Page 217 of Things Left Unsaid

“Colton,” Lindsay greets, her gaze flickering between us. More than aware of this new update. “You persuaded Cole, then?”

“You heard that?” The question’s aimed at her, but I can feel his attention on me.

“We heard everything.”

“It’s fine, Callan. Leave it alone.”

Callan cracks his knuckles. “He better not give you any crap. If he does, Zee, I’ll handle him.”

“You’re gonna defend my wife’s honor, huh? Don’t you think you should let me do that?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How low you’re willing to go.”

“Callan,” Lindsay warns.

“What, Mum? Zee’s cool. I don’t think it’s fair to blame her for something she didn’t do.”

“Grief isn’t rational,” I tell him simply. “I’ve been the bad guy for long enough that it’s hard to shift the narrative in his head. Neither of you need to defend my honor. It’ll be fine. I’ll stay out?—”

“No,” Colton interrupts. “You won’t. This is your home. You won’t hide away. I’ll handle him.” To Callan, he orders, “Leave it with me.”

Callan sniffs but the conversation shifts tracks when Lindsay asks him if he wants to watch a movie with her. I can sense Colt’s surprise when he agrees, but it means that we’re alone in the kitchen once they’re gone.

“You know I won’t let him be hard on you, right?”

“I know that you don’t have to worry about it if he is.”

He leans against the island, meaning that he can look at me more easily. “Would you let someone talk shit about me?”

“You know this is different?—”

“No. It isn’t. Anyway, I’m going to tell him about the will.”

My hand cramps around the piping bag as I over-squeeze, and a blob of frosting floods the segment I’m working on. Turning off my camera, I decide it’s wiser to give it a rest before I ruin the design I’ve been concentrating on for the last forty-five minutes.

Wiggling my fingers, I ask, “You think this is the best timing?”

“Doesn’t matter if it isn’t. Cody and Cole need to know.”

“Callan doesn’t? He’s eighteen.”

He rubs his eyes. “I keep forgetting.”

“Easily done. He’s been eighteen for two seconds and under eighteen for eighteen years.”

My teasing has his lips quirking so when our gazes clash, I smile at him.

“You invite your family to the BBQ yet?”

My smile turns into a grimace. “I have.”

“Yourgrand-mère’s not coming?”

“Carson said he’s working on her and, to be honest, I don’t want to know how.”

---