Page 35 of Ashes of the Past
I pull out the cast-iron skillet and set it on the stove, grabbing eggs, bacon, and bread from the fridge. My hands move on autopilot, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them with a splash of milk. But my mind keeps drifting back to Jack. The way he looked at me right before he kissed me was like he was daring me to say no. Like he knew I wouldn’t.
“He’s an asshole,” I mutter under my breath, tossing a handful of bacon into the skillet. The grease sizzles, the sound filling the kitchen as the smell of cooking meat starts to spread. “Thinks he can just waltz in here with that stupid grin and…” I trail off, shaking my head. “Not happening.”
The smells surround me, and I try to push the thoughts of Jack away, replacing them with the thousands of times I’d walked into this very kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, jumped up on the stool by the island, and watched as my momfloated around the kitchen, humming hymns and pouring so much love and care into the meals that she cooked.
She took so much pride in cooking three meals a day for everyone.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear Dad come in at first. It’s the shuffle of his slippers against the hardwood floor that pulls me out of my daze. I turn, a smile already forming on my face.
“Morning, Dad,” I say, but the words catch in my throat when I see the look on his face. He’s standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed, eyes darting around the kitchen like he doesn’t recognize it. Like he doesn’t recognize me.
Confusion hits me first but then fear. My body knows something is off before the rest of me catches up to it.
“Who are you?” he asks, his voice shaky. “What are you doing in my house?”
The spatula in my hand clatters to the counter as my heart drops into my stomach.
“Dad, it’s me,” I say softly, taking a step toward him. “It’s Brynn.”
He shakes his head, his confusion deepening. “No, no, you’re not…” He trails off, his gaze drifting to the skillet on the stove. “Where’s my wife? She’s supposed to be making breakfast.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay calm.
“Mom’s not here, Dad,” I say gently. “It’s just me. I’m making breakfast for you.”
He looks at me again, his eyes searching my face like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t make sense.
“Brynn?” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, blinking back the sting of tears. “Yeah, Dad. It’s me.”
His shoulders sag, and he rubs a hand over his face, looking exhausted. “I…I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “You’re okay. It happens sometimes.”
I reach out to touch his arm, and he lets out a shaky breath, nodding.
“You’re a good girl, Brynn,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Always taking care of me.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
“Why don’t you sit down?” I say, guiding him to the kitchen table. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
He nods again, sinking into a chair. I turn back to the stove, blinking rapidly to clear my vision as I flip the bacon and pour the scrambled eggs into the skillet. The familiar routine helps steady me, gives me something to focus on other than the ache in my chest.
The sound of the front door opening pulls me out of my thoughts, and a moment later, Olivia’s voice fills the house.
“Smells good in here!” she calls, her boots thudding against the floor as she makes her way to the kitchen. She stops in the doorway, her smile fading when she sees my face.
“Everything okay?” she asks, her gaze flicking to Dad, who’s staring down at the table like he’s trying to remember something important.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just a rough morning.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she crosses the room and gives me a quick hug before doing the same to her grandpa.
I continue cooking breakfast, making the finishing touches as I fill plates for Dad and Olivia. The ranch hands will be in soon,and my stomach tightens at the thought of seeing Jack again, of him being so close to me soon.
His face flashes in my mind again, and my heart skips a beat. Grateful or not, I can’t afford to get distracted. Not by him, and not by the way he makes me feel. I’ve got enough to deal with already.
