Page 76 of Traitor

"That would be great," he says, nodding. "Do you have a wine opener?"

I laugh lightly, soft, sweet, like I don't want to rip him apart piece by piece.

"Of course. I'm a full-grown adult. I have all the openers I need."

I hand him the opener, pull out two glasses, and set them on the kitchen table. His throat bobs as he pours, his hands steady, but there's a weight in his shoulders, a tension in his jaw.

He hands me a glass. I take it elegantly, sip from it while watching him over the rim.

He doesn't even think to drink from his own. He's too busy looking at me like I'm his entire fucking world. Dumbass.

The wine is perfect. Just the way I like it. Too bad he won't get to enjoy it for long.

"So, what have you been up to these past four years?" I ask, light, casual, like we're just old friends catching up.

Keep the facade, Temperance. You're almost there.

His smile is bitter.

"Thinking about you," he says, voice low, raw. "Looking for you. Talking about you. These last four years were all about you, Ely."

Something dark and broken settles in his face.

I don't want to deal with that.

I sip my wine, keeping my mask in place. "Well, I'm here now, so you can stop moping. You found me."

His expression doesn't change.

"Yeah..." he exhales, his fingers tightening around his glass. "Can we talk about what happened, Ely?"

My stomach twists. Not yet. Not now.

I force a small smile. "Not right now, Bones. Let's get through dinner first." I pause. "How are your parents?"

His smile softens, just a little. "Still on their second honeymoon, if you can believe it. Eight years of world travel. They came back after what happened four years ago, but left again six months later." His jaw tenses. "Mama was... distraught. Rightfully handed me my ass. Pops too."

Mama.

The woman who taught me how to bake over video calls, who laughed with me, who welcomed me with open arms.

My grip tightens around the stem of my glass, nails pressing into my palm.

Bones watches me. Sees it.

"They'd love to talk to you again," he says softly. "If you're up for it."

I inhale slowly, push the emotion down, smooth my face into something neutral.

"I'd love to," I say sweetly. A fucking lie.

Because after this? His Mama won't ever want to hear my name again.

The air shifts. Heavy. Awkward. There was never awkwardness between us before. We were wildfire, consuming, burning too hot, too fast.

And now? Now, we're just ash.

Bones fiddles with his glass, takes a sip, then finally speaks.

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