Page 28 of Kortlek

Mom waits with breakfast ready, and my stomach growls. It’s around seven in the morning, and I haven’t slept a wink. The final prey was dealt with around five in the morning, and it was Blair’s. She did an amazing job, and she proved yet again just how well she fits with all of us.

We’re lucky to have her and proud to call her one of our own.

I take a seat at the kitchen counter, and Mom pushes a plate filled with food my way. I almost moan at the divine smell. She made my favorite, cream cheese bagels with thinly sliced prosciutto and some seasonings.

Immediately, I take a bite of one, relishing in the taste. My taste buds are forever grateful for this, as if I hadn’t had a proper meal in years. Mom snorts at my less-than-ladylike table manners, though she doesn’t comment.

Four bagels are gone before I can realize just how quickly I devoured them.

“So,’’ Mom starts, sitting across from me, fingers interlocked on the counter. Her tone is serious, and I straighten my back, giving her full attention. “I tried doing damage control on two fronts. Which one do you want to talk about first?”

My brows crease. I take a sip of the water, then lean forward. “Just… pick. You’re scaring me a little.’’

Mom’s a little hesitant; I can see it in her eyes. She’s always looking for the easiest and the best way to approach a situation, which I hear is a new thing. Apparently, in her youth, she was a reckless idiot who didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone.

“It’s just… a serious thing to discuss.’’

“From what Dad has told me, you never used to care; you’d just say it how it is,’’ I chuckle. “What’s different now?”

She deadpans. “It’s different because I have two children to think about now. Back then, I was doing it because my actions affected me and me only, and I was the one dealing with the consequences. I can’t afford that now.’’

My eyes soften, and I take her hand across the counter, stroking the back of it with my thumb gently.

“It’s okay. Just spit it out.’’

She blinks, nods, and takes a deep breath. “Arlo’s pissed.’’

I raise an amused brow. “That’s it? I mean, yeah, I figured he’d be pissed. I snuck into the playground. He’ll get over it, I promise.’’

“I haven’t seen him this angry since… well, since when he found out about Blair. He’s angry, Aria. But more than that, he’s scared.’’

“I’m fine, though.’’

“Yes, you’re fine, but you also got lucky. I regretted giving you the address as soon as I heard some good points that Arlo made.’’

I try not to let annoyance show on my face. Releasing her hand, I cross mine in front of my chest. “And what good points did he make?”

“You got lucky,’’ she breathes out. “And Arlo thinks, which, for the record, I do agree with, that this could’ve ended terribly. You got the location and simply waltzed in. Arlo and Cove had traps prepared. Traps that could’ve killed you if you stepped on them. You also weren’t dressed as a hunter, and you could’ve been killed by the prey. I’m proud of you for handling it the way you did, but I’m also worried about what could happen next time during the Kortlek.’’

She’s right, but who cares? I certainly don’t. Blame the stubbornness on her; it’s her most known trait, and I inherited it from her. With a deep breath, I look at her, as serious as I could possibly be.

“There’s something else you’re not telling me. What is it?”

She chuckles to herself, shaking her head slightly. “You’re my daughter, alright,’’ then she glances at me. “Arlo feels guilty.’’

“Guilty? Why?”

She swallows. “He’s always been overly protective of you, and you know that he’d die for you in a heartbeat if needed. However, he still feels guilty over what happened with Wyatt.’’

My body recoils in disgust at the mention of the name, ugly images flashing through my mind. I don’t think about him often anymore. The breakup was nasty; the relationship was terrible, too, but since the nightmares have stopped, so did the thought of him. At least, that’s what I like to tell myself.

“That wasn’t his fault; it was mine; he shouldn’t feel guilty.’’

“No!” Mom raises her voice, and I lean back. I can count on one hand the number of times she’s raised her voice in my twenty years of life. This would be the third. “It was not your fault, Aria. Do you understand me? None of that was your fault. If anything, it was Hudson’s and my fault for not being able to protect you. We’re your parents.’’

Her words are laced with venom, directed toward Wyatt, but the guilt and sadness over the entire situation are there, too. For a moment, she looks away from me, trying to collect herself. My heart aches, and I know that the whole thing affected her and Dad more than they’d like to admit.

“It’s in the past,’’ I say, softening my voice. “I’m okay now.’’

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