“He, a commitment-phobe, said that to you? Unbelievable. Did you tell him that you’re planning to shit all over me in a way from which I’ll never recover?”
Bree’s lips twitched. “If you mean, did I tell him I’m planning to leave the pride, no I didn’t.” She dipped her roller in the bucket, coating it in more paint. “It’s not his business.”
“I don’t think he’s gonna like it. Not at all.”
“Which isn’t my problem.”
Elle sighed. “I don’t know how to talk you out of leaving. Nothing I’ve said so far has worked. And I have a feeling that Mateo made my chances of changing your mind harder, whatever the fuck he did.” She shot Bree a sideways glance. “I’m guessing, given how much of a nosy shit Alex can be, that he pushed you to tell him what you and Mateo argued over. Did you?” she asked, her tone careful. And Bree knew her friend would go psycho on her ass if the answer was yes.
“No. I already promised you that you’ll be the first person I’ll tell when I’m ready to talk about it.”
“I’m holding you to that promise.” The redhead licked her lips. “He did something bad, didn’t he?” she asked, her voice low and sad. “I know you. You’re not a person who’d turn away from a friend like this unless they really deserved it. What did he do?”
Bree swallowed. “Something he can’t ever take back.” She swept the roller over a drippy, streak of blue paint to smooth it out. “We really could have used another set of hands,” she added, forcing a perky note to her voice.
Elle narrowed her eyes. “Changing the subject, are we? Fine. I’ll—”
Hearing the doorbell ring, they both stilled.
Elle’s face brightened, and she let her arms fall to her sides. “Finally! An excuse to stop for just a minute.”
Snickering, Bree placed her roller on the paint tray. “Lightweight.” She headed downstairs with Elle trailing after her. As Bree opened the door, Paxton’s parents and his twin brother flashed her broad grins.
“Hello, sweetheart,” said Bernadette, her smile bright. “We just wanted to see how you were getting along with all the redecorating.”
They’d stopped by once before, offering to help, but Bree had politely shut that down. The Cages would only do what they’d done when she’d first moved in—advise her on what Paxton would like. Bernadette did not believe her son was anything but alive, well, and intending to return.
Even as her cat rumbled a disapproving growl, Bree stepped aside to let the trio pass. “It’s all going great, thanks.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Ruben, Paxton’s father.
Calvin entered last, his amber eyes twinkling. Although he was Paxton’s identical twin, many things set them apart, particularly their temperaments. Unlike his brother, Calvin was the life and soul of every party. Very smooth and silver-tongued. He was easy to like and talk to, but her cat didn’t like being around him purely because he shared the same scent as Paxton, who she’d happily claw to death.
Their styles also differed. Calvin wore fashionable clothes and shiny, expensive shoes. He also had a light mustache and a well-groomed beard. He kept one side of his hair extra short while the rest was longer and casually swept over the other side of his head. His tattoo sleeves gave his business-casual look an edge that suited him.
Paxton, however, had never dressed to impress. He’d worn casual attire and had no interest in looking slick. He’d preferred the clean-shaven look. He’d kept his bronze hair spiky at the top, and its length had faded the further down it got. He’d also had a lot more muscle on him than Calvin, whose build was more athletic than ripped.
Calvin kissed her cheek. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Closing the front door, Bree said, “Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess right now.” She had paint spatter all over her, including in her hair.
“Moira would have come but she was busy,” Bernadette told her.
Bree almost snorted. Moira despised her. Unlike her parents, she wasn’t blind to the cruelty in Paxton, but she’d loved her brother anyway. She blamed Bree for his faults.
“You got all the light when your soul split; he only got the dark—how is that fair?” she’d once snarled at Bree.
Once the Cages had exchanged greetings with Elle, Bernadette headed straight to the contemporary kitchen, asking, “So, who wants coffee?”
Soon enough, everyone was gathered around the kitchen island with a mug of coffee. Bernadette did most of the talking. She was one of those people who didn’t really require you to contribute; she liked to be center stage. Unfortunately, but not at all unusually, quite a bit of the conversation centered around Paxton.
“Oh, here.” Bernadette dug her hand into her large purse and pulled out a giftwrapped, book-shaped object. “I thought you might like it. Call it a contribution to your giving the place a new look.”
Bree’s mouth curled. “Thank you.” But her gratitude quickly flitted away when she tore off the wrapping paper. It was a framed photograph of Paxton.
“He can’t be with you in body just yet,” said Bernadette. “But there should still be something of him here. I noticed that you don’t have any pictures of him anywhere. He’s going to love this house. Right, Ruben?”
“Right,” agreed Ruben, but his smile was tight. He didn’t believe that Paxton was alive—Bree could sense that clearly enough. She doubted he’d admit it to his mate.
Did it irk Bree that the woman couldn’t face that he’d been a twisted freak? Yes, but Bree couldn’t really blame her for being so determined to see the best in her son or to not give up on him.
Still, it was hard to be around Bernadette. The woman didn’t really see Bree when she looked at her. She saw a living, breathing link to Paxton. And she clung tight to it.
Calvin gently nudged Bree with his elbow and then tipped his chin at his mother.
Bree blinked. “I’m sorry, Bernadette, I didn’t catch that last bit.”
“I said I received a call this morning from Vinnie. He wanted to know if anyone had approached us to ask for Paxton’s whereabouts, but none of us have. Did hyenas really come to you, looking for a way to contact him?”
“Yes, they did,” said Bree. “They weren’t convinced that he’s never contacted me.”
“It is odd that he hasn’t,” Bernadette allowed. “But he will, Bree. I know you have trouble believing he’s alive, but he is. I feel it.”
Calvin sighed. “He left over twelve years ago, Mom. If he had any intention of returning, don’t you think he’d have done that already?”
Bernadette glared at him. “He’s just giving her time to mature, that’s all.”
Mature. She’d used that same word when she gave Bree a half-heart necklace a few days after he left. “Paxton asked me to give this to you,” she’d said. “He has the other half. When you’re mature enough for him to claim, he’ll come home to you.”
Bree had never believed that the necklace came from Paxton. No, Bernadette had told her such a lie to soften the blow of him leaving, mistakenly thinking that Bree felt abandoned and heartbroken. It had been a pointless gesture, but it was also sweet.