parents for not appreciating how good they have it without wanting more, but it’s more than that.

It’s having her here. It’s spending time together that isn’t about work or sex or Logan. It’s getting a glimpse at a future I already know is going to fucking hurt not to have.

When I get back, I find Reese and Ivy debating which Beatles song they’d sing if they were stranded on an island, and I leave them to it.

The only right answer is “Get Back,” anyway.

“Thank you,” Emma whispers to me. She’s slotted next to me on the couch, legs curled up, eating with one hand while teasing the back of my neck with the other. I’ve been trying to hide the effect it’s having on me, but from the look Reese has been giving me, I’m failing.

“This is much better than wallowing on my own.”

“I’ll never let you do that. Just say the word, and I’ll do everything I can to help.”

I’ve never been much good at comfort; my usual strategy is to barrel right on through any problem ahead of me. I’m not sure that’ll work here.

I don’t have the first clue how to solve this problem for her, but damn if I don’t want to.

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