Page 55 of Damaged & Deadly

Shaking off thoughts of the past, I push open the gate and head up the path. Cain’s coming down the stairs as I walk in the front door, the corner of his lips pulled down in a deep frown and his mind clearly elsewhere as he slides a palm down his face, looking completely fucking wrecked. At least he found a spare minute to wash the blood off him. In hindsight, he probably should have done that before he saw Evie, but she didn’t even seem to notice. That, or she’s so immune to shit like that that it didn’t faze her.

I glance past him up the stairs, hearing the shower running before returning my focus to him. “She okay?”

He shrugs. “She’s putting on a good front, but no, I don’t think so. How can anyone be okay after whatever she’s been through?”

My lips flatten into a thin line. “Has she…”

He shakes his head. “No, she hasn’t said anything, and I haven’t had the balls to ask.”

“It’s not important right now,” I try to reassure him, clapping him on the shoulder as I move past him down the hall to the kitchen. “More important that she’s safe and comfortable.”

I hear his footsteps on the floor as he trails behind me, and I follow the low murmurs of Sawyer’s and Marcus’ voices into the kitchen. They both look up when I enter.

“How’s she doing?” Marcus asks, general concern brimming in his eyes. I remember Cain saying he lost his sister, so I can only imagine how today has dragged up memories of the past for him.

“As good as can be expected,” Cain responds as I set the soup on the counter and pull out a pot to heat it.

“What about you?” I look up at the sound of Red’s concerned voice, finding her watching Cain warily as he drops into a kitchen chair. Leaning forward, he runs his hands through his hair, causing the ends to stick up all over the place before he rests his elbows on his knees.

“I think I’m still in shock. I can’t believe any of this is real, that she’s truly here.” One of the other kitchen chairs creaks as Red lowers herself into it before I focus back on the task of heating the soup. “I don’t know how to help her. What she needs.”

“I think all she needs right now is her brother,” Red says softly. “Her childhood friends. Familiar faces. While she’s been… gone, everyone she knew moved on. You all grew up. That’s gotta be jarring for her, so I think just providing her with some stability—showing her that not everything is different, that the people she cared about before are still here for her—will go a long way. The rest will hopefully work itself out.”

When the soup begins to bubble, I pour it into a bowl. Setting it on a tray along with a glass of water, I leave the others behind as I carry it up to her room. The shower is no longer running when I pass the bathroom, and I pause, not hearing any movement behind the door. I don’t want to get caught lingering in the hall so I quickly move on, finding Cain’s old bedroom empty as I step into it.

I set the tray down on the bedside table, but instead of leaving the room, which is probably what I should do to give Evie some privacy and space to breathe, I sink down on the end of the bed to wait for her.

Closing my eyes, I run my hand over my face. I have no idea what’s going on with me. It’s like the last twelve years never happened, and my heart and head are at war, leaving me feeling numb and confused. Except, when I look up to see Evie standing just inside the doorway wearing a pair of Cain’s boxers and an old t-shirt hanging off her thin frame, I’m reminded that the last twelve years did happen, and they’ve fucked with all of us.

Clutching the towel in one hand, Evie rewards me with a small smile as she drops it on the floor and climbs under the covers. When she’s settled, I grab the tray and place it on her knee, encouraging her to eat.

“So,” she begins after a few mouthfuls. “Give me all the deets. What have I missed?”

“Evie,” I begin hesitantly, shaking my head. “We don’t need to get into all that now.”

“Don’t baby me, Ollie,” she snaps, but there’s no heat behind it, just sadness. Extreme, never-ending sadness. “You’ve always been straight with me. Please, don’t stop now.”

I sigh, looking away from her as I struggle to decide what to do. Of course, she takes away the choice for me with her next words.

“My parents haven’t been by, so I’m guessing they’re…” Silence hangs in the air between us for a few seconds before I fill in the blanks.

“Dead.”

She gives nothing away; she doesn’t blanch or grimace. She simply nods her head, and I have to wonder how much mental damage those shitheads did to her that the death of her parents—parents she looked up to once upon a time—doesn’t faze her.

However, when she lifts a spoonful of soup to her lips, I notice her hand trembling and realize she’s not as unaffected as she’s letting on. Managing a small sip, she swallows it down before asking in a husky voice, “How?”

“Your dad disappeared the same day you were… Anyway, he showed up down at the docks a few days later.”

Another nod of her head. “And mom?”

“Drank herself to death.”

Her lips pinch. “Probably for the best.”

I grimace, hating this topic of conversation, even though I can’t blame her for wanting to know. I’d probably be the same.

“What about Beck?”

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