Page 51 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“Sounds like a fucking dream to me.”

“You’re really stocking up on good fertiliser for the summer.”

“Quality annoying asshole fertiliser, sure.” He flicks off the kitchen tap, soaking dirty dishes in water. “I could sell it in town and make a hell of a profit.”

“You’re a bit sadistic, you know?”

Killian takes a pull from his own beer. We’re working together in the kitchen to roast one of the chickens from the town’s coop that he shot last night, while the potatoes and vegetables roast in the oven.

“Noted,” he submits.

I’m not much of a cook. Killian has always kept us fed, clothed and well looked after, ever since our aunt and uncle passed away. Nobody asked him to, but he took me and Micah under his wing and never turned his back on us, death threats aside.

Killian lost both of his parents that day and gained the responsibility of two young boys who needed someone to look up to. He didn’t even stop to grieve before getting to work. That’s just who he is. I still remember it clearly.

“Gravy,” he realises.

“Make extra. You know it’s my favourite.”

“Yeah, I know. You and Micah drink it like water.”

Returning to his place of power at the overflowing oven top, Killian focuses on mixing gravy granules with boiling water and loading it into a saucepan. This would be so much easier if Grams was cooking. She’s much better than us at it.

“You think he’ll make an appearance tonight?”

Killian looks up. “Micah?”

I nod back.

“I dunno, kid.” He stirs his gravy with a shrug. “He’s retreated back into his studio this week. I spoke to Doctor Holmes. She’s happy to take him on as a client again.”

“We just have to convince him to go there.”

“Basically.”

Grabbing plates, cutlery and hand-sewn napkins that Lola made for us last Christmas, I lay the table. We rarely sit here to eat dinner, usually preferring the sofa or outside in the summer. Entertaining guests is an even rarer occurrence.

None of us have much luck convincing my brother to do anything, let alone speaking to a therapist he has no interest in working with. He lives on his own plane of existence, far from our reach. Not even I can get through to him.

“Maybe Lola could talk him around?” I suggest hopefully.

“Don’t get your hopes up. He won’t speak to anyone.”

A timid knock at the front door interrupts our conversation. Both of our gazes immediately zip there, and the tension in the room explodes. Killian would never admit it, but I can see that he’s nervous. This dinner was his idea.

I have never seen my cousin date or even show a remote interest in women. He’s always been content to devote his life to the town and nothing else. That’s why the offer of dinner with Willow nearly caused me to fall over when he told me.

“I’ll get it, shall I?” I glance around the open-plan living room and kitchen. “This place is a mess, Kill.”

“We’re guys,” he argues. “She’ll understand.”

“Lola would kill us both if she saw this bomb site.”

“I’m not your mother. Clean your own crap up. Don’t I do enough around here?”

Rolling my eyes at him, I smooth my unbuttoned, loose blue shirt and jeans, throwing the door open before I can chicken out. A blur of blonde hair rushes straight at me. I stumble back to catch Arianna before she bowls me over.

“Zach!”

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