Page 64 of Finding the Forward: Part Two
Verity was moving chairs and steam-moppingthe dining area, which we hadn’t even used.
“Should I throw her over my shoulder and bring her to the couch?” I asked.
“Or let her know you’ll still love her if she doesn’t mop everything three times after every meal. Or no one will shout at her if she misses a spot. This will become important when she uses the oven. One good thing about living on our own was that no one will critique our cleaning or get mad at us for not doing it perfectly. We’re tidy, but we’re not perfect.” She bit her lower lip like Verity did, anxiety in her eyes.
Her look grew fierce as her plum scent became spicy with anger. “If you’re that kind of pack, I’m forcibly removing her, fuck the snow.”
My heart wrenched. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”
This wasn’t her place. She was so proud and liked doing everything herself. I’d have to let her know thatnothingwas expected from her. Not cleaning, not anything else.
“You should. Ver will automatically think she needs to do most of the cooking and cleaning since she has the ‘least value’ job. Because that’s how it was at home,” Mercy sighed.
“Fucking shit.” I shook my head, glad they were away from that. I stood. “Thank you. I don’t want either of you to feel you have to do more than anyone else, okay? And no, no one’s going to yell at you for not cleaning the counter well enough. Jonas will get grumpy if dishes are left in the sink too long, though.”
“Noted. You don’t do weird language nights, right? While I’m all for conducting conversations in other languages and watching foreign movies, I’m opting out of mandatedwe only speak this language on this daydinners.” Mercy made a face. Then she thought for a moment. “Unless they’re fake languages. I’d consider learning some fandom language because that could be fun.”
“As someone who has a translator for a mother who made us do that growing up, I empathize. The fake language idea is fun. I’m sure there’s some space-movie language Jonas would love us all to learn.” I looked over at Verity. “The kitchen looks great. Come sit down. Want a beer?”
“I should do it one more time.” Verity’s brow furrowed.
“It’s clean enough, Princess. We will still love you if it’s not perfect. You don’t need to mop the floor unless you spill something. No one will be mad if things are not spotless. You don’t owe us because you’re staying here.” I went over and put my arms around her.
“But…” Her face crumpled.
“I know.” I held her tighter. “We have a cleaner who comes several times a week. The floors are fine. The only reason why we even have the rules we do is because Dean will leave dirty dishes everywhere.”
“Okay. Are you sure? This isn’t my house.” Her brows furrowed.
My heart broke. “It’ll be your home soon enough. And no, you don’t have to repay us for staying here, not with cleaning,not with anything else.”
Her body relaxed, and I took the steam mop from her and put it in the kitchen cupboard where it lived with the broom and dustpan.
I opened the fridge. “Let’s have a beer and watch the game. Unless you want some wine? Also, I know where Jonas keeps his good bourbon.”
“Why does my bathroom have a wine fridge?” She stood at my shoulder and grabbed a bottle of beer.
“I have no idea.” I shrugged and grabbed one of my own. “Now come on, let’s see if Grif scores that third goal.”
We sat back on the couch just in time to see Nakey block someone from getting near the Knight’s goal as Carlos stole the puck and raced to the other side. Someone blocked him, and he passed it to Dimitri, who was having a bad night. He missed, and the Étoiles got it. Grif whizzed by, stole it, and shot it into the net.
His goal music played, and the crowd threw bones onto the ice. Three goals for Grif. Good for him.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” I wrapped my arms around her. While I’d known that her parents were shitty, I hadn’t truly grasped what a place of their own might mean to them.
I should have. There was a reason I’d moved to Bucharest after graduating from NYIT when I hadn’t gotten a PHL contract. Why one summer I’d run away to join the rodeo. Sure, I loved my parents–but I couldn’t stand living with them.
Mercy got up from her seat and joined us on the couch, putting an arm around her sister.
“You’re both safe here,” I told them. “In this pack, everyone has a voice, everyone matters. If something’s wrong, if you don’t like something, are concerned, or are just pissed, tell us any way you like. Face to face, group chat, lipstick on the glass doors.”
“Good.” Mercy gave me a look like she couldn’t wait to write a complaint in makeup.
“You and Mercy made yourself your own little sanctuary. Now it’s been destroyed and you’re back under someone’s roof. You might be stuck with us in a snowstorm, but youmatter.I promise,” I assured them both, giving Verity another squeeze.
We watched the rest of the game, all three of us on the couch. After the game ended, Mercy popped up off the sofa with a cat-like stretch, put away the cookies, and looked at her phone.
“I’m going to bed. Smell you later.” Mercy waved.
